THE SCOOTER1
There was no Dick and Jane. The first literary hero whose exploits I joyfully anticipated reading was Tom…of Tom and Nancy. These were the two protagonists (although they did not seem to suffer in the least) who ushered us all, in Mrs. Callanan’s 1A, into the wonderful world of pages. They passed us the keys, showed us how to lift the inky words to the light revealing the color; the stories and the friends the words carried. Tom and Nancy taught us how distracting, how exciting and compelling paper pages could be. And the words were the bridges between thought and imagination. But sometimes the lessons got lost in confusion, oddly brought about.2
There was the steady flow of tears each day for awhile from Nancy Solomon, one of the five- year- olds in our class. I felt complete incomprehension. But her crying was because her name, her private and personal name was carried by Nancy, our heroine, and read aloud by all. Nancy, the student, bitterly complained to her friend Nicole that too much attention was now focused upon her, thanks to the common name. She was no longer sheathed in tolerable anonymity. She now shared attention with the Nancy of fiction which she did not sport comfortably. Perhaps either or both of them were teased, made fun of, pointed to or singled out, and a slight to one was a slight to the other. And maybe Nancy felt her simple life could not compare to our heroine’s exploits; the romance, the adventure. I remember Nicole placing a consoling hand on Nancy’s convulsing shoulder, saying, “I know. I know how you feel; it used to happen to me.” I wondered about that. Such sagacity. Such worldliness. 3
I, on the other hand, wholly identified with Tom. What Tom did, I wanted to do. Tom was my hero. His deeds stood out sharply. They were well defined. What he did was right; the thing to do. And, it was fun.4
The most exciting thing I can recall about Tom was his skates. He had a pair of roller skates. It was my favorite page; the page on which Tom put on his skates. There was an illustration of our hero, rosy-cheeked and pink-faced, seated on a stoop, putting on his skates. It was always the first page I turned to when Mrs. Callanan said: “Take out your readers.” The following page had Tom skating. There wasn’t much more to the episode than that but it was enough. It reaffirmed my identity. It reinforced my interest. It reasserted my goal for the end of the day. Like Tom, when school was out I would go home, put on my roller skates, and like Tom, my friend and hero, I too would skate.5
Fortunately, I had the skates. At my grandmother’s apartment in the Bronx, only a couple of trolley car rides away from Washington Heights, not counting the bus that took us through Crotona Park, to Bryant Avenue, there was one magical spot for me. It was the corner of a hallway closet where my grandmother kept a pair of Everlast boxing gloves and a pair of skates.6
On the Saturdays my mother and I visited, it defined how I spent the afternoon. First stop: The closet! They were still there! I put on the skates and the boxing gloves and exhausted the next few hours skating around the apartment’s wood floors, wearing the oversized boxing gloves. 7
One day, when the war was over and my uncles came home, the skates became mine! They were steel, and for the duration of the war and a time afterward, they could not be found for sale anywhere. Unlike the roller blades of the future these marvels had no attached shoe or boot; they clamped to the sole of your shoe, strapped around your ankle, and got fastened with your skate key, a wrench-like tool made to fit around a small iron rod beneath the skate. This could be rotated, which in turn tightened (or loosened) the front clamps and sent you on your way, skate key hanging around your neck on a piece of string, the entire affair soon to be lost. “Could I borrow your skate key?” 8
On the concrete sidewalks roller skates hardly characterized stealth. The clatter was unmistakable and disturbing, even to the skater, and often forced him or her off the sidewalk into a smoother, quieter, tarred gutter, however parent-frowned upon because of oncoming traffic. “Don’t skate in the street!”9
So it was, expedited by the difficulties and dangers inherent in roller skating, that with little objection or resistance, and minimal regret after a year or so, the skates followed the path of natural skate evolution. And as the egg becomes the chick, as the caterpillar becomes the butterfly, the skate became…the scooter.10
Mostly during the autumn, sometimes with the approach of spring, home-made scooters began to appear. They tore down hills and ripped around corners, the front rider’s foot frantically pumping at the street, his hands grasping the orange crate top. Sometimes the coachman squatted down behind the box, navigating through slats. Sometimes the chauffeur rode two, as a surprise passenger would appear after a harrowing ride, grasping knees, keeping balance, and ducking low, until the last moment. This tactic was useful in war games and smuggling spies into enemy camps.11
All you needed was a crate, a two by four slat, some nails and a pair of skates. Actually, one skate was enough, since it came apart. The front got nailed to one end of the two by four’s underside, the rear wheels fastened to the opposite end. 12
I never got the large orange crate. My box was smaller. It was the only crate the fruit store man had left. It had held peaches. But it made my contraption look different. Across the top were handle bars (which I never held, holding instead to the box itself), and to make it really unique, I inserted a shelf about four inches from the top for magazines; a kind of glove compartment. It could also hold cupcakes and a snack. I even hung a little cloth over the shelf. A kind of curtain. We didn’t own a car, but I was determined to remedy that. This was my vehicle.13
Perhaps the most unique feature of this contraption was that my mother allowed it into the apartment. Most of the kids on the block kept theirs in the cellar. But not mine. Not my cream puff. My mother might have drawn the line had I used an orange crate. But the peach box made the cut.14
On chilly fall days I recall taking the thing down in the elevator, its shelf fully stocked with magazines, cookies and gloves. For the most part, I only sat around our corner on 178th street and read the magazines, my trusty steed at my side. I never even ventured down the block.15
When differences arose at home, and feelings were chafed, I knew I could easily pack the scooter and hop aboard the next day, and before you knew it be well on my way to…who could say? Maybe as far as Oklahoma! Texas! Even though I had hardly ever gotten as far as two blocks. But one day, if they pushed far enough, I would just head south.16
I once owned an old Oldsmobile. It was my first car. It was exciting. At the end of the first week I had it, I drove from North Carolina to New York. But it could never have taken me as far as that scooter.17
In the days of the scooter, just for some perspective, there were three major auto makers in the U.S.: Ford, GM and Chrysler. Top of the line was Lincoln, Cadillac and Chrysler. The more economical cars included the Chevy, Ford and Plymouth. In between were Dodge, Desoto, Pontiac, Oldsmobile and Buick. There was also a smattering of oddball cars: Hudson, Nash, Studebaker, Packard, Kaiser-Fraser. But not so many you couldn’t keep track.18
There have been countless automobiles since; hundreds. But never, anywhere, has there ever been a machine that rode so smooth, that was as powerful, that looked so neat, and that could take you as far as that 1947 scooter. They just don’t build them like that anymore. But there is another factor which should be noted.19
There was this tiny, little four-year-old I saw just the other day. She couldn’t have stood more than two and a half feet off the ground. She was riding, ever so slowly, a shiny, sleek, store bought, state-of-the-art scooter. She was battened down with a helmet that must have weighed more than she did. The thing had more belts, straps and eyelets than you could fasten in a month and most likely cost more than the scooter. It was a manufacturer’s coup. 20
Just looking at it, I knew the little girl’s scooter couldn’t have gone to Oklahoma. It didn’t have the power, it didn’t have a secret, private compartment, and with that helmet over her eyes, you couldn’t even see the fun in front of you. It was no peach crate. They just don’t make them like that anymore.21
Author notes
Mango's dance...on the moon!
A contest entry
- Do you have an opinion? by Shadowed Phoenix.
775 points, ended September 21, 14 entries
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Post whatever ya feel like...almost by Shadows Falling.
270 points, ended November 22, 17 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Firsts by Eddie.
350 points, ends December 7, 13 entries
• next story in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 46 of 46
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Cute. It was a rather cute story, and I liked it! I loved how you ended it, I thought that was a perfect ending!!
Great!! 
Fall
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Powerful, as always, Gary.
Taking a little thing such as a scooter and creating a wonderful tapestry of memories and messages ... you're the best at this.
Well done.
RJ
. Rewarded 4
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Is the point your trying to get across that the older, self-made, creations are better and more exsiting then the newer, industrialized, contraptions? If not then please clarify.
I like this story alot. It reminds me of when me and my brother use to take old boards and use them as sleds because we eaither didn't have one or the plastic ones had broken. You could slam and old plank into a tree a dozen times and it only chipped if you did that with a plastic sled...
The grammar was wonderful, your language was prosise, the story was cute and well formatted. I really enjoyed reading this. Thank you for entering my contest. -
That was a very well-written story. I loved the ending, how they don't make scooters like that anymore. Great job!
~Kate-kat
. Rewarded 4
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This was rather cute
I liked it! Nice job.
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thank you for entering it was an interesting read
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I felt that this was, as an autobiographical piece, just the kind of ramble that marked it out as "real" even if it wasn't if you follow me. As a story it was too flaccid and, in the end, unfocused. Nevertheless, welln written.
Donald. Rewarded 4
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Dr Who
I swear each time you write it's like steeping into that phone booth. You never fail to amaze or inspire. Even though some may think that this is out of fashion and dated, they have to memorized by the simple beauty of your spill. You always manage to not just tell a story, but manage to pulls along as you relive your memories!
I am running out of ways to say you are amazing!
. Rewarded 8
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this was great i agree with the previous comment the imagery in this was terrific. very well written awsome job!
. Rewarded 4
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The visual imagery is terrific, spiced with the sense of longing to 'just have the scooter' back one more time. I had the metal wheeled skates and we lived at the bottom of a hill. I would march solemnly up to the top, join the boys(I was the only girl allowed to wear jeans)
and the exhilarating terror would begin. Thank you so much for reminding me of those days!
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Hmmm, this was a very interesting write. Excellently written, that's for sure. Nice job. You've got a real talent. Good job with this story. Keep on writing. God Bless!
. Rewarded 4
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Amazing!
This is the best piece I have read so far on this site. Your speech is flawless and the story is truly beautiful. Your beginning hook was very effective, and your final paragraph really made me think. This narrative is honestly astounding in its quality. Bravo! I can't wait to hear more from you.. Rewarded 6
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my grandmother writes stories, as she went through about the same time period you did. She lived in the country, though. It's interesting to read the difference between people who lived in the city and people who lived on the farms during the time after the depression.
I feel like television has been the downfall of imagination. I have no notion of a time where things had to be made up in this way. It does hold a bit of magic to me, though, this age that you speak of. Quality has diminished over the decades. It seems that a lot of things have lost their shimmer.
I wish that I'd been there to see it. -
Wow you are talented
I loved reading, my mother came down to tell me dinner was ready and now dinner is over, I loved it, I loved it, I loved it, I think this is great!!!!
Loved it,
Crazy Lover
-Hugs and Kisses-
4evr
Crazy Lover, Kyny. Rewarded 4
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Awesome!
Boy, you really turned the big guns on me! In the vernacular, that was awesome!
I won’t make believe I can judge or criticize your work. It comes across as professional and polished. I can only comment on how it strikes me as a reader.
I lived through the period you described and as a child of the depression, I remember well the sound of those roller skate scooters on city streets and sidewalks and participated in the creation of a few. Not nearly as elegant as the one you described I’m afraid. My memory is not nearly as good as yours but your story brought sounds and images to the surface again.
Your reference to, “my trusty steed at my side” raised memories of a feeling that I still carry of having a vehicle that could take me to out of the way places and be there to take me back when I am ready. For me it was first a bicycle, later a car, and still later an airplane but the basic feeling is still the same as you felt about your scooter.
As was mentioned repeatedly in the comments, you have a unique talent for recreating memories.
Lou
. Rewarded 8
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Whenever I read your stories it always draws me in. A child's point of view has been potrayed so deftly. This is really a fantastic piece. You were right, I really enjoyed reading it.
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Once again, I find myself reading a wonderful tale from you.
The evolution from skate to scooter was wonderful and the escape that came with it.
Heh, I don't think my mom would ever allow me to have a scooter in my home (or skates for that matter, lol).
Fantastic job!
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EVOLUTION
Again, there's my old theme of reality vs. dreams...confinement vs. escape. And so far as development goes, whereas the character begins with a dream on the page of a book...the dream materializes into something more tangible...that morphs into scooter...scooter through dream again, becomes the great automotive wonder machine!And THAT brings us full circle...from "thing" to dreams...which, when you come down to it, is essense of the best fun!
Glad you enjoyed it! Whoosh!
GA
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I love this story. It starts of well and throughout the course if it, it carries that same experienced-author touch. I like the view on technology, too. This reminds me of the kinds of stories my grandparents would tell.
. Rewarded 4
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Always the idea is...to move!
Back then...the old Scooter served to whisk me forward...now I guess it serves to take us back. Either way, it had horsepower! I'm glad to move readers one way or the other. Glad you enjoyed the tale.
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FANTASTIC
So very well done. Things like this are the reason I love to read. There I was in the city, wearing old-fashioned skates, then riding a home-made scooter. You let me live another life for a few minutes.
Actually I lived in the country where skates or scooters wouldn't have worked, but I know what you mean about the skates and have seen the homemade scooters in movies.
Have to agree with the ending. Here I am a grandfather who can white water, ski, hang glide or bungee jump if I'm willing to pay the fine...but I'm forced to wear a helmet to ride my bike in the city or get a ticket. Do they believe I'll get brain damaged? First you have to find a brain.
Thanks for some great writing
Jim
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This Scooter seems to transport everyone
So delighted really that you scooted by to read...travel...and comment. Always means a lot. We travel together and it means much to me to be able to share the voyage. Thanks again. Glad the trip was worth the effort...and a scenic, pleasant one.
Til' next time.
GA
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< No...Thank YOU!
(This is getting ridiculous!) But you flatter me again, sir. Now I must try to live up to all of this...particularly in light of...in mere view of, what I read of yours! May I repeat...Holy Moly! (An old American exclamation favored by one Captain Marvel and his alter ego Billy Batson!)
Thanks again,
GA -
A nice little glance into the past. Lovely work with this.
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Nice, Little...
Ah...but my head swells!
Thank you for reading this.
GA
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Here, GA, is the comment you've been waiting for on this story. Toldja I'd get around to it!
I absolutely adore the beautiful description and emotions weaving through this gem of a short story. It draws you in and captures you, and makes you feel like you're right there.
I've actually got some motivation tonight, and this has totally helped. Now I just need to find something to write ABOUT! hehe!
Sky. Rewarded 8
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Almost like a horse!
For kids...the engine...the transport...the horse...is within. Glad to have had you aboard...even for a little while. And glad to have revved your engine for a bit!
GA
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I love it. ah, what fond memories it brings. good job!
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Nostalogic 'Ncredibleness!
Loved it! Great description, made me feel like a little kid with the wind in my hair and the pavement at my heels. Very good story, flows well, too.
. Rewarded 4
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What Horsepower!
See? My Scooter works even on paper!
Thanks for dropping by.
GA
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Again, there is that wonderful and distinctive way with which you write your short stories. Each time I begin them I think "Nah, he can't pull it off. This style narrative is out of fashion." Yet each time I'm pleasantly surprised (You'd think I've learned to stop doubting you by now!). You make the story fresh and interesting each time. And even in the little places where I wonder if the characters really would act that way in real life, the story makes me suspend my disbelief.
It's wonderful and a breath of fresh air.
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Ye of little faith?
Thanks so much for reading, commenting so kindly, and above all, for keeping your word. I appreciate an intelligent reader. Glad you enjoyed the story...(so far I've been pretty lucky on this site! lol!) I'll try to live up to it. I DO write for the readers...so it's an obsession! Fresh and interesting is an imperative!
GA
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This is a very genuine-feeling period piece; either you did a lot of research, or you were there. There's a lot of good background information. You're very talented with words, although I think you need to be careful about overdoing it. The paragraph about Nancy Solomon struck me as very discordant. The language just didn't match up with the subject. Nancy and Nicole didn't feel like 5-year olds.
I like your attention to details. They give the story its authenticity. Again though, a little more moderation might be prudent. You get the idea of a reminiscing narrator, but you don't want to spend too much time in description.
The ending was a great way of bringing it to the present and putting things into perspective. It cements this as the classic "good old days" tale. I never really got into the scooter thing, but you definitely make a good case for the orange box style (and so does Back to the Future). Bravo!
. Rewarded 8
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Thanks very much but...
Appreciate your comments. Oddly, on the Nancy/Nicole bit...you've certainly got a point, but this was why the narrator was so confounded and nonplussed. The conversation actually took place....It was always an enigma to the narrator...then as well as now! At least he makes that observation in the telling of it (hoping that would have served to mollify and lend credibility. Guess I failed lol!)Nicole was French and fancied herself as a very grown-up, mature young lady of the world. (Perhaps she was six!)
Thanks for your generous words.
GA
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Nice story...
This was a relaxing read. Since it was a little on the long side, I waited until I was sitting down with a big bowl of cheerios so I'd have something to focus on while eating. lol.
It was an enjoyable little trip back into an era long before I was born, and almost reminded me of those narrative-type movies we've all seen about childhood of days long past, where a disembodied voice is telling much of the story as an adult, while walking us down memory lane.
You covered a handful of topics...from classroom story time, to the skates, to the scooter, to cars...lol, and it was all very interesting. (I didn't even notice the exclamation points someone else complained of though!! haha)
Anyway...you're right, I did like it. Thanks for telling me about it so I could check it out. It was a nice way to spend the time while I had to be sitting down eating anyway (as opposed to just turning on the tv, which I didn't really want to do.) I usually don't have a huge attn span for reading longish stories, which is why I generally stick to the short stuff on here, but yours held my attn enough to keep me reading to the end.
Nice job.
. Rewarded 8
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Food for thought
Thank you. I am flattered and gratified. First that this took the place of some TV viewing...second that it held your interest. I am also pleased that you noticed how the tale covered a slew of topics and timeframes from first grade stories to skates to scooters to cars. Glad you noticed. Hope the saga went down well with the Cheerios.
Cheerio!
Thanks again,
GA
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U.S.: (funny looking)
Top of the line was Lincoln-->Top of the line models were Lincoln
They just don’t make them like that anymore.--> sometimes cliched phrases are more comforting "they just don't make them like they used to."
Nice pace, only awkward change was abrupt transition from memory as kid to telling about Oldsmobile.
As always, seems to go without saying in everything you write, I liked it.
Very good writing and I like your style.
I'm wanting to know how much is loosely auto-biographical from your memories or if it's all fiction :-)
~Six
(Sorry ahead of time if this posts twice, my computer is acting funny.)
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I liked your writing in this story. It was very good. I also liked the stories progression from skates to scooter, it flowed very smoothly for me. I have a hard time relating to the subject matter because of the way that I grew up but you did a great job of providing adequate background so that I was able to picture it in my mind.
Great work! Keep it up.. Rewarded 6
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We paint with words...and book short trips!
Glad to have whisked you away, albeit on skates and a scooter with which you may not have been familiar to start with. But this is the job of a writer. Thank you for taking the time and making the effort to bring it all about.
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It was good, as much as all of your stories. Getting away from the symbolism, it was just a good story. However I must say that granting your eloquent writing style, deep and symbolic stories are more complementary and fit more to what you create as your literary personality. Also, the story somehow felt half there when I read it. I don't know why. I think the narrator could have maybe related his childhood to his adult life in a more personal way. Know what I'm saying? If you don't, then just ignore this because I'm not completely sure I know what I'm saying either. But still, good job!
Random notes I took during the reading:
This story, just reading into the second paragraph, has the most extensive vocabulary of any I've read of yours.
In the fourth paragraph, I think, you could possibly omit "He had a pair of roller skates." and put roller in front of skates in the first or third sentence to specify. It just sounded like "skates" a lot to me.
Exclamation points in the narration has always been something that bothered me. I've put down books becasue of it. I think in some spots, you could get rid of it. It was just once I think I got that feeling though, so you might want to keep it. It might just be me.
Random relation to the story: I had a pair of extremely old skates that still had skate keys. It just made me happy you mentioned them.
The random notes like "just for your perspective," and "which should be noted" tend to take away from the narrative and don't really go with the whole raconteur feeling you've got going.. Rewarded 8
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From one good skate to another.
I appreciate the comment about "symbolic" type stories being more my...milieu. It's just nice to think of myself as being cut for more "profound" efforts (lol). But I enjoyed writing this piece, and feel you may have enjoyed reading it as well. Hope so. As for the graph with the multi mention of "skates"...what can I offer? The damn things don't have too many synonyms. And, I really wanted the reader, at THAT specific point, to get into the first grader's...and my narrator's POV. Thanks for the vocab comment, although I try not to contrive a tone nor do I wish to sound affected or pretentious. I know, from other comments you have made, that you are vocabulary conscious. This is good, but I didn't try for it, nor was I aware of it. But I accept!(Sorry for the exclamation point!)
(Whoops.)
Thanks again. Enjoyed your comments, as usual.
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Nice story
You were right I did enjoy this story. I like the way you map out the town. I feel like I've been there or some place like it.
I have a short story you might like its called the Green Cats Eye Marble. Its a short story that takes place during the Depression. My real baby I'm working on is called 1940. I would value your opinion on that one. I plan to put up a part 2 soon
Rose -
I love the background you gave on this. Starting with the metal skates and moving on up to the scooter. I, myself, am too young to remember metal skates new, but my mother had some left at my grandmothers and an old oval skateboard that I just loved. This story brings up lots of 'remember when's. Remember when you could get the small glass coke bottles out of the machines and you had to pull them? Sometimes they would come out and sometimes they wouldn't. Or when you could walk down the street and all your friends would be out playing baseball in the cornfield (I came from a small town). Thank you for sharing this. It made me want to cry for things long gone and smile at the things I remembered.
~*Brooke*~
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Thanks for stopping to read this and comment. I am always gratified when my tales reach a reader on an emotional level. And this one, is one of my least "symbollic" stories...and your feeling of wanting to weep for what has become lost is "right on." I feel the same, Brooke.
The question now is, I guess, where do we "go" from here? And what joy can we feel in getting there!...(or the not getting there!)
GA -
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I would hope that we can go back to those days, but it feels like we can't. Too much information and children aren't as innocent as we were.
Brooke
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