It was a small bag probably three inches wide and six or seven inches long with a pull string sowed in the top.  Made of sturdy cotton or muslin which allowed it to slip into your pocket.  I preferred to tuck it under my belt  letting it hang down my side like an Indian’s prized scalps.  All I needed is a Loincloth to complete this image.

However I would not be in the Forest this day and the preferred covering would be heavy corded Knickers.  Today I would be spending many hours on my knees matching my professional Marble skills with other neighborhood kids.  The bag hanging on my side housed a stash of marbles won from past “For Keepsies” contests and among them, in addition to a stick of chalk and a length of string, were my two prize “Aggie Shooters”, Pearlie and Old Blue.

For some what I’m gonna say now will seem far fetched or just plain gross.  As center City Concrete Street urchins during a particularly difficult time for the Nation, the shortages of certain products were legion.  One such shortage was Chewing Gum.

The Fleers Chewing Gum Co

Fleers has been producing Gum since the 1800′s but had to cease production during the Second World War because essential ingredients were imported from Asia.  Not that we could afford chewing gum, it just wasn’t readily available.  So as enterprising “Knuckle down, Keepsies playing, Marble athletes” we discovered a substitute that produced the satisfying Chewing and Spitting tough guy visual necessary.

Digressing from above for a moment, I would like you visualize the neighborhood that housed me.  Block after block of row homes sitting on street after street of concrete.  Truly a “Concrete Jungle” putting the old rhyme “step on a crack and break your Mothers back” to good use.  A product made from heating pine tree wood and resin was widely used to fill the millions of cracks that developed in that maze of concrete.  Tar is what it was called.  Been around since the Colonial days when it was used to seal boats and occasionally Tar and Feather miscreants as a form of Vigilante Justice.

Back to the Chewing and Spitting tough guy stuff.   On hot and humid days that Tar resin in those cracks softened. If you found a particularly large crack you could grab  the crusty top of the Tar and pull it out of the crack revealing a seemly clean, so we thought, shiny soft ball of Tar easily broken off becoming many hours worth of satisfying chewing and spitting.  There you have it, little seven and eight year old kids playing Marbles chewing and spitting, acting out on what we saw in the older kids.

Rules for the game of Marbles varied with the age of players.  For instance the size of the Marble ring could be anywhere from 3 foot to 10 foot.  The play was similar to to how a game of Pool could be played.  A really good player with a solid heavy shooter could possibly run the ring and get all the Marbles.  When I hear “He’s lost his Marbles“, “He’s won all the Marbles“, or “He’s Knuckling Down” memories of this fun game, Marbles, makes me laugh because I can feel that Chaw of Tar exercising my Jaw.

As for the reference to “The Mother Lode“, on occasions we would come across Roofers resealing roofs with Fresh Hot Tar.  You guessed it.  By Hook or Crook we would get some of that Virgin Tar for those days when the Streets yield of Chewable Tar was slim.

I , like many others from my early years, was known as a “Latchkey” child.  The harshness of those days on families demanded that children at a young age assume adult responsibilities for their lives while the parent (usually a single Mother) was at work.  Thus the term “Latchkey Kid“.  A term meaning to be left alone to fend for themselves until a parent came home.  Sadly this Culture driven practice is once again dominating American families.

However, and fortunately, the propensity for evil was not as prevalent as it is today.  But there were still problems, and I managed to invest my time exploring and reveling in all sorts of deviant behavior.  You may have already read my battle with “The Money Jar“ and my addiction to TastyKakes.   This episode is the lead in to that sad period of my succumbing to thievery.

Backing up just a bit.  I was a super skinny kid with an abnormal amount of energy.  I fueled my body with anything that past muster as “Sugar”.  Sugar cubes (usually stolen) were an staple.  I first met this morsel of delight when Mother took me to a “Horn & Hardart’s Automat”.  It was there I discovered many delicious treats including  the Sugar Cubes that probably started my insatiable quest for Sweets.  Back to the story line.  As a result of this discovery I became very uninterested in any food substance that was not laced with some form of sugar or at the least had a sweet taste.   Mother before leaving for work would leave for me sandwiches and other stuff on the kitchen table to eat when I got home after school.  Most times there were sandwiches that would be to my liking.  But sometimes a sandwich of Liverwurst or GOD forbid an unidentifiable meat called “Tongue” would be on the table staring at me not unlike a scene from the Night of the Living Dead.

Sandwich and the Radiator

When these horrid sandwiches showed up, I being the clever one, would stick them behind the big cast iron Steam Radiator mounted on the floor next to the table.  This “feeding the Radiator” went on for a time before coming to a screeching halt.  Did you know Ants liked Liverwurst and Tongue? Really who knew, I certainly didn’t! And are you also aware that food when left behind a HOT Radiator also emitted odors? That was news to me!  Yep, a big lesson learned and learned well by the  “Seat of my Pants” if you get my drift. A new battle plan needed to be formulated to battle this menacing meat.  But before I was able to develop plans, Mother announced to the family that we were moving to a home near Grandma and Grandpa all the while looking squarely at my beautifully innocent face and adding “where there are no Steam Radiators“.

Battle plans are put on hold until I am able to reconnoiter the new battle ground.  The move to the new home was a nightmare for my game plan.  Two words: Central Heating! Central heating was a Coal Furnace in the Basement with a registrar vent that was a big square grate in the floor between the living room and the dinning room.  The upstairs was heated through another large grate in the floor that allowed the heat from downstairs to drift up though it.  This  system made for cold days and nights if you were not layered with 20 pounds of clothes in addition to not providing a safe dumping site for unwanted food.

Off Site Disposal

In search of a dump site I checked out the backyard.  I couldn’t believe it.  Fence to fence Concrete. I couldn’t even bury the crap now becoming known as  “Sandwiches from Hell”.  Then I saw it.   A gate in the back fence leading into a service alley that ran the length of the entire block.  Looking both ways up and down the alley for anything that would serve as a final resting place for the Sandwiches I spied the Pole.  Telephone pole to be exact.  The perfect place with just a enough space between the pole and the fence and a good twenty yards away from the backyard gate.   Ideal!  Game, Set, Match.

There is a RAT somewhere

Things were working just great.  I had secured a Hazardous Material dump site and I had begun working the “Money Jar” gig.  Life was sweet! That is until the day Mother collared me and walked me out to the alley and over to the POLE.  What happen next is not pretty and I’ll spare you the details.  I can say this though, while hating Corduroy Knickers they did saved my little butt that day.  Hard to blister a Fanny though those Iron like Corduroy Knickers.  I never discovered who Ratted me out.  Probably  a brother or sister who viewed me as the pampered little brat that they sometimes where burdened with by Mom.  Doesn’t matter now.  History has its’ own validation of our worth and my brothers and sister have long since become the shining heroes of my life.

Today however, I now love Liverwurst and Onion Sandwiches.  But Tongue Sandwiches, Ugh.  I still look for suitable dumping sites for that Hazardous Material.