Iannuccilli: Trolleys on the Avenue

Iannuccilli: Trolleys on the Avenue

I was asked recently if I remembered trolleys from my youth. Some years ago, I wrote an article thereof, so I am taking the opportunity to revisit it.

The electric trolleys were masses of powerful metal tethered with poles to wires above that supplied the energy needed for gliding, rumbling and wobbling along their tracks while passing rows of merchants: the tailor, shoemaker, barber, grocer, the undertaker, baker, saloon keeper, liquor store owner, and fish-man.

Academy Avenue was a busy neighborhood street where people bustled along sidewalks and streetcars hummed along the street. Trolley tracks and overhead wires connected one end to the other; the trolley’s poles swaying underwires that looked like giant spider webs.

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The trolley was more than a ride.  It was an adventure. Sometimes I saw a dead mouse crushed in the tracks and wondered what a cat would look like…or a dog.  Or maybe half my foot. I purposely caught my shoe in the track.

Dad, in a rare moment of defiance and bravery when no trolley or autos were in sight smirked, “Watch me drive the Chevy on the tracks.  Do you feel us gliding, Edward?  How she slides so smoothly?" He was excited, but just as quickly as he got on the tracks, he got off but loving his moment of mischief.  On a face that would have tightened in disapproval if he knew what we did with the trolleys, he now had a wispy smile of triumph. I tried it with my bike, but the wheels got stuck in the track.

It was the older kids who pulled the big adventures.  I might put caps in the tracks to hear the rat-a-tat-tat. That was it.  But those guys tried the formidable cherry bomb which might, we thought, jolt the car near off the track.  In my trusty Keds, I buzzed by the bakery and hid behind the building to hide.  This wasn’t blind man’s bluff or Red Rover.  This was the real thing. But, the cherry bomb fizzled.

The real thrill was when they ran after the car, jumped and pulled the boom off the wire.  Screech…the sound of the untethered trolley coming to an abrupt powerless halt. Down the steps and around to the rear came the mumbling conductor to reattach the boom. “Damn kids!!”

They dug up the tracks one day and replaced them with a smooth, black street. Gone were the rumbles, clickety clacks and screeches.  Gone was another neighborhood institution. I didn’t need much more to bond me to the neighborhood because I lived, learned and played there, but the trolley was among the favorites.

I drove to Atwells and Academy Avenues recently.  I visualized the trolley following the streets of my youth where we found fun, friendship, and familiarity.

Now, so many years later, I think about those distant scenes.  As time passes, I grow more nostalgic for the memories of youth.  Though the trolley and the tracks are long gone, their image remains.

Wait…was that a screech I heard?

 

Ed Iannuccilli is the author of "Growing up Italian" and "What Ever Happened to Sunday Dinner?" and "My Story Continues"  can be found here.