Chasing the mosquito man

For all the DDT -- Drop Dead Twice -- sprayed

on hot summer evenings, the killer fog never seemed

to eradicate mosquitoes (or lightning bugs). One always managed

to squirm through a tiny hole in the metal screen

and spend most of the night buzzing your ear.

I saw the greatest minds of my dead end street running into the blue mist of the sweet-smelling cloud behind the Essex County Mosquito Man's Jeep.

Summer in the 1960s, and the living was good.

Sticky fly paper hung over the Maytag wringer washing machine next to the kitchen sink. Melmac cups were neatly stored on the yellow contact paper on the shelves behind the glass doors. Sometimes, you'd bug Ma while she was cooking and get to eat a raw hot dog. It was just like rolled baloney from Prosperi's around the corner store.

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Ghosts of Birthdays Past

"...The year I turned 19 my birthday drew the Selective Service Draft lottery number 319. Had I been born on June 6, my lottery number would have been 127. And I'm so glad that our family doctor gave my mom the wrong date. 

Had I been born on Memorial Day that year, my lottery number would have been 19, like my age. I would have found myself working in the service of Uncle Sam and likely sweating the last of my teen years in a foreign jungle instead of a coffee warehouse in Moonachie, N.J....   

I grew up with my Army men. They pounced on each other, shot each other, blew up on our living room rug, were bombed by all sorts of toy planes, attacked enemy convoys – all while my father, nearby, watched our black and white TV or slept in his recliner. He never said anything when I had my armies lined up to face off for battle...."

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Saving washers

Stored in My Memory Bank: The Pink Pig, Dad’s Silver 'Washers'

Dad was a carpenter, and each week he gave me the washers from his pay envelope. I’d plunk them onto my piggy bank. Yeah, that’s right, washers as in nuts, bolts and washers. He told me washers weren’t money and I couldn’t spend them on candy or toys. When we filled the pink pig, we brought them to the big, boring stone bank. They said when I turned 16, I could take the money out.

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