Looking Both Ways

by Dennis Damon

I heard my mother’s voice with that warning as I stepped from the curb at the corner of E 62nd and 3rd Ave in Manhattan and the urgent blat came from one of those yellow things that sped, despite my presence, around the corner toward its next confrontation. The cab made me retreat back to the sidewalk in unceremonious haste. I immediately heard her voice reminding me to, “Stop. Look both ways. Listen. Look again. Then walk, don’t run across the street,” just as she had instructed me those many years ago before she allowed me to walk home from kindergarten alone that first time. July 15, 1953. It was the day I had been begging for all summer. I was in kindergarten that summer. The classes were held in the basement of the grammar school. Stetson Grammar School, in Northeast Harbor was located at the corner of Summit Road and Millbrook Road. It is now a private summer residence.

My kindergarten day always started with my walk from home through the back yard, past Mrs. Black’s house, then past her daughter’s, Mrs. Bickford, on through the woods of my adventures, across Joy Road, through the newly dug gravel pit that had been carved out by the steam-shovel, up the far back where loose till made the climb fun, past Jughead’s house, the big kid who would later split my head with a rock, and finally across Summit Road to the school.

Kindergarten was only held in the summer. Since summer meant everyone in real school was out, my older sister was assigned to walk me to kindergarten and back.

I pleaded and begged that I knew the way. That I was big enough to go by myself. But nooo, every trip to and every return from kindergarten was in the company of … in the grasp of … her!

She didn’t like it either. She told me so and she demonstrated her disdain. Whenever I would stop to watch a caterpillar, or look for a newt under a rotting log, or pick up a stick that looked to me like a war gun, she would keep walking and make me run to catch up.

As the summer kindergarten wound toward its end, my incessant begging finally paid off. Whether Natalie was away or otherwise busy or Mum thought I should be given a chance I don’t recall. Whatever the case, the day did come when I was to finally walk home alone!

The route was explained over and over to me. I was questioned repeatedly about my understanding of it. I was not to come home through the woods. Mum probably thought I would become distracted. Instead, I was to stay on the sidewalk and I could cross the road only twice, at designated points. I was to cross first at the corner of Summit Road and Manchester Road, by Frankie’s house, and then at the corner of Manchester Road and Neighborhood Road, past Curtis’s house.

When the big day finally arrived I could not wait for kindergarten to get out. Everything that was usually fun seemed to drag on and on. Even the finger painting wasn’t keeping my interest. The snack of milk in a bottle with a paper cap and a graham cracker that I always sculpted into some plaything or design by taking small nibbles from strategic places wasn’t exciting today. After all, I was going to walk home by myself and that was all I cared!

Finally we were dismissed. As I walked down Summit Road, past the houses and past Rip Grave’s IGA store, I was sure everyone was looking out at me. So sure in fact that I eagerly waved and waved at every house. I waved, and skipped, and walked and half ran. I was a parade going by… a parade of one, but still quite a sight. (Come to think of it, perhaps some of you have seen me doing that same thing as I have paraded through your town on my way to the senate.)

“Hi everybody! I’m walking home all by myself!” What a day I was having.

The first crossing point came. All the precautions were remembered and heeded. “Stop.” “Look both ways.” “Listen.” “Look again.” “Walk, don’t run, across the street.”

It worked perfectly. “Hey! Look at me! I’m on the other side of the street!” Hah, pretty easy this walking home alone.

I walked on, more full of myself than before if that was possible. I can’t say I remember walking past Branscom’s Coal office or walking past Curtis’s house. I do recall coming to a point I thought would be a good crossing. It wasn’t actually at the corner of Neighborhood Road and Manchester as we had rehearsed. It was before that intersection not far from Curtis’s house. I reasoned if I crossed there I could walk between the houses and into the woods behind my house. From there I could easily walk home and not have to cross the road again. Besides this walking on the sidewalk was getting boring.

I stopped, looked both ways, listened, looked again. Good thing I did too, because there was a car coming. It was passing Curtis’s house. I stayed on the sidewalk and watched it approach. The car didn’t belong to anyone I knew. It was a “woody” station wagon. The kind the summer people drove. Coming as it was, the people inside were probably coming from the swimming club on their way to sail at the fleet. It was going very slowly “Come on! Come on you slow-poke. I’m going to cross the road and get home so everyone will know I am big enough to walk home alone! Come on.” Rolling slowing it finally got to me and focusing only on watching it pass by… I darted in the street behind it.
No sooner had I cleared the woody’s left rear bumper when I heard the terrible screech. It was the screech that tires make when they stop rolling on pavement. The screech that rubber makes when it is ripped from tire treads and left on the tar. And I saw in the shiny chrome of the other car’s huge front bumper the reflection of a very frightened little boy! It was the only thing and the last thing I saw.

When I came to, I was lying in grass. Not long grass. Mowed grass. A lawn. It was Curtis’s lawn. Looking up, the blue patch of sky was surrounded with faces. A circle of strangers faces all looking down at me.

In spite of all the people, I felt all alone and very scared. I wanted Mumma. Hell, I even wanted Natalie!

“His eyes are opening,” said one. “He’s waking up,” said another. “Are you all right?” said a third.

I started to cry. “I want Mumma.”

“Oh don’t cry,” the woman’s face said, “I’ll give you a mint if you don’t cry.”

It was a chocolate covered thin mint, the kind we got only when Mum snuck them home after cooking at a summer house. I loved them. I stopped crying and got a mint. Then with the mint eaten, I started crying again. Another mint. Stopped crying. Mint gone, more crying. More mints. Pretty basic behavior. Maybe summer people never heard of Pavlov. Eventually all the mints were gone and I became really hard to handle!

More people joined the circle of faces in the sky and finally there was one I knew.

“Dennis, are you all right?” she asked. It was Curtis’s mother. “No,” I sobbed, “but my leg hurts and I want Mumma! Do you have any mints?”

I thought I was paying attention on that day and I thought I was paying attention in New York.
I was disappointed and at the same time pleased by my brush with the world according to Yellow Cab. I was disappointed that now, still, I put myself in harm’s way when I know better. And I was pleased to hear Mum’s voice again. Her teaching remains and her lessons stay to guide me.

It’s nice to look both ways, back and forward and know she’s still there.