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Excerpted Inspirations #251

Writer: Linda Odhner, with photos by Liz Kufs
Linda Odhner, with photos by Liz Kufs
1 day ago
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I was expected to go alone to downtown Philadelphia to have the braces on my teeth adjusted – a bus ride, a train ride, and a six-block walk – at around age 12. [This was in the mid-1940s.] School was over at 12:30. I’d take the 12:39 bus at the top of Alden Road, just across from the school, to Bethayres. Climb on the train – use the green 20-trip ticket that our family always had. Trains weren’t crowded at mid-day – I had a seat to myself, next to the window. Past the suburban gardens of Meadowbrook and Rydal, past businesses at Noble and Jenkintown, past poor North Philadelphia row houses, past tiny yards, some piled with junk, some with tiny gardens and arbors. Under tunnels and over bridges to Reading Terminal – gritty, cindery Reading Terminal with dirty washrooms and bums sitting in the waiting room. Down the escalator to 12th and Market. Cross Market right away – too many beggars on this side of the street. Walk down 12th to Chestnut, Sansom, Walnut. Past the “Jeweler By Birth” sign on the store belonging to Uncle Fred and Aunt Aurora – the reassurance of a familiar connection. Turn right at Walnut and go 4 blocks to 16th. Careful crossing Broad St – you need almost the whole WALK light to get to the other side. But there’s an island in the middle where you can wait for the next light if you don’t make it. Keep going to 16th St. Ah, there’s the Medical Arts Building. Up the rickety elevator to the office of the “Doctors Jackson – Orthodontics.” Safety for a while. Then reverse the process to go home. Gradually it got easier. I was alone, and convinced that if I spoke to no one, no one would bother me. My horizons widened. I discovered that if I turned right on Market St. I would come to Wanamakers at 13th St. So I would walk through the store to Chestnut St. and continue on my way to 16th and Walnut. At first I just looked. Later I started shopping. I discovered that the ladies’ room on the mezzanine was a lot nicer than the Reading Terminal one. Chestnut St. had shoe stores and record stores I could explore. Sometimes Dad took me to Philadelphia Orchestra concerts – 2 o’clock on Friday afternoons. I realized that I could go on my own. It just took a little planning. I’d arrange for my next appointment on a Friday at 1:30. (Yes, I could speak up if it was important.) Then at a quarter to two I would rush to the Academy of Music, pay my 80 cents, and run all the way upstairs to the “Peanut Gallery.” I heard wonderful music. I was independent. I was doing what I loved. At the time, I never realized how capricious and inconsistent Mother’s permissions and restrictions were. For example, I was never allowed to go to Willow Grove Park on the rides or in the funhouse – even if a friend invited me and an adult was taking us – because it was too “germy and dangerous.” But I could go by myself to the gritty, filthy city. What was going on here? It made no sense. Maybe this has something to do with the inconsistencies in what I do and don’t fear. Why was I completely unafraid to go out in the boat, to go to the city alone? At the beginning I think I was afraid, but soon it became just an adventure. Why? -Beryl Simonetti, Images (2000, unpublished), pp. 67-69

 
 
 

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