Locust
Ave dead-ended at the chain link fence which separated Eatontown, New
Jersey from the sprawling Ft. Monmouth, home of the Signal Corps, and
temporary abode of one Joe Valachi, whom the US government thought it
prudent to protect while he “spilled his guts” about organized
crime.
I
grew up on Locust Ave. across the street from my childhood friend,
Ted Lewis. We attended school together, played on the church Little
League team together, and flew model airplanes together.
Ted
had gotten his model plane by saving hundreds of stickers from
cigarette packs. His father and , I guess all his father's friends
smoked cigarettes-who didn't? They gave the prize stickers from their
packs to Ted, who eventually had enough to send for the flying model.
The
best place to fly a model plane happened to be on the other side of
that chain link fence, where the fort's athletic fields stood.
Neither Ted nor I felt like walking several miles to the nearest gate
to try and talk our way into the fort property, so we did the next
best thing. We dug a tunnel under the fence, crawled through it, and
spent many an afternoon flying planes around and around in circles,
until the Military Police came by to roust us out of the place. They
just drove up and glared at us til we packed up the planes and
equipment and then crawled back through the tunnel to Locust Ave.
Funny that they never filled in the tunnel. We just kept coming back
to fly, and get rousted by the MPs for the entire summer, till we had
to go back to school. But that's not what I wanted to talk about. I
wanted to talk about greed.
Eatontown
in those days was a backwater town with 1 police car, and hardly any
crime. A few little stores stood downtown. Nothing much happened. If
you wanted to do any “shopping”, that is, beyond picking up a few
items, then you drove to either Long Branch or Red Bank, comparative
thriving shopping hubs. If I wanted to go see a movie, I had to take
the bus to the Strand or Paramount movie theatres in Long Branch. The
only model car store, Bob Peru's Hobby Headquarters, was in Red Bank.
You
get the idea. Eatontown had nothing, except soldiers who always
walked in step-habit no doubt, and went to the dry cleaner or smoke
shop, or sub shop, for rhe 50 cent submarine sandwich. Then one
day...
The
Atlantic Superama opened, on a piece of land next to the railroad
tracks in New Shrewsbury, just on the Northern border of Eatontown,
within walking distance.
The
Superama had everything from food, to clothing, to records, to toys,
to guns. I mean EVERYTHING!
To
celebrate the opening of this Garden of Commercial Eden, the Superama
folks sponsored a day of festivities, with rides, circus acts, a
battle of the bands, free food, and prize drawings. Ted's father,
Ted Senior, drove us there in his 50 Lincoln, a tank of a car. We got
in the free food line for burgers and fries and coke. We walked
around the giant store, looking at the bow-and-arrow sets. We met all
our school friends. What a great day!
The
culmination of this orgy of consumption involved small planes flying
low overhead, dropping thousands of coupons for free stuff and
discounts. Among the coupons were a few with expensive prizes;
kitchen ranges, fridges, TV sets, stereos, and other big ticket
items.
Of
course, being 10 years old, all us kids thought it was a kids' event.
We waited in the huge parking lot, eagerly listening for the planes
carrying who-knew-what wonderful treasures we could grab as the
coupons came fluttering down. The wait seemed interminable, until...
There
They Were!-Planes buzzing overhead like giant hornets in the
twilight-Swoopng back and forth, dropping their confetti. We all
started running around, grabbing coupons for 10 cents off a Hershey
Bar, or a free 45 rpm record of Dean Martin singing “That's Amore”.
It was wild! I was great! I was in Heaven! Then I saw them.
Right
in the middle of the superama parking lot, right under the planes
dropping manna from Heaven, was a couple. They looked to my 10 year
old eyes to be in their 30s or 40s-both dressed in chino slacks, and
wearing sort of matching wind breakers. I watched as they climbed out
of their car, unsmiling, reached into the trunk, and pulled out two
large fishing nets on poles. The pair then climbed onto the roof of
the car, and started waving the netted poles around, so as to catch
as many coupons as possible, before those coupons could get down to
the innocently grabby little hands of us kids. Some of the coupons
failed to separate, falling in blocks of 50 or more. The net couple
especially went after these, almost falling off the car roof to
capture as many coupons as they could.
When
I saw the spectacle of this troll couple exhibiting what I would
later come to consider the worst of human behavior, I lost interest,
and walked away, taking with me a valuable lesson.
I'm
sure other people in that crowd thought “Damn, I should have
thought of that”. My hope is that most people regarded the
spectacle with disdain.
As
you know from the horse racing story, my father imbued me with an
apathy toward money and accumulation that I carry to this day.
Don't
be greedy, kids. Greed isn't good. Greed leads you to standing on a
car roof, in chinos, looking like a moron.
