Here's May in June, 1948.

This photo was taken on my mother’s 28th birthday (2 June 1948) as she posed with my brother and me on the front steps of the beach house. There’s only so much that could  be done with a Kodak Brownie in those days, but this box camera seems to have done the job. And I’m guessing that my dad is the one taking the picture. From the angle of the sun, it appears to be mid-day.


In retrospect, I can inspect a number of things in this picture. The paint is all fresh, and the screen door is one that my father had made from scratch. In years to come, it would be painted gray and slam shut each time my brother or I or the dog ran out the front door. In the winter, it would be taken off its hinges and stored away. Obviously, it let in the breeze and kept out the bugs, but it was useless against the dust of a dirt road and the rain. Such was life on Snatch Alley. (C’est la vie, arracher ruelle.)

The steps lack any garden on both sides, and I’m guessing there are no window boxes there yet. In years to come, this front step would be THE site for posed pictures, as well as 8mm silent movies. Apparently, no visitor could escape the Kodak magic.

And then, I look at my mother. Bobby socks, lipstick, and some sort of rebellious hairstyle that foreshadowed the hotrod pompadours of Snatch Alley.

Here also is a picture of my mom and dad, mugging for the camera on her birthday. The sign on the tree reads “Happy Birthday, Dot,” and it’s nailed to the pine between our house at #10 and #12, which has been owned by several families over the years: Sandell, Brown, Novello, Rochefort, and McGrillis. [In the 1951 picture of my Uncle Al, the man on the left in the picture is Stanley C. (Pete) Sandell, who was the first owner.] This birthday picture was snapped in 1974, when Julie and Al Novello owned the place. That would make my mom 54 on that day, and my dad was 58. Though you might think that these two are just hamming it up for the picture, that would only be partially true. They were always together and always loved each other’s company. And they seemed to enjoy expressing that in front of any camera. Everyone we know was accustomed to seeing that.

What I also see in this picture is the lack of stockade fence . . . anywhere. In the background, the Wakefield (now Mitchell) place on Shirley Avenue was still on its original cement block foundation at ground level.

As a final note, I’ll add this. Among the things that I never thought of asking my mother was just why her parents named her May, even though she was born in June. If they had expected her to be born sometime the month before, they still had a day to reconsider and go with the name of June. Still, they did not, and no one ever called her May, unless it was done so in jest. Of course, to me, it was always Mom.

So, happy birthday, Mom.