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READ TELL IT TO THE FUTURE for stories from the 1900's - 2000.  With timelines and exciting history and stories that come alive...

 HERE IS JUST ONE STORY

Beginning with the influx of immigrants, population growth, financial prosperity, education, inventions, and so mcuh more,

there were also wars abroad and conflict at home.

In the middle of it all, one little girl sat down to write.

Here is her story:

 as she goes

"Off to The Bungalow"

I N T R O D U C T I O N  T O  T H E  S T O R Y

      Our soldiers came back home following World War II and the Korean War and families became the focal point of American life. Television was copying the scenario with shows like “Father Knows Best,” “Leave It To Beaver” and “The Donna Reed Show.”  These popular shows were idealistic portrayals of family life, but a child’s real world of the fifties was often very different. Looking at that time through the eyes of an eight-year-old, our story is about one little girl, and her summer in the famous Catskill Mountains. Francine grew up to write many such stories and in 1999 turned that love of writing into The Write Source and Golden Quill Press. With over 50 years as a business writer and published author, she has written articles, short stories and poems, and recently published her first novel, “Code 47 to B R E V Force.”  But, no matter how many adventures she wrote about, she will always vividly remember the fifties; being eight and writing this story about going

“Off to The Bungalow"

 My Mom, Evelyn, coming out of Bungalow 2G, Morris Cottages in the 1950's

      Summer vacation was about to begin. The three o’clock school bell sent me rushing to say my last goodbyes before racing the six city blocks home. The excitement I felt was magnified as I ran into my room and started gathering personal possessions I just knew I couldn’t live without for the whole summer. I grabbed records, comic books, a deck of cards, a ball, jump-rope and as many games as I could get in the bag. That summer, June 1959, I was almost eight years old and with my favorite things going with me, I was looking forward to three fun-filled months without school in the country.

      I hurried to get out of my school clothes and into my play clothes, while my mother combed my long hair into a rubber banded pony tail, just like hers. “Daddy wants to get going, so take your bags down to the car,” she told me.

     I dragged the stuffed bags out of the apartment and down three flights of marble steps to the front door. Holding the huge heavy door open with my foot, I barely squeezed through with the bags. I struggled down the remaining thirty high stoop steps; bags dragging behind me until I finally reached our car, a brown 1956 Oldsmobile 88. My brother was trying to help my father who was yelling about having more stuff to pack. Not wanting to get yelled at, I dropped the bags, turned and ran back up the steps to hurry my mother along.

      After locking the apartment, my dog and I, with mother on our heels, dashed down the stairs. My father was already sitting impatiently in the car when my brother ran to open the front door for my mother. Finally, off we went.

      The heat miraculously started to subside as soon as we reached the New Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge. Sitting in the back seat I was crunched between valises and my older brother, David. My dog Frisky, an all black, Welsh-Terrier-Pointer, with the cutest eyes, was squashed in with us. Moving around to get comfortable, I started to wonder about going from New York to New Jersey to get to the Catskill Mountains, which were in New York. But we had made this trip every year since 1951, so I guessed it must be right.

      Already I was anxious to get to our first stop. Sometimes it would be “The Red Apple Rest,” a roadside stop on Route 17, where you could get food and use the rest room. I always hoped no one had to go to the bathroom so we could keep going and stop at “The Three Bears” where I could fill up on the only thing they had—ice cream.

      We were going to “Morris Cottages,” a group of small connected houses called bungalows, with no heat and very small rooms, in upstate New York, just down the road from the famous Concord Hotel.

      After the stops and the long ride I could finally see the sprawling white Concord buildings, proudly overlooking Kiamesha Lake. The Concord Hotel was famous for all of its lavish facilities. There was a world of things to do and many families would come there for vacations, but we were lucky enough to be there all summer. From our bungalow colony we could walk to the hotel and sneak in through unguarded areas. We always had to be on the lookout for the security guards, but once you were on the hotel grounds no one questioned if you belonged.

      At night, men and women would dress in formal attire and parade through the hotel lobby on their way to a lavish cocktail hour before they entered one of the dining rooms for a delicious meal. The hotels in the Catskill Mountains were known for their extravagant food, serving three huge sit-down meals a day at which you could order as much food as you wanted.

      After dinner, the guests would go into the ballroom and dance as the bands played the music of Frank Sinatra and other crooners. I liked to dance the Cha-Cha and fast Lindy. After dancing, came the evening’s entertainment, a show with famous celebrities, such as Eddie Fisher, Lena Horne, Sammy Davis Jr., just to name a few.

      As we rounded the bend, the hotel faded from sight and I knew, finally, we’re here! Frisky jumped up and down and I know she knew it too. I saw the big, white Main House, the residence of the owners and the location of the main telephone and loud speaker system from which all announcements were made. I could almost hear the static of the microphone turning on, then two loud blows, and finally the long-awaited announcement, for a telephone call, which had to be taken at a booth in the middle of the colony or to pick up mail at the Main House. I always liked, “Attention! Dugans or Bungalow Bar is on the premises.” That meant the bakery man and ice cream truck had arrived. I would hurry and get money or I’d miss getting the best cupcakes and ice cream.

      As we drove up the gravel road we passed the casino, where the Tuesday night movies, weekend dances and live entertainment were held. I really enjoyed the movies because I got to stay up late. My favorites were Danny Kaye’s, “The Five Pennies,” about a musician who gives up his career to help save his polio- stricken child and Rosalind Russell’s “Auntie Mame,” a women of extravagance and her love for her nephew. Also, Doris Day and Rock Hudson movies were terrific boy and girl love stories.

      The casino was also a hang-out for us kids. There was a coke bottle machine outside, while inside there were wooden “knock hockey boards” for two players who would use wooden sticks to knock a wooden puck into the opposing sides slot. I got a lot of splinters but had fun. There were also two pin-ball machines. I was a champ because I knew how to shake the machines just enough so they didn’t tilt.

      I could now see the huge green lawn which divided the two rows of 54 bungalow units and turned my attention to our bungalow, # 2G. As my father parked the car in our space, I grabbed Frisky’s leash and jumped out of the car. I waited impatiently while my mother came to open the lock. The inside of our bungalow was just as I had remembered. I looked around, letting Frisky sniff things out on her own. My mother started to unload packages while I inspected the rooms making sure all my things were still there. This had always been our bungalow, so we left our things there from one summer to the next. I sought out and found the ceramic ashtrays and lanyards I had made in camp and my treasured picture of singer, actor Fabian. Then I searched for my stack of classic comic books, Archie and Superman, including the 1958 anniversary issues. I was relieved they were all still there and in good condition; especially the anniversary issues which I collected because they contained so many great stories.

      The front room of our bungalow was a combination kitchen, dining room, sitting room and bedroom. The kitchen table was red and white aluminum with four matching chairs. The hall area had a mirrored closet where I stopped to check how I looked before proceeding to the bathroom. I stuck my head in to be sure mom’s favorite shower curtain was still hanging before I turned the small corner to the bedroom. The two twin size beds with wooden headboards were just as my mother had left them, plastic covering the mattresses and the smell of camphor which she had sprinkled around to keep the bugs away. The beds took up most of the room. We didn’t have television, private telephones or heat for the cool summer country nights, but we never seemed to miss any of our city conveniences.

      To keep me from being underfoot, my mother sent me out to walk Frisky while she cleaned and my father and brother finished unloading the car. We walked to the pool and I stood with my dog at my heels, watching the water flowing into the six-foot deep end, while reminiscing about summers past.

      The pool was the congregating area for the parents during the day. They played cards and Mah-Jongg, and listened to comedians like Jackie Mason, while the kids swam ‘til they were almost blue, from the ice cold water. Looking beyond the pool, I could see the handball court and the baseball field where our day camp would challenge other colony camps in kickball, volleyball and baseball. I hated camp, except for the year end shows we put on. So maybe this year I would be able to convince my parents that, at almost eight years old, I was grown up enough not to have to go.

      What a great summer I would have. I would hang out at the bowling alley with the older kids, watching the cute boys set up the pins, while playing my favorite songs on the juke box. Or I could go into town, to the candy store and play pool or pin ball and read comics and watch the guys. In my spare time I could go to other colonies and look for guys . . . but I know my parents, they’ll make me go to camp.

      Suddenly, I got a brilliant idea. If I wait until Sunday night when my father goes back to the city, I’ll have a whole week before he comes back for the weekend to try and convince my mom. Then I heard her calling and I realized I had been gone for a long time. I had hoped to see some of my other friends who were also now arriving, but that would have to wait until later. As Frisky and I ran back across the lawn I stopped just short of the bungalow and bent down to give her a hug . . . and then I said a little prayer, “Please let this be a great summer and please don’t let me be in trouble already.” 

This excerpt has been reproduced as originally written in 1959, and now

Excerpted from

Tell It To The Future
Have I Got A Story For You...
About The Twentieth Century
by  Francine R Cefola and Bobbi Madry

Copyright Golden Quill Press

 All rights reserved.
No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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"Off to the Bungalow"

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