Christmas time in Longmeadow Massachusetts

THE WOODLANDS, TX -- Growing up in the northeast in Longmeadow, Massachusetts, every year we’d have a beautiful white Christmas…not just because snow was on the ground either. I can remember seven of my first 14 years it was snowing on Christmas Day.

Leading up to Christmas, I can remember all of my teachers at Converse Street School would have us taping decorative bags along the chalkboard ledge encouraging each of us to put Christmas cards in each bag to all of our classmates.

Longmeadow had a large percentage of people of the Jewish faith. Because of this, the school would have activities for Jewish students as well. In music class the teacher had as many Hebrew songs celebrating Hannikah. I can remember one of these songs. The song was titled, Shalom Chaverim. It started like this…Shalom chaverim, shalom chaverim la hit ra ot, la hit ra ot…..

But I digress,
Besides hockey, basketball, gymnastics and wrestling, the sport of choice in the winter for us was snowball throwing. To us closet hoodlums, nothing could be more inviting than a snow storm in Western Massachustetts. We'd all go outside and build snowmen, play tackle football, shovel driveways for money, bumper slide (skitching) and of course, throw snowballs at anything that moved.

If you've never played tackle football all bundled up during a moist, heavy snowstorm, you haven't played football. These stadiums with domes that close in inclement weather aren't for real men.

Building a snowman was so much gun. You would start with a snowball and roll it along the ground in such a way it turned into a huge ball for the base of the snowman. The second ball had to be a little smaller for the midsection and the head, that much smaller. We'd gather up everything needed to decorate our perfect snowman. My dad smoked a pipe which was obligatory for any snowman. A carrot for the nose. Charcoal for the buttons.

A few belts tied together for the usual fat snowman, and oversized marbles for the eyes and mouth. We'd rotate snowstorms donating our scarfs. A top-hat wasn't readily available so I always insisted on a NY Yankee baseball cap. Red Sox garb could not be found at our house.

My brother would help at times but he was usually building towers that could be seen from our house on 207 Converse Street to Laurel Street a few hundred yards away. He'd get a huge box and make perfect squares of snow and pile them up 20 feet, aided by a ladder and a tree. On rare occasions he'd make a big igloo we could all hang out and sleep in overnight. Not with permission though. Something about it being dangerous.

By far, the activity of choice for me and the other hoodlums was snowball fighting. We'd have wars at “The Circle” off Hazelwood Street where the whole neighborhood would bombard each other, not unlike the way we future Americans would fight the British about 250 years ago. The enemy would be standing 15 yards away and you'd throw snowballs as hard as you could at each other. It wasn't if you'd get killed, it was WHEN. The only way you could lose is if you had guys who got sick of getting hit and quit. Eventually, you'd be so outnumbered they'd rush you and bury you in the snow. War over!

You're thinking why would anyone quit? You go ahead and stand 15 yards in front of a guy with a good arm who hits you square in the face with a hard snowball. You'll start thinking how the war might not be worth fighting after all.

OK, one thing I'm not proud of is throwing snowballs at cars and trucks.

In 8th grade, we'd get out of Williams Middle School at 3 p.m. The walk home was a mile or so. About 20 of us who lived around the same neighborhood must have thrown 300 snowballs each making it 6000 possible hits on unsuspecting(and some suspecting) vehicles on the way home. Some days we wouldn't get home until it was 4:45. The main attraction was seeing an 18 wheeler. We'd all yell "TRACTOR-TRAILER" and load up with five snowballs each to unload on the poor truck. The truck would be going about 50 so we had to move fast.

Most of the truck drivers were cool with this and would pull their air horns. Either that or they were telling us to knock it off. Occasionally, a car or truck would stop and the driver would get out and start yelling. This was all part of the fun for us.

However, one time a driver scared us. Only three of us were left this particular day and we nailed a guy on Longmeadow Street across from St Mary’s church driving an ugly car called "The Thing." Like the Edsel 12 years before this, it didn't sell so it was discontinued. So, we hit this guy and he proceeds to chase us block after block on foot. We knew the neighborhoods so we’d duck in and out of several back yards. We knew we lost this guy. It was now 6 p.m. and dark now. We thought we were safe when all of a sudden he comes up from behind and tackles us near a field next to Jane Alden’s convenient store next to the old Texaco. He tackled ALL 3 OF US! He was about 35. After he tackled us, he pulled us up and started laughing. The first words out of his mouth were "Peace" as he held up two fingers for the peace sign. The peace sign was popular at this time because the Vietnam War was almost over. "I scared you, didn't I?" he added.

We didn't know what to do but we felt safe and knew this guy just got the better of us which made us respect him big time. He said to walk with him to Giovanni's which was a nearby corner pizza joint. On the way, we talked about sports, school and the usual small talk. At Gio's, he bought us each a couple slices and we went outside.

It was outside where we got "the speech." He told us that when he was a teenager, one of his friends was throwing iceballs at cars. Iceballs are snowballs that you store overnight so they turn into iceballs. These are deadly and can break your face open. Iceballs were against the rules during our wars. Anyway, he told us his friend hit a lady's car and it shattered the windshield with pieces scattering inside the car. One of the pieces got into her neck and slashed her wind-pipe. "When that happens, you have 30 seconds to live," he said.

He wasn't describing matter of factly at this point. He was dead serious and had our full attention. If you'll remember your rebellious days in 8th grade, you'll know that looking an adult in the eye without eyes rolling wasn't an every day occurrence. The respect he commanded that night will always be remembered.

After some friendly goodbyes, he left. I can honestly say that me and my two friends have not thrown another snowball at a mobile or immobile vehicle since that night. We'd still have wars and other such contests like seeing who could hit a stop sign from various distances and angles but we learned a valuable lesson from that man. The delivery was key.

Some of the best lessons learned back then were not from my parents. This is not to say that I had bad parents, it was just easier listening to people who weren't on us day in and day out. Having an 8th grader, I could do well to remember this once in a while.

You know, I miss the snow and Longmeadow, but I wouldn't trade it for the southern hospitality I've been treated to for the last 39 years. I sure do like visiting my old stomping grounds every chance I get though.

Have a great and safe Christmas/Hannukah!

Comments to Doug Sarant at dsarant50@gmail.com

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