I was born in Gardiner in 1947 on a hot summer day in July. I’m sure mine was a glorious birth and worthy of great celebration throughout the village. My birth was, shall we say, unexpected, leading to significant debate as to who would raise me. My biological father (George Sr.) wasn’t really the paternal type and my biological mother already had three children and was not financially suited to take on the responsibility of another infant.
Taking into account all the variables and realities of the situation, my father’s family agreed that they would be very pleased to assume all responsibility for my well-being. As a result of those decisions, I grew up very happy. I loved my life, and I loved Gardiner.
I was always surrounded by an extended family who took great interest in me. I considered myself lucky compared to many other kids. After all, I had about three mother figures as well as a couple father figures and they only had one of each.
My family was far from rich. Shoe factories and other blue-collar forms of employment generated the income that supported us all. But given the lean times, I was actually rich in both the material as well as a spiritual sense. In the 40’s and 50’s many of us grew up quite poor but in the absence of a definition of what poverty meant, most of us didn’t know it.
My first home was a house jointly shared by grandfather (John), grandmother (Etta, who was of Native American descent), an aunt (Gladys) and my father on Harden Hill. My grandfather died shortly after my birth and the only recollection I have of him is that at one time he took care of the public ice rink which was located under the old Gardiner-Randolph bridge. In those days Harden Street, as it is now called, was actually a neighborhood comprised of several houses and Goldberg’s junkyard known for its giant car crusher.
Before the landslide of the early 60’s which was never cleared, the street ran up the steep hill connecting Summer St. with Harrison Avenue. Not known for its traffic, Harden Hill’s real claim to fame was that in the wintertime during the 50’s the city closed it off for recreational purposes except for except for local traffic, and delivery trucks. I still recall the bread man, the dairy truck, the ice wagon and the larger vehicles that delivered coal or wood.
After a good snowfall, people from all over town would ski, toboggan and slide the whole length of the hill. Entire families joined in the fun that often lasted late into the night. The trek was not without peril, however. If the hill was really slick people could happen into the path of an on-coming train. Tracks were located at the bottom of the hill and trains could pass any time of day. So, in the still of bright days or star lit nights, people were ever mindful of the train’s whistles as it approached the trestle over Cobbossee Stream, past the paper mills or, perhaps, on their way to T.W. Dick steel company which is still in operation, or James Walker and Son Lumber Company which was also located at the bottom of Highland Avenue and is now home to Dunkin Donuts, Subway, Curves and the Gardiner Federal Credit Union.
Our house was an old, two-story building with an elongated wood shed and a detached garage all in advanced stages of disrepair. The downstairs consisted of a kitchen heated with a large wood stove, a dining room and a living room that featured a large radio that was our primary form of entertainment. There was also a bathroom offering a really large claw foot tub. A coal fired stove also helped to keep the first floor warm. Upstairs, however, were three unheated and uninsulated bedrooms and an adjoining attic. . Stacks of quilts were layered on each of the beds. Since the inside temperature often nearly matched that of the outdoors, heated stones were placed at the end of each bed before retiring for the night and provided added warmth. Bedside pots rounded out the décor since nobody wanted to get too far away from the blankets to make the long trip downstairs to the bathroom.
After some time passed I went to live with my father’s brother, Charles, his wife, Miriam, and their children Lawrence, Bill, and Charles Jr. They lived on Spring Street and were a little better off economically since my uncle worked as a plumber. Everyone agreed that this move would be good for me since my aunt was a stay-at-home mom and their home offered such amenities as central heat, a big playground, more toys and opportunities to travel since they also owned a car and really enjoyed going to the coast especially to places like Rockland or Bar Harbor . I admired my uncle and really loved my aunt who was a great teacher and always found plenty of time to spend with all of us kids. We were all treated equally.
My guess is that I lived mostly with them until I was about four years old although I did go back and forth from Spring Street to Harden Street. I was happy to be at either place. On the one hand I enjoyed spending time with my cousins on Spring Street but I also liked the time I spent with my father, aunt and grandmother who would take me shopping downtown or to The Common located at the top of Brunswick Hill. Sometimes we would take the bus to Augusta and every once in a while the train to Waterville where my Aunt Doris and Uncle Simon lived.
As fate would have it, however, this would not be my last move. My father’s niece Lucretia had what seemed to be a long standing arrangement with my father that when she got married she would get full custody of me which was something she had longed for since the day I was born. I believe that Uncle Charles and Aunt Miriam objected since they really wanted to raise me. In the end I remember packing up my little red wagon with all my stuff in it and Lucretia, her new husband, Ernest Heald and I made our way up Spring Street, across Autumn Street and up Highland Avenue to an apartment located in the white house right next to the big, brick Dineen family home at the intersection of Mt. Vernon St. Their family was noted for raising turkeys that seemed to dwindle in numbers around the holidays and they also had a barn with a basketball court. I was never very good but even though they were older boys and true athletes they would let us kids play too
I remained very close to my real father until his passing in 1962 and with all my extended family but it would be Ernie and Lucretia that I would refer to as my parents. They may not have given birth to me but I prided myself on being their first son. I also considered my self to be the big brother of my younger siblings, Gary, Laurie, Cindy and Johnny.
When I was five I started my primary education at Pray Street School, now the home of the Big Brothers and Big Sisters programs. I met new friends like George Haley, Stan Prosser, Charlie Ware, John Eastman, Jill and Joan Greenleaf, Carol Bowie, Cynthia Dill and Rae Ann French just to name a few.
As the years went by we grew up and Gardiner changed. What the city was like throughout the 1950’s and early 1960’s will be encapsulated in our next issue. I hope you enjoy these narratives of this city we call home.
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