The Sunday Memory Drawer - A Long Walk for Colorforms

Crap, this picture brings it all back to me.  I had this exact same Colorforms play set.  I'm closing my eyes and I'm on the living room floor, putting Popeye, Olive, and Bluto through some very primitive plot structure.  Or as creative as a 6-year-old boy can be. 

Back then, Colorforms was my absolute favorite toy.  You peeled these vinyl pieces off a black plastic board and you positioned them against some backdrop.  From there, your imagination could run wild.  And mine certainly did.

Besides Popeye, there was Willie the Weatherman.  You had this image of a kid in his underwear.  You dressed him up according to whatever weather you saw outside.  Or you could get silly and put galoshes and a bathing suit on him.

I remember a Flintstones play set that was great until I somehow lost the pieces that made up Wilma.  I was distraught until I adapted my future scripts to account for the loss by announcing that Wilma had passed on just like my Uncle Fritz.  In my scenarios, Fred was now a widower.

The really cool thing about all Colorforms was the smell.  That new toy "plasticky" aroma that just permeated everything around you and made a kid proud that this particular plaything was in his toy chest.  I'd do anything and everything to get a new edition of Colorforms.

And, one day, I did.  Miraculously, I lived to tell the story years later.

It was summertime and, for some bizarre reason, I had five dollars in my pocket.  Perhaps several weeks of allowance had accrued.  Or, more likely, it was some sort of gift from Tante Emma.  She was a good one to hand out five dollar bills for special events like birthdays or school achievements.  How ever the money landed in my possession, it was, as my dad would always say, "burning a hole" in my pocket.   

And it was the total right amount for a new Colorforms addition to my little world.

Now, in those days, the one store that seemed to stock the widest assortment of Colorforms was a toy emporium on the corner of 233rd Street and White Plains Road in the Bronx.  Exactly 1.2 miles from my house.   Underneath the IRT train station past the Wakefield Theater and just before my family's favorite Italian restaurant, Sorrento's.  I knew the neighborhood well. 

Backtracking to a Sunday Memory Drawer entry of several weeks ago, you may recall my tendency to be a trifle impatient just like my grandmother.  She and I were cut from the same cloth.  When we wanted something, we would immediately go out and get it.  I had the coin.  I wanted new Colorforms.  The time was now. 

So, instead of waiting for my dad to drive me down to the toy store or perhaps do a little detour visit the next time we went for Friday night pizza at Sorrento's, I decided to undertake this all by myself.  After all, it was a beautiful summer day.  Why not?  I'll walk to the toy store.  By myself.

I probably was no more than seven years old at the time.

While the world back then offered kids a lot safer environment than today, a two mile round trip on foot was the equivalent of climbing Mount Everest.  Yet, I thought nothing of it.  Heck, I knew there were some big streets to cross, but I had already learned the difference of "Walk" and "Don't Walk" signs.  I couldn't get lost.  The route from my house to the toy store and back was a virtual straight line down White Plains Road.  This wasn't so hard.

It was so easy that I didn't even bother to tell my parents about my trek. 

Off I went.

Onto the main road.  Past Charlie's Delicatessen and the car wash.  Past the phone company building which was right near the Bronx/Mount Vernon border.  Past the dry cleaners and, on the other side of the street, Barney's Restaurant which my father's cousin owned.  Past the newstand where my father would always buy the "night owl" edition of the Daily News.  I was now at the beginning of the elevated tracks that began at 241st Street. 

I was at my first very big street to cross. 

I exerted schoolboy caution.  I waited patiently for the light to change.  I was going to do this right.  My folks would be so proud of me.

Once across six lanes of traffic, I was now venturing into the Dullsville portion of my journey.  Lots of factories and warehouses.  I could hear the subway train screeches above me.  Up on my left was the poultry place where my grandmother would sometimes buy some live foul.  They would cut their heads off in back.  I covered my eyes and ran past their driveway.  Instead, I let my other senses take in the heavenly scent of anisette from the A & M Italian Bakery across the street.  We bought our ravioli there.

I was at the next big street to traverse.  238th Street.  Another six lanes of traffic.  As I waited for lights to change again, I noticed the storefront of the German delicatessen which had the best German potato salad.  My family always got salads there for Sunday supper.  I was impressed.  I had come this far.

There was more to see once past 238th Street.  The building where my dentist, Dr. Reiner, had offices.  The Finast super market where my grandfather would take my grandmother when she was bored with the A&P on Oak Street in Mount Vernon.  More stores.  And then the Wakefield Theater.  Wow.  How far I had gone!  Next door was the shoe repair shop which was owned by my neighborhood buddy Leo's uncle.  I was this close to new Colorforms.

One last big street stood in my way.  233rd Street.  But, by now, I was a veteran.  I crossed it with ease. 

I lingered for about fifteen minutes in the toy store itself.  I had to soak the day all in.  This was an amazing accomplishment.  I don't remember which Colorforms playset I bought that day, but I tucked it safely under my arm for the return trip to Mount Vernon. 

I couldn't have been gone for more than ninety minutes.  But, for me at a tender age, it was the equivalent of flying to Paris for lunch.  Indeed, nobody at home had even realized I was gone.  Grandma assumed I was upstairs.  Mom must have assumed I was downstairs.  I had been in neither place.

And I would have gotten away with it forever had I not made the cardinal mistake of playing gleefully with my new Colorforms on the living room floor.  Right in front of my mother.  And she had a very precise mental inventory of my Colorforms collection.

"Is that new?"

Ummmm.....

"Did your father take you to the store to get that?"

Ummmm.....

I could cross big streets, but coming up with great lies on the spot?  Not yet.

I imagine the mystery of the new Colorforms was Topic A with my parents behind closed doors.  About a week later, my dad and I were in the car doing our normal Saturday errands.  Right around the route of my wondrous adventure.  He stopped the car at a corner.

"How far did you go?"

Ummmm......

His tone of voice was an interesting mix of emotions.  Sternness with a hint of pride.  Maybe he was as impressed as I had been.

"Did you cross 241st Street?"

Ummmm......

"Did you get as far as the Wakefield Theater?"

Ummmm......

I don't think he ever got an answer from me.

And, for the next two weeks, I never did know where Mom had hidden those new Colorforms.

Dinner last night:  Kobe beef burger at Cafe Montana.