This picture was taken several decades before the story told below took place, but it would have looked about the same.
It was in late September in '42 or '43 and still steamy hot at 10 o'clock at night, walking down Northrop Street, coming from the State Theater. The four of us guys, getting ready to graduate, were thinking more about going off to war than caps and gowns. We were ready and eager to fulfill our obligation, but on this night we were just too hot, and Mr. Drisko's homework was far down our priority lists.
At the bottom of the hill, as we reached Dutcher Street and the pond, someone had, what seemed at the time, a great idea.
"Lets go swimming!!"
I can't recall who, and will never find out, as I think I might be the only one left. Anyways, we carefully hid our clothes in the bushes near the bathhouse, and somewhat embarrassed, scampered out from the beach, in the moonlight, to the sanctity of the raft and the cool waters.
It was great until a car's headlights coming up Hopedale Street, passed the shop, turned into the bathhouse.....TOMMY MALLOY.....the chief himself.....Hoy moly!!!
"All right youth, come on out!"
Not us! We ducked under the raft and made like hornpouts, snuggling up to the floatation drums. After some minutes, the police car disappeared, along with, as we soon discovered, our clothes.
By about 1:30 we were really COLD. When the police car returned, we would have surrendered without a shot being fired, if asked. But Tommy must have "been there" many years before, as he left our clothes in a pile on the beach and drove off. We had learned our lesson, and quickly and quietly sneaked of to our homes. Mums the word. Next time, we would stick to fishing!!! Roy Rehbein, January 2008
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