Outings In The Packard

 During summers in the early 1940s our parents packed my sister and me into the 1939 Packard for delightful Sunday afternoon automobile rides through the surrounding towns and countryside. Because of the war effort, gasoline was scarce and pleasurable motor trips were few and far between.

My father’s shiny black sedan had four doors and two outside running boards. Each running board had a rough rubber surface for protection against slips and falls. Nickel plated steel surrounded the headlights, taillights, engine grill, and door handles. The miniature solid nickel horse mounted on the hood gleamed in the Sunday afternoon sun.

Usually the motor trip took us to an ice cream parlor located on Division Street in Peekskill, New York where my father parked the car while we ate our treat and watched the Sunday strollers. We were not alone. Many families parked their automobiles and watched the sights along the streets of downtown Peekskill.

My mother and sister enjoyed walking and browsing at the women’s fashions displayed in the storefront windows. As soon as they left my father and I walked to Skolsky’s store. We lingered there mesmerized at the multiple sets of Lionel trains as they sped around the tracks that were laid out in the store’s gigantic plate glass window.

Sometimes our parents stood outside the car just talking and laughing. While leaning against the Packard they greeted and spoke to the Sunday strollers. Some were friends and acquaintances and others complete strangers. Conversations were usually about the war. They asked one another, "Whom do you know that was killed in action or wounded"? "How are you coping with the shortages of daily necessities"? "When do you think the war will end"? Old and new friends parted with a, "God Bless" and "See you next time".

Our outings always ended at the Steamboat Dock in Verplanck, New York where we scaled stones into the Hudson River and marveled at the variety of boats that sailed on by. With a flick of his wrist my father could make a smooth thin stone skip ten times over the water’s crest.

After removing our shoes and socks we ran up and down the sandy beach. Jumping in and out of the shallow water we got our clothes pretty wet. The river’s tides deposited driftwood of all shapes and sizes along the shoreline of the beach. Swimmers hung their towels on driftwood sections of tree branches and limbs. When we tired of throwing stones and running about we sat and rested on a thick dried out tree trunk that had washed on shore.

Passenger and freight trains of the New York Central Railroad traveled along the river’s opposite shore. As we saw one appear from behind a hill at Tompkins Cove we each guessed the train’s total number of cars. Although the trains were a mile or so away, the water amplified the chugging sound of the steam locomotives and the click clack of steel wheels passing over the track’s seams. We saw puffs of white smoke burst from the locomotive’s chimney and steam shoot out from underneath the wheels as it strained to pull its long heavy load. The locomotive’s whistle blew repeatedly and its bell rung continuously as the train passed through the Tompkins Cove quarry of the New York Trap Rock Company.

The breeze off the river smelled of salt water mixed with the odor of dried driftwood and moss covered rocks.

The dock itself was crowded with folks (crabbers) trying their luck at catching blue claw crabs that crawled and swam along the river bottom. Each crabber threw five to seven nets into the deep water, all at one time. Each net, baited with raw pieces of sunfish and perch, was attached to a length of rope. The other end of the rope was secured to one of the exposed steel spikes that lined the dock’s decaying wooden bulkhead.

The crabbers hauled their nets by tugging hand over hand on the hemp ropes. Once the nets were on shore crabs that were not entangled in the netting escaped. They scampered about the parking area furiously snapping their sharp claws for protection. Barefooted, I raced on my toes to the safety of my father’s car while the crabbers chased down the angry crabs.

Before leaving for home father occasionally took my sister and I for a ride in Punchy Keefe’s speedboat that was moored at the dock and few feet away from his hot dog stand.