One of the many joys of growing up in Belmont, was that a 10 year old Mark could walk four blocks to the corner of Yorktown and Horseshoe, and ride a bus all the way downtown, for a dime. I suspect I did this dozens of times, as the YMCA was on the corner of 8th and Main, just over the 8th Street bridge. Tonight I am remembering one particular outing that was prompted by the song “Silver Bells”.
It was probably the first Saturday of Christmas break and I decided to go ‘downtown’ by myself. It was an overcast day with with light snow—the perfect snow globe day. The bus stopped and let me off at the Y. I loved pulling the cord on the bus, which I took charge of at 8th and Sante Fe. I walked off the bus with a whole dollar that my mom had given me, it would last the whole day.
When I describe downtown Pueblo think “A Christmas Story”—if you haven’t seen it you probably grew up in an island off the coast of India. Shoppers were four deep on the sidewalks, the sights, sounds and smells were opulent. My first stop was the lunch counter at Kress’s. It was time for a hotdog and a cherry coke. There goes a quarter. Now I was ready to peruse the aisles soaking it all in.
Next, I just walked up and down the sidewalk looking in the store windows, which were filled with tinsel and artificial snow as background for winter scenes. I have what I have learned to call for myself a “hyper—memories”. I have stored in my brain moments that will replay themselves sometimes voluntarily and other times randomly. Tonight after driving granddaughter Zoe to a Christmas party, “Silver Bells” opened the floodgates of emotions.
I was standing on the corner of 4th and Main in front of Crews-Beggs, which in Pueblo was the mothership of all things retail. It was a grand old four story Victorian building complete with elevator operator. Playing on a speaker outside was the song “Silver Bells”. The words and the reality matched perfectly. I looked down on my parka sleeve and pristine snow flakes painted a geometric fantasy. I remember distinctly thinking “This is magic”. I never hear that song that I am not transported back to 1959.
My last stop was the City News stand, just south of the Y. There you could buy all kinds of things, but there was nothing better than the $.25 bag of Spanish peanuts. I would stand on the corner while waiting for the bus to head home, and throw a peanut into the air and catch it in my mouth.
I got so good at it I remember drawing a small crowd. Sort of like a seal at the aquarium. The great thing about eating them one at a time was that I could savor them. I was good for six feet but at that distance they often hit my teeth
The bus ride home took me right back to my starting point in front of Ben Franklin Elementary. My dollar was gone but my heart was full.
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 