One Summer Day 1946

Many stories cover lifetimes, this story covers one day, a summer day in the year 1946, it starts on a street corner in Cambridge Massachusetts.

August 1946, 10:AM:
It has been one year now since WWII came to an end, all the young men from our corner (Brookline St and Putnam Avenue, Cambridge Mass) that fought and survived in that war were now home, we had Ten of them that didn’t return, their remains are to this day lying at the bottom of the Pacific and Atlantic oceans and in Cemeteries located in France and on the Island of Iwo Jima.
In a very sad case that was reported in all the newspapers we had one of our crowd that died eight years after the wars end in the Bridgewater State Hospital For The Criminally Insane, he had a nervous breakdown (it was called shell shock back then) while fighting in North Africa. After spending some time in a Veterans Hospital here in the United States he was released and had been living with his sister her husband and their three-month-old baby. One evening he had been left alone with the baby for a few hours, the child started crying and wouldn’t stop; he smothered the baby with a pillow killing it. I spoke with him a few years later and he told me that he didn’t remember a single thing of that evening; he died shortly after this visit from a massive heart attack, he was thirty years old.

Summer days in the city of Cambridge during the Forties were quiet and hot, there was no traffic, there were no parked cars lining the streets as there are today, traffic lights were only installed on streets such as Massachusetts Ave and other main thoroughfares leading in and out of the city or into Boston.
Every so often a Horse And Wagon, would be seen slowly moving along the street, usually a Rag Man or Fruit Peddler, they were the last remaining holdovers from the thirties, by 1948 most all horse drawn wagons would disappear save for a few that could still be seen in Boston working the Piers and Wharves along the waterfront on Atlantic Avenue and Commercial St, soon they too would be gone, the post war period brought a boom into the production of automobiles and trucks. The horse drawn delivery wagons were now fading into history.

I had just turned Twenty this past May, my friends and myself were still hanging around our old boyhood haunts, the Charles River, Fort Washington, and our second home, “the corner”. I had saved up Twenty Dollars working the Ice Wagons and purchased a 1934 Plymouth Four Door Sedan, I had just painted it, in those days when you wanted to paint your car you would go up to Woolworth’s Five And Ten Cent Store in Central Sq and buy a can of paint and some brushes, you would then take your car to someone’s back yard where you and several of your friends would paint the whole car in about fifteen minutes.
The car would look great for about a week, and then, after a few rain storms it would look worse than it did before you painted it.

Today, this “one day” was a beautiful day, sunny hot and dry, I drove my car up to the corner and went into the Village Spa to have my daily “doughnut and milk, several of the guys were sitting outside on milk cases bragging and telling each other lies about some girl they had been with the night before down on the banks of the Charles River or some big event that had happened in some bar they were in, they would all be laughing then one of them would say “your full of shit” that would be the end of the lies for awhile.
I grabbed a milk case and joined them, a few drifted off and there were four of us left, Dickey Ferguson, Eddie Preston, Eddie Kelley and myself.
I now had a brilliant idea on how to spend this glorious summer day; I was dating my future wife at the time but didn’t have anything planned for tonight so I asked them how much money they had, between the four of us we had about twenty three dollars, that was plenty. A glass of beer back then cost ten cents, gas was about twenty-five cents a gallon, so, with the money we had we could have quite a day.
I said, “lets go to Billerica”, going to Billerica in those days was an adventure and to our crowd it meant one thing, “Nuttings Lake and Kitty’s”.
Nuttings Lake is located on the Middlesex Turnpike about a mile or two from Billerica Center, at the northerly end of the Causeway that crosses the lake, back in the forties there were two bars, “The Red Pine Inn” and “Kitty Kallbach’s” across the street there was a Roller Skating Rink, Kitty’s was our favorite.

Well this was it, no hanging on the corner today; we were headed for the country, trees, fresh air, hot dogs and cold beer, lots of it. My car had about a half a tank of gas and we were ready to go, so the four of us climbed in, rolled down the windows and headed for Billerica.
After driving through Arlington and Lexington we entered Burlington and were now on the Middlesex Turnpike, there was no Rte 3 as it is known today nor was there a Route 128, in those days if you were driving your car between the hours of 9:AM and 5:PM you pretty much had the roads to yourself.

Driving along this road in the Forties was like being up in Vermont or Maine, there were no buildings, no houses, no cars in front of you and no cars behind you, it was a very remote stretch of highway and it was also a great day to be alive.

A few miles before Nuttings Lake there was a bar (roadhouse type) called “Martins” we would always stop here first to start our day of beer drinking. I could never understand how this place made any money, the women that owned it would always lay down her laws on us even before we had a drink, she would tell us we could only have three or four beers than we had to leave, she would serve us our first beer, then she would say, “I don’t put up with any fighting, loud noise, or cursing in here, and I will not allow anyone to get drunk in here”, well my God, this was no place for us, we would sit there snickering and mumbling, she knew we were talking about her. We would never give her the satisfaction of drinking “her limit of four beers” we would have two and we were gone (never a tip). This women must have known us, people from our corner always stopped there to have a drink before they reached the Lake, but she never once greeted us or said hello, nothing but her three or four beer lecture. Martins remained there for years though before it was torn down, it was well known but is probably only remembered now by some older folks from another time. (Such as me).
If I am correct, I believe The 99 Restaurant now stands on the site of the old “Martins”.

Well there it was up ahead, Nuttings Lake, today hundreds of cars pass this spot day and night on their way to and from work or to go shopping in the Burlington Mall or visit the Lahey Clinic or to eat in the restaurants that are now scattered all over that area.
It was a different story back then though, to us city guys this was something special; this was country, no cars, no people, plenty of fresh air, birds flying around and very quiet. When you left the city for a place like this you always noticed the dead silence when you stepped out of your car.

Kitty’s was a big one room roadhouse with a bar all along the back wall, a big jukebox, a small area for dancing and large screened in windows surrounding the room, “no air conditioning”, on a good day there would be a nice cool breeze coming off the lake carrying with it the unmistakable odor of green forest and pine trees, booths lined the walls, and tables were set up all around the “dance area”.

Billerica was to the best of my memory the only town that had bars that sold “Pitcher Beer” and Billerica had only two that I was aware of, “Kitty’s” and a place over in the Pinehurst section on Rte 3 (Boston Rd) called “Ma Newman’s”.
Pitcher Beer was a novelty for us so that is what we always ordered; bottled beer or ten ounce “Tap” glasses could also be purchased.

Well we settled in for an afternoon of “beer guzzling”, we had some hot dogs and then after a few pitchers of beer we decided to go across the street and go roller-skating, this would be a horror show. It cost 50 cents to skate all day; we skated for maybe 45 minutes, during this time Eddie Preston fell on his face at least three times and Eddie Kelly almost skated through the front window. The women that ran the place told us she would gladly refund our money if we would quietly leave, if not she would call the police. We left.

We now crossed the street to the Roadhouse that was on the other corner opposite Kitty’s, this was “The Red Pine”, this place was similar to Kitty’s but a little classier and with a bigger dance floor.
Within 30 minutes our table was covered with empty beer bottles, the owner was keeping one eye on us at all times but nothing out of the ordinary had happened, that is, “not yet”.

Eddie Preston was getting drunk; when Eddie Preston got intoxicated something was bound to happen. Dickey Ferguson, Kelly and myself were yelling, laughing and blabbing among ourselves when Kelly said “where’s Preston” we kept an eye on each other when we were in, as we called it “foreign territory”, Dickey got up and went into the mens room, Preston could fall asleep anywhere when he was drinking, he wasn’t in there so we all stepped out the back door, there was Eddie.

Nuttings Lake itself is across the street from where the Red Pine was located; if you walk down a small incline you will be right on the shore of the lake behind Kitty’s.
Well there he was, Eddie Preston, a big tall lanky blonde Polish guy that was always laughing, he was drunk as a skunk and standing knee deep in the lake still wearing his shoes, socks and pants, under his right arm was a big white Goose, the Goose was flapping one wing and trying to bite Eddie in the face. We knew what was coming next so we ducked back into the bar and sat down at our booth. We could hear it coming, “squawk, honk, squawk”, Kelly said, “Jesus Christ”.

The back door flew open and there he was, Eddie Preston, our hero, he had Goose Shit all over his shirt and legs, he was hanging on to the Goose under his arm while it flapped and honked and he was laughing and yelling, “look at this”, Eddie was a city kid he probably thought it was a chicken, he didn’t know a Goose from a Cow.
The worse was yet to come.

The bartender could sense that trouble was brewing, Eddie could care less, he wasn’t afraid of anything, he kept yelling and laughing and then it happened, “The Goose Got Loose”, off it went right into one of the large windows that overlooked the lake, it screamed then started flying all over the room, it was having bowel movements on all the tables, two couples that were dancing ran out into the street, the bartender was chasing the Goose, Eddie was standing on the dance floor with Goose Shit all over his shirt laughing and yelling at the bartender, finally somebody got the back door open and herded the Goose out. The bartender informed us that it was also time for us to leave.
The story of Eddie Preston and the Goose was told many times on the corner as we sat on our milk cases but something else happened that day, Eddie wasn’t through yet, he had another incident up his sleeve that topped even the Goose, and he didn’t even know it.

Heading Home:
I was driving, it was about 6:00 PM, Dickey and I were in pretty good shape but the two Eddie’s were wasted, they were both in the back seat, that was a big mistake, we never should of let them sit together.

We took a different route home, Rte 4 through Bedford and Lexington, I stopped in Bedford for gas, we went to the men’s room, I paid the kid that pumped the gas, when we were all in the car I pushed my foot onto the starter, (all cars started with a foot pedal back then) the car wouldn’t start. Eddie Preston was in a coma in the back seat covered with Goose Shit, Eddie Kelly was sitting beside him talking to himself, Dickey Ferguson was sitting beside me laughing his ass off.
The gas kid opened the hood and was playing around with wires then he came up to the window and said try it now, nothing. He leaned in the window looked around and then said, “turn your key on and try it again”, the car started, he then said, “how far are you guys going” I replied “Cambridge”, he looked in the back seat at Preston & Kelly who both now appeared to be in a coma and just shook his head and walked away.

As I said earlier, letting Preston and Kelly sit together was a big mistake. Dickey and I were singing, the windows were all open and the fresh air was great, this was a wonderful day to be twenty years old and not a care in the world, then it started.
I heard Kelly say to Preston, “get your leg off me” Preston was unconscious, Kelly threw Prestons leg off to the side, this woke Preston up, Kelly said, “stay on your own side” Preston punched Kelly right on the side of the head, now they were swearing and trying to hit each other, they wrestled and called each other names, I had to stop the car, luckily we were still in a wooded area, they stumbled out, Dickey said, “let them fight for awhile then they will get tired”. I wish Video Cameras were around in those days, they would punch the air then they would fall down, they fought for ten minutes and never hit each other.

We loaded them back into the car and resumed our trip; Dickey and I started singing again, war songs, “The White Cliffs Of Dover”, being young, no responsibilities, healthy, it is the greatest thing in the world, it is gone before you know it though.

Well the “Two Eddies” had another fight in Lexington, Preston must have landed a punch because Kelly had a black eye, by the time we reached Arlington they were hugging and kissing each other.

We were almost home, then it happened, we were going through Harvard Square, Kelly had his head out the window yelling at the students and calling them names, we were always fighting with the students from both Colleges (MIT & Harvard) they called us the “locals” and we called them far worse than that, we considered them “Rich Jerks” and they considered us “Morons”.

We had just rounded the curve on Massachusetts Avenue where the old “Harvard Sq Cab Stand” used to be when Kelley let out a scream, “YOU DIRTY BASTARD” he yelled, then it hit, the odor was unbearable, Eddie Preston had just had a “Diarrhea Explosion” in his pants, it didn’t even wake him up.

God it was horrible, Kelly and Dickey had their heads out the window, we stopped singing, and I started to speed it up, I had to be careful though and keep a sharp eye out for a Cop, if we got stopped in this condition we would surely be locked up for the night. I drove up Mass Ave to Putnam Sq, I turned right and headed down Putnam Ave, it was about ten blocks or so further down to our corner.
We drove right to Prestons house, we had to drag him up onto his front porch, we propped him up and took off, by then the whole neighborhood smelled like a “cesspool”.

Our corner is only one block away from Prestons house, Kelly and Dickey both said; “we ain’t getting back in that car” they walked away.
I drove up to the corner and jumped out of the car, it was now getting dark and we wanted some more beer after this glorious day in the country. There must have been about ten or fifteen guys from our crowd standing around, I said “lets go over to the Choo Choo Inn” then the smell hit them, “Jesus Christ, what the hell is that” Dickey started laughing and said “Preston Shit In Burtts Car”.

The Choo Choo Inn was a Bar in Brighton located right across the street from the Brighton Railroad Yards, there was only one other car on the corner at that time and all these guys couldn’t fit in that but they tried, they ran and pushed each other out of the way until the car was full and they took off laughing.

Well, here we were, there was about six of us left, I asked them all if one of them wanted to drive, they all had the same response, “are you shitting”.
The old cars from the thirties all had “running boards” and large steel bumpers, four guys stood on the running boards, two on each side of the car, two more stood on the rear bumpers, one of my real close friends, Billy Dahl was standing on the drivers side next to my open window, he was saying over and over “Jesus Christ what a stink” and he was laughing his head off. I was all alone inside the car; it was like a “gas chamber”.

We made it across the River Street Bridge without the Cops spotting us and we parked in front of the “Choo Choo”, soon we were all drinking and yelling and the “Crap” was forgotten for awhile but every so often we would hear one of the customers say, “I smelled shit when I came in here”.

We stayed in the Choo Choo until closing time then we piled onto the car again, I thought for sure after all that beer drinking that one of them would fall off on the way home but we made it. This was the end of our summer day in the country with all the trees, birds, fresh air, Geese, roller skating, cold beer and “Shit”. Tomorrow had to be faced, I had to clean the car or dump it.
I quietly snuck into bed that night thinking to myself “I hope that smell doesn’t drift up into my Fathers bedroom”.

I drove up to the corner the next morning, they were already talking about Preston and his latest escapade, a few came over to the car, they wanted a sniff first hand then they would laugh and run away. I bought some Ammonia and a couple of brushes, two or three of the guys said they would help me so they jumped on the running boards and we headed down to the Charles River.
I borrowed an old bucket from The Village Spa, we filled it with water several times from the river and then we scrubbed the whole back seat down with the Ammonia. When we were satisfied that the job was complete we opened all the doors and let the car just sit in the fresh air.

We all lay down in the grass and started talking soon we were napping, we were still a little tired from the previous days beer drinking, those were great times.
The car seemed to dry out quickly we all sniffed and said, “that’s not bad”. I had a date that night with my “Wife To Be”; we were going to the “Drive In Theatre”

Back in the mid-forties the only “Drive In Theatre” around was in Saugus Mass on Rte 1, we arrived just before dark, I hurried up to the refreshment stand and bought some French Fries and Drinks, I did this quickly because I didn’t want to miss the Cartoons. The show started, I was happy, I was hungry, I loved Cartoons, everything was quiet for a few moments then my pretty little girl friend said, “whats that smell”, I said to myself, “oh shit”, I then turned my head towards the window where she couldn’t see me, I smiled, then I said, “it must be the oil from one of these cars” my pretty little girl friend replied, “oh”.

Eddie Kelly went on to become a Cambridge Police Officer; Eddie Preston married shortly after I did, Dickey Ferguson was the “Best Man” at my wedding.

Both Eddies are gone now and the last I heard of Dickey was that he now lives in a Nursing Home, Dickey also married and had one child, both his wife and his son have died.

All the guys that rode on the running boards and the bumpers of my car are now gone, all the guys that helped me clean the car and then lay in the grass looking at the sky and talking about life as we knew it back then are now gone. There are very few of us left. I should try to find Dickey; he might not even know me.

For many years after that “One Day” the “new generation” the “younger guys” that were growing up on the corner would sit on a milk case and listen closely as a few of the older guys would be talking about bygone days, sooner or later one of them would recall that "one day" and say, "remember the day Preston shit in Burtts car"

Author: Red Burtt