Art Holmes volunteered to help out with the e-mailing of Hopedale stories and it reminded him of some other volunteer activities in the past, which he sent along. Here they are, followed by a couple of other stories.
Totally unrelated but just thought of it as I was talking about volunteering. I peddled papers from the time I was 9 until I was 18 ---- back when I had the Boston Herald, the Boston Globe, The Worcester Telegram, The Record-American and the Boston Post ---- to most of the working folks that subscribed to a paper. Back in the 40s the papers went to 12 cents a week.
Well, now to the story: There were several widows living on Freedom Street----small rental units Drapers let widows live in after their husbands had died. Anyway (no matter how heavy the papers nor how cold it was) my Dad MADE me go into each house, empty the ashes from their pot bellied stoves, take the ashes out to the back alley, dump them and then go down into their basements and fill up the hod with coal so that they could keep their houses warm for another day. At the time I thought my father was the most domineering and misunderstanding man on Progress Street but I passed on the same to our four boys. Have never heard what my four boys thought of me during THEIR teenage years but I look back now and think of how wonderful it was that my father realized there was a need, his son was "available" and the rewards were a cup of hot chocolate from a couple of those women, cookies and there was always a "Thank you, Arthur".
As I remember the Herald and Globe went to 20 cents a week while the rest stayed for some time at 12 cents a week. I got two (2) cents PER WEEK per paper customer yet was able to buy a 28" bike, skis, and really didn't have to ask Mom or Dad for a whole lot of "leisure money." I remember the biggest tip that I received each Christmas was from Dr. Campbell -----$5.00. But he also paid me twenty-five cents a week for his 20 cent paper. Needless to say his paper was always inside the storm door and I always got it to his house there on Hopedale Street well before 7:00 AM. You mentioned selling papers at the main entrance to the shop. Most of my years were with the morning papers and I had a few that I left at the "Main Office". Really cold days in the winter I'd sit in those stuffed leather chairs, get warm and read the funnies. It was rough when there was snow 'cause I had to finish peddling in time to get home, change for school and eat a second breakfast.
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One Halloween when I was about 16 (1946) , l left our house (46 Progress Street) after supper, went down the back alley and tipped over all of the garbage cans down to the hill where the alley connected with Progress Street. Then I proceeded to meet with Bill Norman and we meandered around town doing the usual teenage pranks.
Chet Sanborn, the police officer on duty that evening, then showed up at our house at about 7:00 and asked if I was there. Well, Dad told him that I was out with Bill Norman and a couple of others but I had to be home at 9:00. (Remember when the bells at Draper's used to ring, which, in those days, was the local teenage curfew?) Chet then told Mom and Dad what he thought had happened (all of this was told to me a couple of days later) and Chet said he'd be back at 9:00 and "Let Art pick up all of the trash."
Daddy said, "Chet, why don't you wait until about 10:00 and Art will be sound asleep. Gladys and I don't go to bed until 11:00 or so and that'll probably teach him a good lesson."
Sure enough, sound asleep, and awakened by (not your mother or father) but a GIGANTIC Police Officer who "invited me" to get dressed and follow him into the back alley. (I am sure that he was well over 6' tall but at that moment he could have been well over 10' tall.) He then "invited" me to get dressed, follow him and he'd hold a flashlight so that I could "return" ALL of the garbage to the respective cans. He even had me pick up minuscule "stuff" that almost made me sick to my stomach more than once. He then let me go back home and Dad "suggested" that I take another bath before going back to sleep. Can't EVER REMEMBER tipping over trash cans again!!!!
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Tommy Malloy, our Chief of Police back in the 40s, used to park his car on the south side of the Main Office on many evenings. I'm persuaded he was there to check up on the likes of me----speeding along Hopedale Street. A couple of us had been to Medway to a DeMolay Meeting and upon our return to Hopedale (I was the driver this particular night) I was driving about 40 miles an hour up Hopedale Street (The speed limit was certainly no more than 25 mph).
One of my buddies said, "There's Tommy Malloy, Art. You've had it."
The next morning Tommy went to the Main Office (my Dad worked in the cost department). He talked to my Dad, asked if I'd been out the previous night. Daddy told him that I'd been to a DeMolay Meeting. "Why?"
"Well, I think Art was driving at least 40 miles an hour up Hopedale Street and I thought you and Gladys would like to know." They talked a little longer, Tommy left and Dad went back to his particular assignment.
That evening while we were sitting, eating supper, Dad asked me how fast I was driving up Hopedale Street last night. I told him, "Oh, I guess about 25 or 30 miles an hour." (Mistake right there----always tell the TRUTH.)
Daddy then asked for my keys and when I gave them to him he said, "Well, I heard it was closer to 40 miles an hour so I'm going to keep your keys for a week."
I said, "What!!!!!"
His comment was, "Art, one more word and it'll be two weeks."
THE END
Don't you think that kind of treatment is too severe, particularly when the Chief of Police and your own father work against you? Sure learned a lot growing up in Hopedale and I don't know many places where teenagers could be raised under such really terrific circumstances. Hopedale practiced the "current" slogan (or whatever) where it takes a village to raise a child. Well, Dan, these two stories sound as though I was always having a run-in with the police but they liked me and I sure thought the world of them.
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