The first big move of my life (not counting being born) was when my family moved from New York CIty to Long Island. More specifically, from upper Manhattan's Washington Heights to Long Island's North Massapequa. If you want to be really specific, from Bogardus Place to Banbury Road.
Banbury Road
Bogardus PlaceOur move to North Massapequa was not without its struggles. It was 1966, and Americans were rocking out to the sounds of "Revolver", Sgt. Barry Sadler's "Ballad of the Green Beret's", and "96 Tears" by "?". Many Americans were on the move as a result of a phenomena called "Urban Flight". Washington Heights had been a working class neighborhood in the most upper part of Manhattan, and it had been populated mostly by Jews, Italians, Germans, and Irish. By the mid-1960s many people of Dominican ethnicity began to move in, and things began to change. Out went the old fashioned "Candy Store" and Kosher Deli, and in came the bodegas. The handwriting was on the wall. My parents decided we should move, and while it didn't bother me much considering I was two, my oldest brother who was 14 didn't take it in stride. The low point might have occurred when we were closing in on exit 29 on the Southern State Parkway, and we saw the sign for "North Massapequa, Hicksville Road", and my brother who loved city living exclaimed, "HICKSVILLE!!! You're moving me to "HICKSVILLE"?!?!?! Though I am not a religious man, I believe we all witnessed a true miracle that day, in that my father did not toss my "lithe" brother out the car window. (They were open since it was about 100 degrees) I should mention, it wasn't just any car, but our 1962 Royal Blue Chevy Impala, our first new car. We called her "Rosey", which was my mother's mothers' name, which gives new meaning to the old Television show, "My Mother the Car"!
Ironically, several years later, my brother was driving "Rosey" and the tire blew out and he dove out of the now out-of-control automobile, a-la Mannix:
My father, ever the understanding "Ward Cleaver" type, was quick to accuse my brother of ruining his beloved "Rosey", the car not his mother-in-law. He definitely liked the car better.
For my parents, who knew nothing about suburban living, moving to North Massapequa was truly a learning experience. Not only did they have to deal with my brother's intense unhappiness, (which to be fair only lasted until his wedding day) but the purchase as well as the move had pretty much cost them every last dime. It was a nice house to be sure, purchased for the princely sum of $20,500. My father's commute went from a 20 minute subway ride to the (at that time) un-air-conditioned L.I.R.R. which took over an hour. As an investment by the way, the house paid off big time seeing that my parents sold it in 1998 for over 10 times that amount. But we could have hit the mother lode. My father confessed to me years later that we could have bought one of those houses on the canals in Massapequa Park for only $500 dollars more. Eventually, the payoffs on those homes would have dwarfed what they eventually made from the house on Banbury Road. However, my mother put the kibosh on it. She was worried I would leave the house, open the gate, walk down the block, fall into the canal and drown. Considering I was raised like milk-fed veal, the odds of me being alone and unattended for that long seems remote, but if you've ever wondered where my paralyzing stockpile of caution comes from....
At any rate, the move from city to suburb only got trickier for my parents. When you live in the city, every building has a Superintendent, or "Super", who fixes everything. Many city dwellers grow up without ever needing to learn basic handyman skills. So when my parents moved to Long Island, they had to buy everything including a lawnmower, hoses, garbage cans, tools etc...The garbage became a particular source of consternation for my father. In the city, you simply take your trash and throw it down the incinerator. In Long Island, there's garbage pick-up. One time, when our extended family visited from the city, we ordered in Chinese food, (Probably from Kwong Ming, which, health inspections aside is still my all-time favorite Chinese restaurant). My father filled a big "Waldbaums Paper-Bag" and handed it to my cousin to take back to the city. My cousin was all excited thinking he had Chinese leftovers, instead it was filled with garbage. My father wanted him to dump it down the incinerator, just like the good old days.
Ah, what to give for a "Pu Pu Platter"?There were other adjustments as well, such as shoveling snow, termites, the infamous playroom flood of 1967, our trees getting toilet papered, and of course, our next door neighbors, the Gallaghers. The Gallaghers were somewhere between 70 and a 1000, and they hated the new "Jews" who had just moved in. When my brothers or I would have a catch between our two houses, the Gallaghers could often be heard telling us to knock it off, since after-all, "This isn't the Polo Grounds"! There was also the tried and true, "What do you think this is, Ebbets Field"? Eventually though, my mother discovered a new "Mah-jong" crew and we were on our way.
As an adult, my wife and I reached a crossroads after six years in beautiful Flushing, New York. It's hard to encapsulate what life in Flushing is like, but imagine the worst aspects of suburbia and city living, and you've captured life in Flushing. We weren't even near a subway, we had to take a bus to the subway, which is expensive and difficult. Once our oldest boy Andrew was born, we knew the clock was ticking, so in the summer of 1993, we took the plunge and moved to Clifton Park, New York, somewhere between Albany and Saratoga Springs. (I don't want to get into any more detail than that for fear of being stalked by my multitudes of "Hoffman Files" fanatics, the "Hoffmanphiles") Many people asked us why the Capital region? Well, I'm from Long Island and my wife is from western New York, Jamestown area to be precise, and this seemed like a fair compromise. We waited for one of us to get a job, and my wife got one in Human Resources for "Montgomery Ward". If you're too young to remember "Montgomery Ward", then you know why it's out of business. They catered to customers too old to watch "Wheel of Fortune". According to "Hip Replacement Quarterly", many octogenarians feel that "Wheel" has gotten too loud and upsetting, plus when people land on "Bankruptcy", seniors can find it disconcerting, too much like the "Hoovervilles" of their youth. Still, they offered to move us for free, and we will be forever grateful to both Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Ward.
Moving day arrived. It was August, and I say with complete confidence and not a hint of exaggeration it was the hottest day ever recorded on any planet not named Mercury. The movers put everything we owned on a Mayflower moving truck including my Buick Skyhawk, or as it was known in my "Fast and Furious" days, "The Hawk"! All of our worldly possessions on one truck, rather humbling.
Moving from our 3 story walk-up with no dishwasher, washing machine or dryer, and one small air-conditioner in our bedroom , to Hollandale Apartments in Clifton Park with its balcony, central air-conditioning, dishwasher, washer-dryer right in our building, plus a pool and tennis courts, it was like being born-again. Still, the stress of relocating without really knowing anybody, plus taking care of a 2 year old was no day in the park. Where was the Waldbaums" No Kosher Deli?? Why aren't people driving faster and more aggressively? There would be two more moves after Hollandale. We've been lucky enough to be able to buy two houses. Since we've left Flushing, we've been able to increase our number of bathrooms with each successive move, and that's helped balance out the stress of moving. In the end, it all goes back to "Flushing".
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