Dec. 20, 2003 - 19:40 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

A Long Time Ago

I remember winter-waiting at the curb downtown for my street car to come. Usually it was the last one in sight, way down there.

Toes a'freezin' wind tunneling up the street and down my neck. My gloves, one on my left hand where is was securing the packages in my arm and my right hand bare ready to delve in my pocket for carfare. In the meantime said hand tried to snug up in same pocket. Pitiful innit ? But then I was young, fiesty, full of life and had enough sense to step into one of the stores to warmup a bit before going back out to the curb to wait once again for a streetcar.

Our street cars set up pretty high. They had a steel under frame holding the running gear and motor. The rest of the car was wood and glass. They were long and the frame had enough give to twist a bit now and then. We kids could make one really rock by standing at the back end and throwing our weight back and forth. Anyway there were about three steps up from the street to the floor of the car. It took a bit of fancy footwork to mount the steps, packages in one arm, right hand delving for carfare. Digging the fare out and putting it in the change box and then making my way back in an already moving car to find a seat. Then sitting down and trying to determine if there was any heat going and could maybe ease my wraps a bit, tuck the muffler, stow the glove, etc. Then settle in for the ride.

With luck I could get a seat away from the door that opened to let passengers off. In the winter time a frigid blast from that open door could ice my blood to slush, and set me up for a chilly ride home, the cars would stop to let off passengers frequently.

With a bit more luck I would get a seat by the window. Then wiping the condensation off the glass, putting my face close and shielding my eyes from the glare of the lit car I could watch all the familiar scenery go by on the way home. That was part of my routine, noting the changes and loving the familar. Having taken that ride since a tyke I loved that whole schmear. Once in a while I would be with a friend or meet one on the car. Then the outside was just out there doing its thing and conversation held my attention while I enjoyed the ride in that manner.

One nice thing, at least for me it was, that that wooden body on the steel frame would make interesting creaks as we went along and the steel frame was long enough to allow it to twist a bit and the wooden body of course would follow suit. It was fun to watch the front of the car twist one way while the part I was in twisted in the opposite direction. Late at night when the motorman could speed up a bit the car would sway, twist and rock a bit. Fun for me, it was.

Another thing that was worth a gander were the ads in their curved holders up near the ceiling, they changed often.

Then would come the time to count the blocks before my stop, re-wrap my skinny neck, close my jacket put both gloves on and tighten my grip on my packages preparing to pull the bell cord in time for the motorman to stop at my corner.

Then it was down the steps back into the cold. Not much wind in the neighborhoods compared to the gale between the buildings downtown. Often though there would be snow to scuff through. Before I would get home the streetcar's wheels would be squealing when it turned east on Evans Avenue headed toward Denver University.

Once inside home, reveling in the warmth, shedding wraps those clumsy, binding instruments of torture.

I guess that it sounds like cruel and unusual punishment to a city kid of this day and age, those who step out the door and into a heated auto and are let off at the door of the mall, just a mere step or two back into warmth.

But when I was a kid, (and I really was one back then) if a family had a car it was for outings and visiting, transportation otherwise was by streetcar and most everywhere one wanted to go back then had a nearby street car line. Busy times of the day the street car would pull a trailer in the morning and evening.

I miss those days and the spirit of adventure in my soul then, the energy I had and the curiosity I had but, you know, that was A Long Time Ago . . . . . . . . . .

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