Fond Memories of Growing Up In Gloucester City At Christmas Time
Thursday, December 26, 2024
William E. Cleary Sr. | CNBNews
GLOUCESTER CITY, NJ (December 25, 2024)(CNBNews)--At 80, I often find myself sifting through the fog of memory, but one holiday shines brightly in my mind: Christmas. It was a magical time filled with warmth and delicious scents wafting through the house. With her playful smile and flour-dusted hands, my sister Dolores would bake rich chocolate chip cookies and delicate sand tarts made from sweet, buttery dough. I eagerly assisted her, wielding cookie cutters shaped like bells, Christmas trees, stars, and cheerful snowmen, transforming the dough into festive shapes. She would carefully store the finished treats in a large empty pretzel can, as she aimed to fill it to the very top each year.
Another treasured tradition was our annual train platform, a nostalgic centerpiece of our holiday festivities. Each December, we would haul out a large piece of plywood, raised off the floor by sturdy wooden legs, that had been tucked away in the cellar since the last Christmas. The platform featured two sets of miniature train tracks—one set dedicated to the Lionel trains and the other to the American Flyer trains. My brother, George, and I would race those trains around the platform, engines roaring, wheels churning, and smoke billowing out from the engine stacks as they roared around the platform numerous times. To this day, I still remember the time when George lost control of his train. The tracks for his train came apart. My head was down level with the tracks, as I tried to put them together George's train came speeding toward me and collided with the back of my head. He later claimed he blew the train whistle to alert me, but my memory is still blurred. I don’t recall how long I was unconscious, but to this day, there remains a faint imprint on the back of my head, marked by the insignia of that Lionel train.
Every Christmas, a large bed sheet would hang like a curtain across the archway between our dining room and living room, creating an air of mystery around the decorated Christmas tree and the enticingly wrapped gifts from Santa Claus. I remember one year vividly—I had wished for a stunning 26-inch Columbia two-wheel bike adorned with hubba-hubba lights twinkling on the spokes. Christmas Eve I was so excited I couldn't sleep, I got up before dawn, tiptoed silently, and slipped behind that magical sheet, my heart racing as I caught sight of the very bike I had dreamed of. I crept back to bed, only to be awakened by my Mom saying it was time to get ready for Mass at St. Mary's Church. The Mass, back then, felt interminable, stretching into what seemed like endless minutes. I fidgeted in anticipation, counting the moments until I could rush home to see my new bike. However, once home, Mom insisted we eat breakfast first. After devouring a steaming bowl of oatmeal, I darted across the street to Grandmom Jessie’s house, imploring her to hurry. That morning, it felt as if she paused to chat with every neighbor along our block. At last, after what seemed like an eternity, Mom or Dad opened the bedsheet curtain. Together, my siblings and I stormed into the room, and I gasped with joy as I uncovered my beautiful bike; my Christmas wishes came true. I kept my peeking a secret, but years later, I learned my parents had known all along; they had deliberately instructed Grandmom Jessie to take her time on her way to our house that morning.
Living in Gloucester City, winter was a time of exhilarating adventures, particularly when it came to ice skating. We had three beloved spots—Martins Lake, known affectionately as The Pond, the Minnie Hole, and Millers Lake. Our days were filled with laughter as we glided across the ice, exhilarated by the crisp, biting air. As dusk fell, we always returned to these spots, the moon casting a silver glow on the frozen surfaces. To warm ourselves against the chill, we gathered around roaring bonfires, the flames dancing and crackling, providing heat and camaraderie. And on snowy days, we would race to Martins Lake with our Flexible Flyer sleds in hand, racing down the hills that cascaded toward the pond on the East Brown Street side. Sledding across the frozen expanse was a thrilling escape; we tried to reach the far side, then trudged back, pulling our sleds behind us, only to climb the hill and do it all over again. Today, those cherished Flexible Flyers can fetch over $700 on Etsy, a testament to their timelessness.
Dancette Ballroom, Oaklyn (found on Facebook)
High school brought about a significant transformation in our Christmas celebrations. If you were "going steady," you would settle beside your girlfriend, feigning keen interest as she excitedly tore open present after present. Our evenings were alive with laughter and music as we attended dances at both Gloucester High and Gloucester Catholic. Or at Dancette (photo above) in Oaklyn. We also had the King movie in Gloucester City and three movie houses, the Savar, Stanley and the Ritiz in Camden City.
One year on Christmas night my friends and I made two stops on Rosalind Avenue in the Highland Park section of the city. We first visited John Hindsley's sister, Kathy, and her husband, Art. They welcomed us into their cozy living room, filled with holiday lights' warmth and baked goods' sweet scent. Earl Kaign and Budgie O'Hara likely joined our merry crew, adding to the festive atmosphere. After enjoying a few cold beers and catching up, we wandered down the street to the DiGiacomos’ home, where the real festivities awaited us. Sounds of music and laughter were coming from the house. As we walked through the front door, we were greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Al and Mary DiGiacomo. The DiGiacomos were undeniably the life of the party; they had an exceptional gift for bringing people together through music and laughter. Al strummed his banjo enthusiastically, his fingers dancing along the strings, while Mary, with a sparkle in her eye, produced a delightful tune by fashioning a makeshift instrument—tissue paper delicately wrapped around a comb. It was a unique combination, and somehow, she created a melody that resonated with everyone.
Among the guests was Warren Theckston, a city police officer who still wore his crisp uniform after finishing his shift. He carried an air of authority, yet he was relaxed among friends. Their son, Aldie DiGiacomo, was there with his friends Bill McFredericks, Marty Williamson, and others. I struggled to remember the names of every guest, but the atmosphere was unforgettable as Aldie, Warren, Marty, and Bill had such beautiful women perched on their laps. Aldie DiGiacomo is the father of Vince (VJ) and his brother Aldie.
In 1967, Connie and I celebrated Christmas in our newly acquired home at 710 Powell Street. It was a year of milestones; we had just purchased our first house and a shiny 1967 Chevy Malibu. Our family was growing, with two little girls, Kelly Ann and Connie Lynn, and soon to be joined by Billy Jr. in 1968.
To keep things simple, we agreed to buy each other only one present, a notion that stemmed from our tight budget. Being a practical soul, I decided on an electric coffee pot, something to ease the morning routine. I added a bag of coffee and a jar of powdered cream for good measure, carefully wrapping each in colorful paper.
Bad idea.
Connie had a part-time job for Christmas and went above and beyond, splurging on several presents for me that year.
“What happened to our promise?” I wondered, surprise flooding my mind as I opened the mountain of gifts before me, each one more thoughtful than the last.
Even though that event occurred decades ago, it still makes me smile whenever Connie playfully reminisces about the year I gifted her the coffee pot. And I can’t help but interject, “Don’t forget I also included the can of coffee and the jar of Creamate!”
In 1967, I was juggling my job at the post office while also working part-time at the Gloucester City News and Camden County Record.. On Christmas Eve, I had just completed an exhausting 12-hour shift, my body weary and my mind swirling with thoughts of the daunting task that awaited me at home—assembling the kids’ toys. The anticipation of Christmas was in the air, but all I could feel was fatigue weighing heavily on my shoulders.
Fortunately, my brother George, along with our friends John Azzari, Lou Pirrotta, and Harry Ferry, came to my rescue. They arrived at my house with enthusiasm and good cheer, ready to tackle the job that loomed over me. Their laughter filled the rooms as they diligently worked late into the night, making sure each toy wasn't missing any parts.
Reflecting on my childhood, I find myself flooded with countless cherished memories of growing up in Gloucester City during the lively decades of the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s. Back then, the streets were alive with joyous laughter and the sound of children playing, while neighbors watched over one another like extended family. There was an undeniable sense of community that wove through our lives, fostering friendships that would last a lifetime.
It saddens me to realize that many of today’s residents seem oblivious to the rich history and endearing charm that once defined our city. At my age, it feels unlikely that I will ever witness the revival of that spirit—the simple pleasures and shared experiences that made Gloucester City such a vibrant place to grow up. Those joyful days now exist only in the echoes of my memory, leaving me longing for a glimpse of the community I once adored.
Below is a portion of Christmas Card that my parents had printed. The year was 1965. At that time it was common for a family to receive 75 to 100 Christmas cards, sometimes even more.