Wilson, Edward

WILSON, EDWARD - REMEMBERS CENTRAL PARK/BETHPAGE - I remember when we made our first visit to Central Park in 1917. It wasn't the ride out from Elmhurst, in our 1916 Ford, tin lizzy, but the never to be forgotten, vivid, first impression I got, as a four year old, as we entered into the Beau Sejour kitchen.

There in front of me, just a little above eye level, loomed two huge black iron coal and wood burning stoves, both units brilliantly aglow. Behind the stove range were two young fellows, (teenagers) doing the cooking, each grasping a large black frying pan, the flames licking out from under them. In the other hand a spatula or fork, flipping or stirring as cooks do. Years later I learned, one of the teenagers was Charlie Campagne's older brother and the other kid frying, possibly a filet of Sea Bass, was Oscar Swanstrom. Oscar hailed from Swede Town, and stayed at the Beau for the better part of his life. Later we worked at the Grumman Co. for a better salary.

Looking back it is hard to imagine such a busy operation going on in our quiet sparsely, 600 or so, populated hamlet. That was my introduction to our new home to be, the then Hotel Beau Sejour. A year later in 1918 we settled in, and the time to go to school arrived. Powell Ave. School with out the wooden annex, no eight class room addition, or the adjacent athletic field. Instead bordering the schoolyard were the furrowed fields, dolled with the left over harvest vegetation, of the Nibbie farm lands. Down the slope, in the hollow, by the dry creek, stood the barns and farmhouse. They had their own little private dirt road, Nibbie Lane (which is still there) to the village. It came out by the railroad station where Mr. Fredericks presided as stationmaster, and the congenial Sam Rozzi Sr., rail road crossing gate keeper.

Also in the back of the school, we kids had our own little footpath running along behind the Broadway homes of the Parisi's, Buddy Mazzara, the Maurer Hotel and Mr. Jarvis home on the corner with the honest to goodness real working windmill. The path was a short cut to the village making easy access to the Hacketts Candy and Ice Cream Store, half of which was the U. S. Post Office. Down past the school on Powell Ave. (then known as School Street) ran the Vanderbilt Long Island Motor Parkway, and a section of the Stewart Rail Road Line (where the Seaford Oyster Bay Expressway, Route 135 now exists). Beyond that and up the hill from Stymus Ave. was the Botto Farm. A large track of land that Joe Botto Sr. sold to the State of New York for the park and golf courses, later to be known as, Bethpage State Park. This caused the controversial contest between Central Park and Farmingdale to acquire the name Bethpage. We needed the change most, as much of our mail got mixed up with Central Park Post Office in New York City. By fast action of the post office, and local establishment, our town became Bethpage in 1936.

Another notable resident down on Stymus Ave. was our schools assistant principal, Mrs. Samuel Dunton, who tightly parted, in the middle, hair do, round gold rimmed eye glasses, and dress was exactly like a farmers wife in the famous early American painting "Prayer at Noon". Mrs. Dunton taught the 7th and 8th grade, as did Mr. Goubleman, the school principal. Mr. Goubleman resided on Stewart Ave. across the street from the Beau Sejour. Along side was Theo Damm and Joe Baldwin, the town smitty, who had a Horse Shoe Shop on the corner. A few years earlier that site of land was a vast empty field dotted with a house or two in the distance, the Klug's, Sengstacken, Ahearns.Mr. Goubleman was responsible for ringing the bells to call the students together, the second ring was for assembly in the basement auditorium, where he officiated. We all saluted the flag, sang America, repeated the Lords Prayer. Mr. Goubleman then addressed us with the day's agenda, and exuberantly read passages from the Bible. His favorite was, "my cup runneth over" and "I shall dwell in the house of the Lord". Many of us waiting for the first bell often loitered on the front steps, the same spot where all the class pictures were taken.

I started in Miss O'Brien's first grade, ground floor, the room on the left. How did they fit 8 grades into four fairly large rooms? The problem was eventually solved with the annex where the loyal Mrs. Harts had the 6th grade. The large extension and athletic field soon followed. Our graduation came in 1927, a few of us went on and attended Hicksville High School. Our parents had to pay the tuition and supply the transportation. Transportation was no problem as I had already been driving our 1921 Briscoe, and later our 1925 Dodge since I was 8 years old. By this time I was my mom's private chauffeur. She made frequent trips to Macy's in New York City in which I did the driving. We also made regular trips to the near by farms for produce, string beans from Walsh's, corn from Moesch's, where a bank and bowling alley now stand, and others DeLalio, McGunicles and Neders much of which is now Grumman. We would sometime scour those nearby fields for carrots and other leftovers for a treat for our cows, Bessie and Browka. So we drove to school daily without a hitch, and without a drivers license. Keeping one eye in the rear view mirror and the other on the road even though there were no police patrol cars in our area prior to 1929. There were no policemen in our town until about 1922. I know, I was in the 7th or 8th grade and had bought myself a shiny new 22 blank pistol from the toy and stationary section of Mr. Hacketts Candy Store. They also had a couple of gambling machines (one arm bandits) there which Mr. Goubleman, the school principal, soon took care of. Our new rookie cop, Eddie Piat, likewise relieved me of my new pride and joy, my new 22 blank pistol. We got to know the new cop well as his more frequent patrols were made to the back room at the Beau Sejour.

We also had a motorcycle cop, Frank Zinzi, who patrolled the Hempstead Turnpike in the late World War One about 1916 or so. The turnpike was a narrow macadam road, as all others were then, and had to be treated each summer with a messy oil spray and a layer of sand. Officer Zinzi also doubled as the gatekeeper at the Vanderbilt Parkway Toll Booth exit. This also served as his homestead. The parkway was a dangerous, narrow, speedway with no space for on coming cars. The exit booth was located back in the Island Trees potato fields, behind the Kraemers and Kerchler homes along side of the little white Baptist Church. Last, but not least, on the Police Dept. list was Dick Garret of the auto parts and salvage firm, who I believe was a plainclothes detective. One of the younger Garrets did chase me all the way to school one day, but stopped short of the high school entrance gates. Many years later one of our regular Sunday dinner guest, Count Clarence D Von Herter, told of how he during World War One, while on his way to have dinner at the Beau was frequently stopped for speeding by a motorcycle cop on the Hempstead Turnpike. In fact, it almost became a ritual. This had to be Office Zinzi! I could tell by the look the count gave me that he and the officer both rather enjoyed this mutually satisfactory meeting. Count Herter then drove a racy open, two seater, army tan, Mercedes Benz, with slanted lightweight canvas mudguards. As a car crazy kid, I remember his car well along with the many other fine cars parked around our place. The Pierce Arrow, Stutz Bearcat, but in particular Mr. Honer, the Honer Harmonica king, his Benz was finished in mahogany and the exhaust pipes, nickel plated, protruded out from under the hammered copper hood. A few more on the long list of outstanding early day cars was the monstrous Locomobile, The Moon, Richenbacker. To which I'd like to add our own English 1921 Briscoe and my 12 or 13 year old birthday present, a 1927 Whippet Roadster with a rumble seat. No wonder mom called me the Prince of Whales. While I'm on the car crazy bit, out of the twenty or more cars I had over a lifetime, nine of them, Pontiacs, came from Mr. Larry Calisi Sr., garage on Central Ave. in the McCordville area. So much change occurred in the decade between 1920-1930 and changes continue.