SLEDDING IN THE EARLY YEARS

SLEDDING IN THE EARLY YEARS

We could not be held back when it snowed; these first flakes causing a riot in our apartment in the projects in Long Island City, N.Y. in the 1940’s. We were like two little wild tigers. Every apartment had kids growling and rioting.  You’d think we’d never seen snow.  Every window got opened and flakes of snow were tasted.  Little snowballs were brought inside and placed lovingly on an ice-box shelf. This snow was a special one. Our radios had not really warned us; our neighbors hadn’t talked about it yet.

             The Great Blizzard of 1947 was a record-breaking snowfall that began on Christmas and was described as the worst blizzard after 1888. The storm was not accompanied by high winds, but the snow fell silently and steadily.  By the time it stopped on December 26, measurement of the snowfall reached 26.4 inches (67.1 cm) in Central Park and on my streets. Automobiles and buses and trolley cars were stranded in the streets, subway service was halted, and parked vehicles initially buried by the snowfall were blocked further by packed mounds created by snow plows once they were able to begin their operation.  Once trains resumed running, they ran twelve hours late.  Seventy-seven deaths were attributed to this blizzard.

            Who cared about this? Who understood it? Not 4 ½ year old me, Judith, or my little sister, Gladys, 2, or the millions of other kids screaming to go out. “We are ready, ready, ready,” we said, 2 of us not even dressed yet for the occasion. Probably we would have gone in pajamas. We got loaded into our snowsuits, zipped up to our chins, our little smiles barely visible, our scarves on, mittens, hats, earmuffs, boots too, and schmears of Vaseline on our cheeks and lips to prevent chapping. “You two look like wrapped Chanukah gifts,” my mother said. And we just couldn’t contain ourselves. Down from its resting place in the corner of the closet came the sled, the “Flexible Flyer”.  Samuel Leeds Allen patented the Flexible Flyer in 1889 in New Jersey using local children and adults to test it. Allen's company flourished by selling these speedy and yet controllable sleds at a time when others were still producing toboggans and "gooseneck" sleds.  Our sled had been updated with a back rest so the two of us could sit together, me against the back, legs open, Gladys in front of me, both of us creating a huddle. We were to be pulled together. Daddy was the puller. He liked that better than being called “horsey horsey”. He got ready too. Out came the long blue well worn wool overcoat, his handmade by mom muffler and his leftover wool army khaki green hat from just a few years ago when there was a big war. He had huge gloves and of course galoshes. Those big black things with 8 metal buckles, a huge tongue and non-skid soles. Perfect for galloping along in the snow, or trudging, pulling the buggy.  I have saved one galosh all these years.  

            We were ready, all three of us.  Mom gave us a thermos, breakable then, filled with hot chocolate, and covered with its red plastic cups.  She stayed home, watching at the window, probably happy to have a break.  We pressed the elevator button on our 6^th floor, heading down into the whiteness of the world. Snow seemed cleaner then. We hoped for mountains of snow, for trails of slipperiness, for the wonderland and the wonder of it all. We surveyed the land. We tested the snow.  It was the kind that day that would be perfect for our travels. 

            I sat against the back; my sister, in between my legs. Dad held onto the rope which was attached in a way that let the cross piece turn the sled in left and right directions.  And he pulled. Maybe trotted. He zoomed us around the building, around the park, on the sidewalks, alongside the grassless spaces, in and out of craters. We could have been anywhere; it could have been the moon. Such was the joy and the mystery. Our giggles were echoed by giggles of others and their dads. The whole world was giggling. 

            When we were soaking wet , icicles dripping from our noses,  and the words “don’t catch colds” rang in our pink frozen ears, dad zipped us around and decided to bring us home, home only if we could do this again, later? but definitely tomorrow?  “Promise?”  So he began the trek. We were heavier from the snow and it was still falling. But when daddy looked back at us, us now being only me, and when he pulled, he felt a difference. Along the way my sister had slipped off. Maybe I let go of her.  Maybe I pushed her. I didn’t say. I still don’t know.  But there she was a few feet away, white as a snow bunny, in her little warren, her face redder than red, and I thought her tears, icicles. She hadn’t said a word.  She didn’t know a lot of words then. Oh, she would later! Maybe her tongue froze. Dad glared at me.  That glare could have melted the snow on the continent.  He lifted her, put her back in between my squirmy soaky legs. We were almost home. At the stoop of our building, rising from the sled, we shook like wet puppies, not daring to bring our snow or wet into the apartment.  There were a million “shooking” kids, still laughing and like us covered in white.

            We left our footprints in the snow as we clomped to remove it from our boots and clothing; we slapped our mittens together causing our own little blizzards and the most wonderful noise. We brushed off every inch of the sled and along with all these worldly goods, left it outside of our apartment, hoping it would be there the next day.

            Mom helped us warm up. Rubbing was the order of the day. I’m not sure it made us warmer but it was so loving. She got us our little bed quilts and told us we could sit on the radiator-- she called it “the steam.” We each claimed one. We watched our big fat looking dad slim down as he took off layer after layer of wetness. Mom already had the hot chocolate and whipped topping and chocolate chip cookies ready.  She brought it to each of us in our favorite little cup. And she kissed our red noses and pinched a little our red ears and sort of fluffed up our damp hair. I could swear she had tears in her eyes. She hung up our things, still stiff with ice, on the little clothes rack in the tub. They would thaw. The snow would melt.  Life was good; good seemed endless.