Editor’s note: Author Bob Fields of New York, a Houlton native and regular contributor to Echoes magazine, has given permission to share Chapter 4: Games We Played, from his recently released book “Letter to Lyla: A Boy Comes of Age in the 1940s.” Available at York’s Book Store in Houlton and from Amazon.com, the book is a nostalgic look at Fields’ upbringing in Aroostook County.
Dear Lyla:
Today (2012) kids at play is a lot different than it was when I was young. Kids today have video games, team sports, organized neighborhood play days, and when things are really dull they go to the mall.
We had none of that. But it was OK, we made our own fun.
A friend of mine, Breen Bernard, was an expert at playing Marbles. There were several ways to play the game, but his favorite was Cigar Box Marbles. All through elementary school there was seldom a day when Breen came to school without his favorite cigar box.
I remember his cigar box like it was yesterday. It was a photo of Mark Twain like the one above, only Breen had drilled a hole, about as big as a quarter, on the tip of Mark Twain’s nose.
At recess (we had two then, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, each thirty minutes long), Breen would dash down the steps and run behind the school out of sight of the nuns. One of us that wanted to play, usually Gerald Wright, would watch for the recess nun to look away, give us a sign and 8-10 of us would duck around the swing set and join Breen.
Most players had a cloth bag, like a pouch, with their own stash of marbles to challenge Breen and his box.
It was a challenge.
A boy, usually one Breen choose, would stand straight over the box which was on the ground between his legs. The game was to aim, drop your marble such that it would go through the hole in to the box. If the marble went in the box you won, and could choose 5 marbles from Breen’s stash. If the marble missed, it belonged to Breen.
Most boys missed. Breen won a lot of marbles.
I learned later, when we were in high school, that Breen had rigged the game. Using a crayon the same color as Mark Twain’s nose, he painted the inside of the box just under the hole. This made it harder to see the center of the hole. He also, using the same crayon, painted the edge of the hole to make it more difficult to distinguish the exact shape of the hole.
Breen won a lot of marbles.
We played lots of other games when I was a boy; what I remember is that how unorganized it all was. Kick the tin can, Simon says, hide and seek, red light. They were all fun, and most often played after supper in the neighborhood. We would all congregate at one of the houses and begin to play. And play we did until the street lights came on and it was time to go home.
When I was 13 we moved to the other side of town to a house on Elm Street. The kids there played most of the games we did, except for one that became my favorite call Spin the Bottle. The preferred bottle was a quart milk bottle from the local dairy. I liked the game so much that I used to practice spinning it. The rule was that it had to spin around at least twice before stopping. I marked spots on our living room floor, picked one to land on and then spin. I got so good I could have the bottle stop where I wanted it to eight out of ten times.
Here’s how it worked.
Eight or ten of us, half boys and half girls would sit in a circle. The bottle was in the middle. We would pick some rule, like pick a number between one and ten to see who went first. The winner would give the bottle a spin, and if it were a boy and the bottle stopped on a boy, he would spin again, and keep spinning until it pointed towards a girl. When it pointed to a girl, he would grin, she would giggle, they would stand, hold hands and walk to an adjoining room and he would kiss her or she would kiss him.
If it was a boy who won and the girl was less than attractive he would kiss her on the cheek. If the girl was a beauty, she would get the full movie star lingering, slightly damp, kiss; right on the lips. That was my favorite.
This is why I practiced. There was girl on our street named Wanda Wee Way. She was the most beautiful girl at our school. She knew it and flaunted it.
She was a year older and a little taller than most of the boys in our neighborhood. Except me. I had one of those puberty growth spurts and at age 13, I was a full 5’9”. She was 5’ 4”.
The first time I played the game with her and the other seven players I never won a trip to the adjoining room with Wanda Wee. I did notice that the only boy that won a trip with her, my friend Greg, came back from the kissing session with a really sad look, like he just lost his jack knife.
I asked him about it later and he told me he wanted a lip kiss but she would not bend down; he had to settle for a little nip on her chin. He said she seemed to enjoy to tease and watching anxious young boys suffer.
That’s when I decided to become a Master Spinner.
Next time we played, Gloria Ross won the first spin and chose Dick. They left the room, were gone a bit longer than usual and both came back grinning. Dick was a little flushed.
My turn to spin. I gave it a twist and let it spin while looking Wanda Wee in the eye. Practice paid off, the bottle stopped pointing dead center at Wanda Wee. I walked over, took her hand and helped her stand. She was startled to realize she was looking up at a boy. She smiled.
I took her hand, and, rather than me lead her, she moved ahead- gently pulling me along. Once in the room, I turned her towards me, and took both her hands in mine. She wet her lips, wispily tilted her head, and gazed dreamingly in to my eyes.
I released one of her hands, softly placed it under her chin, wet my lips, she moistened hers again, closed her eyes, and caught her breath in anticipation.
I kissed her on the chin and left the room.
Score one for Greg.
