July 1, 1968 (from chapter 8 of "Families")

    The first of July was a Monday and so the people of Olney started the workweek. At the breakfast table, what talk there was turned to the heat that was already overwhelming the window fans in the kitchen. On Sunday night, the weather reports warned that highs would be in the upper nineties. By 7:00 a.m., warm air had already muscled aside the lingering coolness of the night. People going to work planned ways to escape the heat as best they could throughout the work day. Women who stayed at home, decided to put off the laundry and vacuuming until tomorrow. The kids wondered if anyone would turn on the fire hydrants.

     Usually, Steven stayed up late and slept through the morning, but the heat wouldn’t allow him to sleep and by 7:00 a.m. he was on front step, breakfast eaten, ready to go. The sun in the cloudless sky beat down on the cars lining 4th Street. Many had been washed and waxed over the weekend and they gleamed in the angled rays of the swiftly rising sun. Kate was upstairs eating breakfast with Agnes and Helen, but she’d  worked all night and would soon be sleeping. Steven hoped the fan in her bedroom would cool the room down enough to let her sleep. 

         Steven rarely left the house before nine or ten, by which time Olney was quiet. Most men and more women than people realized had already gone to work. He decided to take a walk and see what Olney at seven in the morning was like. As he wandered through the familiar streets, he noticed that men had replaced the usual crowd of women and children. They walked purposefully out of their doors often glancing at their watches to see if they were on time or if they had to rush through the heat that seemed to build by the minute.  Steven felt his arms tingle, a warning that Summer’s first sun burn was beginning. Steven saw people he knew and people he only recognized. As he walked, some greeted him by name and asked after his mother or Mrs. McGill. A few ran a quick hand over his crew cut and made a little joke. Others walked by with a nod in his direction or, preoccupied with thoughts of work, without any sign that they were they shared the sidewalk with a young boy who should be home at this hour. Steven bobbed along aimlessly, a random element in the regular pattern of people tracing their daily path to work.

      On 3rd Street, the Henkel’s walked to the train station for the short ride to Reading Terminal and from there the brief walks to their downtown office towers. Mr. Schmidt loaded the last case of samples of safety equipment into his station wagon and drove off to his first sales call. Mr. Levin, a teacher at Morrison elementary, woke up at the usual time, and, enjoying his summer vacation, sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and a novel. Over on 2nd, Mr. Harper dropped his wife at the bank, then drove to the truck terminal to pick up his steel hauler. By 8:30 a.m. he’d be at a mill picking up a load of steel beams to haul to a building site in Jersey.

       The men who worked in factories dreaded these hot days. The few fans on the  plant floor did little more than push around the hot air. By afternoon the smell of oil and sweat would pervade the factory floor. Men would be trapped between the heat from the line and heat from the open skylights. Knowing this, knowing this day would bring would bring eight hours of sweaty, exhausting labor, the men went to work, because it was Monday and on Monday you went to work. Mr. Marino rode the bus to the Westinghouse factory across from the Silver Rocket diner. Mr. Doyle left before sunrise in his Rambler to drive to Bucks County and the Wheeling Steel plant. Everyday was a day of fire and heat for him. Mr. Schneider drove to a machine shop in Germantown. He’d work with doors and windows open, a small fan mounted on his die press. The Lewis brothers met at the 26 bus stop to go to the Bulletin’s printing presses. The heat in the press rooms would be horrible. Jack Mitchell was already loading his delivery van at Whiting Paper. He’d broken a sweat and it wasn’t even 8:00 a.m. yet. John Kinney walked to a friend’s, who drove him Philadelphia Gear, where they both worked. They decided to go to the air conditioned diner across the street for lunch. Mr. Ruch was on his way to Western Electric. He hoped the new exhaust system he’d help install would cool the plant at least a little. Mr. Bryant waited outside the gates of French’s to get a last breath of fresh air before entering the factory, while Mr. Modesta finished his last cigarette before walking through the gates at Crow Cork and Seal Co. Eugene McGovern checked his pockets for his notebook where he’d sketched an improvement he want want to try out on a new valve his team was working on, then he headed to the Boulevard for the slow drive to Combination Pump and Valve shops. Mr. Coyle was in for a long hot day on the Budd line and was dreading it, as was Mr. Bremme over at Heintz. They were both wondering what it would like to slip away and spend the afternoon watching movies at the air conditioned Fern Rock theater. Bob Poderis worked at Penn Reels. Around 11:00 a.m., he’d pick a reel, spin the handle, listen to the spool smoothly clicking, test the bail and the drag knob, then close his eyes and imagine he was in the cool Poconos on the bank of a lake, dozing under a tree, his fishing line drifting in the cool, clear water.  Steven knew many of these men by sight, but few of their names. To them, he was just another kid they passed on their to work. Steven would be surprised how many of their wives knew his name.

The dimly lit, high-ceiling, open spaces of the sanctuary were cool on this hot Monday morning, as Mr. Renier crossed the street from his house to start custodial work at Olney Pres. Definitely a good day to clean and polish the altar furniture, he thought. Other men who built and repaired the   city, painters, builders, plumbers, handy men, roofers, and electricians unlocked their garages and checked their notes for their first job of the day. They’d restock their trucks, made of list of the materials they needed to buy, then pulled out and headed to their jobs.

         Mr. Pahlke had a plastering job across town in a library. He was pretty sure it was air-conditioned. Mr. Fletcher had a big job at a building site in Jenkintown. He was pouring the concrete for a grocery store foundation. He wanted to get the job done before the worst heat set in. Mr. Minnick repaired boilers and spent his days in heat and grime that would wilt most people. He was finishing up a job left over from last week, and, as it was summer, the boiler room would be warm, but not stifling. He was so accustomed to the heat, he wouldn’t have complained no matter the temperature. Mr. Brady was building a deck in Mayfair, but if it got as hot as he’d heard it going to get, he’d knock off early. The deck was in the full sun all day long and the last thing he needed was sunstroke.
        Steven walked past the post office on 4th and Olney. He walked up 4th, automatically following the shade of the overhanging trees,  past Mr. McMenamin, George Codrick, and Mr. McKinley who were taking a break. They’d been working since 5:00 a.m., and were talking about how hot it was already in the sorting room. Mr. Liss maneuvered his bag around the men, gave them a wave, and started on his route. He wore shorts, a short sleeve shirt, and a pith helmet, but by the time he’d walked a block, his shirt was stained with sweat were the heavy bag rested on his back and shoulder.

       Walking past Taylor’s bar, Steven was surprised to see the door standing open and men sitting around the large, round center table. The only light came from dim bulbs that lit the bottles on the shelves behind the bar and through the small windows high in the front wall. Steven didn’t know that Ed O’Brien, a retired cop who tended bar, opened the doors at 7:00 a.m. for the Monday morning group. Friends since high school at Oleny High, Sergeant FJ Helstab, Lt. Marters, Patrolman Sprigg, and Firefighter Neal drank coffee and ate donuts O’Brien picked up on 5th Street on his way in to work.  

         “It’s going to be near a hundred out there today. You remember last summer? Every time it got hot the crazies were on the streets smashing windows and starting fires,” said Lt. Marters. “You watch yourself out there, Sprigg.”

          “If it’s bad enough, I’ll see you there with me,” said Sprigg.

           “It would have to me real bad,” said Lt. Marters. “FJ and I have murders to clear up. The street is for you blues. Although if FJ keeps clearing cases on his own, he’ll get me sent to streets with you.”

“You suits won’t even break a sweat today,” replied Sprigg, playing his part in the familiar back and forth between patrolmen and detectives. “First air-conditioned apartment you guys come to, you’ll spend all day questioning the poor sap who lives there.”

           “And you be careful, Neal,” said Segeant Frank Helstab. “They shot at firemen last year, as I’m sure I don’t have to remind you. I’m worried what we might get this summer.”

          “You don’t need to remind me,” said Neal, pouring himself a second cup of coffee. “Least summer a bullet just missed me. Punched a nice neat hole right through the door of the engine.”

            “Keep ducking,” said Helstab, as he and Marters rose to leave. “I don’t want to have to track down some idiot that put a hole in you. We’ve got enough work with the gang boys killing each other faster than we can count ‘em. And Sprigg, you tell the guys to go easy with the people. Stupid stuff on days like this can blow up real fast.”

             “I know that,” said Sprigg. “I’m out there everyday.”

              “Easy, Ed,” said Helstab. “I’m not talking about you. You know your job. I reminding me to help out the guys who think with their fists.”

              “It’s a crazy world, that’s for sure,” said O’Brien, carrying the empty pot to the sink. “You’d think a hot day like this, people would get out of the sun, have a cold drink, and take it easy, but these days people start running around smashing and grabbing and shooting. Crazy, crazy world. Didn’t used to be like that.” 

              Returning to the table with a fresh mug of coffee, O’Brien noticed Steven watching them through the open doorway. “This kid belong to anybody?” asked O’Brian jerking his thumb toward Steven. “It’s a little early for your wives to be sending your kids to fetch you guys.”

            “Go home, son,” said FJ. “You’re too young to be hanging out at bars. Go on.”

             Steven was transfixed by the men sitting in the shadowy bar. It was like watching a movie or a TV show, but the men on the screen had noticed him and spoken to him. He was caught off guard and didn’t know how to respond.  He recognized the man who told him to go home, but he wasn’t sure where he’d seen him. Detective Helstab snapped his fingers, startling Steven from his reverie and he began running down Tabor toward 5th Street. Lt. Marters and Sgt. Helstab stepped out into the light and walked over to the department car parked in the shade of a large maple. 

         “You know the kid?” asked Marters.

         “Yeah, he lives a few blocks up the street on 4th with his mom,” said Helstab. “Dad’s dead. The guys at the station on 4th look out for her at night. She works nights and rides the bus to work. She’s all right.”

          “What’s the boy doing out do early?” asked Marters.

          “Don’t know. He’s a smart kid, one of those watchers who’s always thinking. Doesn’t miss a thing, from what Al tell’s me. He was probably just curious, wondering why the bar door was open in the morning.  I’ll drop by and talk to his Mom tonight on my way home.”

           Steven slowed to a walk when he realized that there was no reason to run. He was embarrassed that he’d been caught spying on the men, but the scene in the bar had caught. Steven was only beginning to realize that with so much of his life spent among women, scenes like the men in bar were an attractive view into another world. As he walked, the men in suits drove past him. The car didn’t slow, but the man in the passenger seat, the man who’d snapped his fingers, turned to look at Steven. The man and the boy held each other’s glance, then the man gave Steven a slight nod and turned away.
Steven followed the car down Tabor toward 5th. The made a right and Steven lost sight of it. Along the way he passed corner stores and barber shops open for business, the owner’s wives upstairs getting the children ready for the day. On 5th street, newsstands and pretzel sellers had already set up shop on the sidewalks. At Ferracco’s Edward Burke had propped the front and rear doors open to try and draw a breeze through the shop. He was at the work bench carefully sharpening Mrs. Umkauf’s favorite pair of pruning shears, the ones she used on her roses. Delis and restaurants were open. Shopkeepers were checking their wall clocks while they prepared their stores for the nine o’clock opening.

At Walker’s deli, Mr. Blitchford, who owned a used car lot on Frankford Ave., was watching Steven walk past his dark green Olds 88. He sat in the window so he could watch his car. He didn’t trust kids near his car since someone had keyed the driver side of his ’63 Lincoln Continental. He was having breakfast like he did every Monday with some of the guys from his softball team. Mike McKee, a union rep for the Painters and Allied trades, wasn’t very talkative today. He was preoccupied with a grievance he was filing that afternoon. Tom Gold had a city job in South Philly, and always had to leave first to catch the trolley down 5th. Ralph Kleinworth was worrying about his wife’s illness. Her mother was looking after her and the kids. He was a guard at the Franklin Arsenal. He planned to get a air conditioner at Sears on the way home so his wife would be as comfortable as possible.  Blitchford was trying to sell a Chevy convertible to McKee. “Come on, Mike. I know how it works in the Union. There’s always money laying around for a guy with his eyes open.”

           “And his hand out,” muttered Tom Gold, whose salary from the city wasn’t keeping up with the expenses of his growing family.

             In mid morning old, flatbed trucks and the occasional horse drawn cart would slowly roll through Olney, the driver calling “Strawberries, Blue Berries.” Housewives would flag him down to buy fruit and produce. Most of the drivers were Italians from South Philly carrying on the family business of their fathers and grandfathers in Palermo, Napoli, or Sicily. 

            In the homes, women would clear away their husbands’ dishes, feed the children, then begin the chores that would occupy them until it was time to prepare dinner. Most women had a schedule for the week and often their schedules intersected with their neighbors’ and friends’ so they might go grocery shopping together or visit over the fence while hanging their laundry to dry. 

           In a few houses the families didn’t move in the regular rhythm. Sometimes dad was out too late at the bar and couldn’t go to work. Maybe he missed too much work and had lost his job. Sometimes mom would drink once she was alone and the chores would go undone and the kids would scrounge their own meals and the family would crumble. These houses always had the blinds drawn and the doors closed. By the early afternoon, the heat and the booze would have put the drinkers to sleep. The kids would play quietly, careful not to wake their unpredictable mom or dad.

           On American Street near Clarkson, a repair crew was tearing up the street. The men were covered in sweat and stopped every few minutes to mop their faces with sodden handkerchiefs. From the stench rising from the trench, Steven thought they might be working on the sewer. He wondered if all the men he’d seen going to work today would be as hot as these guys. He didn’t know that some of the men in the Olney never worried about the heat. 

            Mr. Lockett and Mr. Cunningham worked with computer systems. There only concern about the weather was a black out that would knock out the cooling systems protecting the valuable machines. Ray Johnson was a butcher at the A&P warehouse. The cutting room was kept in the 40’s year round. Mr. Luczejko worked for Kraft Dairies making ice cream. Heat was no problem at the ice cream factory.

            The men of Ma Bell had other concerns. They’d been told that it looked like a record breaking day. It might hit 100º. Mr. Schwemmer,  Mr. Bowie, and Mr. Hunter read the note about the heat on the bulletin board, then drove to their designated switching stations to watch for overheating circuits. Mr. Bowie called his friend, Mr. Speaker, at Philadelphia Electric to try and get a head’s up about any anticipated power problems.

             Steven glanced at the bank clock and decided to go home. He was thirsty and a little tired. He might be able to sleep for a while on the sofa before the living room heated up. By then, the Harper’s should be done with their chores and he could go to their house and see what was going on. Mr. and Mrs. Harper had offered their yard for his birthday party. Steven was curious to she if it had been fixed up special for him. He didn’t expect it would be, but it might.