BEYOND THE BYLINE: A photo with a million memories

WILKES-BARRE — Minding my own business this weekend, the attached photo popped up on my Facebook feed.

And again, it blew me away.

Just like it did almost 10 years ago when I received it from the daughter of one of my mom’s dear friends.

Most people gather and talk about the memories they have of loved ones who are gone. And when the conversation continues, they often pull out family photo albums and look at those pictures — seeing those memories they keep in their hearts.

In my case — and for many others, for sure — the flood of 1972 washed away most of those cherished items, like photo albums.

But the memories remain — it’s just difficult to deal with not having those pictures to back them up.

So seeing this picture really took me back. When I received it, I sat and stared at it for some time. Everywhere I looked, so many memories rushed back — and more vivid than I could ever have recalled.

At the front of the picture is my mom’s friend, Marie, and her two sons. They’re standing in Marie’s parents’ yard — actually, it’s a grassy driveway that had to be mowed regularly. I used to tease Marie’s brother, Walter, about having to mow the driveway.

But it’s a picture is worth a thousand words — and this picture, to me, is worth a million memories.

Jean Roman, whose mother was a close friend of my mom’s, sent the picture.

Behind Marie and her sons is our home sweet home — 210 Reynolds St. — it’s there in the background. The year is 1958. It says August, but it had to be taken at a different time of the year because our huge maple tree was always robust with leaves.

If you enlarge the pic, you can see my mom and I sitting on our porch.

The reality here is that it’s the only picture I have of me with my mother, who died in May 1968, at the age of 42.

That alone choked me up. I can’t tell you the emotion that welled up in me at the mere realization it was the two of us sitting on our porch. We had done that so many times over the years.

Marie and her sons are looking toward Romans’ backyard, which had a tall black cherry tree and two chestnut trees. Walter and I would climb the cherry tree, find a limb to perch on, and enjoy some delicious cherries. The chestnut trees produced chestnuts that we often roasted on an open fire. (get it?)

To the right of Marie is the home of Alex (Ecky) and Mary Kraynack, who were as close to being my grandparents as anyone. I never knew my biological grandparents, so Ecky and Mrs. K. were always there for me.

In their front yard that faces Second Street sits the 12th Ward World War II Memorial, which was recently replaced with a bronze replica. My dad, his brother, and my mom’s brothers are all listed on it.

Beyond Marie, our big maple tree stands in front of our house. When in full bloom, that tree provided great shade on the hottest of days. Our cherry tree is on the left. We used to get great red and yellow cherries from that tree — and down our side yard, my mom’s two lilac trees would emit the sweetest of smells.

In front of the Roman house was a wall. Walter and I and Chris Balita, Mike Shusta and Steve and George Mikloski used to play “up-against,” where we would take a rubber ball and try to bounce it off the edge of the wall for a sure home run.

And we also played stocking ball games. My mom, despite painful arthritic fingers, would stitch old socks to form a ball. We used wooden bats and played games into the evening hours.

On that front porch, to the left, we sat and watched Jim Bunning pitch a perfect game for the Phillies. My dad let me take our portable black-and-white TV outside. We ran extension cords to plug it in. It was also a place for games like Strat-O-Matic and for jam sessions — me on guitar and Wayne Bevan singing.

In my backyard, we played Wiffle ball and basketball. On hot days, we would head down to the creek that flowed behind our house and cool off.

This was our neighborhood — and I can see it in this picture. This is where my pals and I learned just about everything we needed to learn. And we did it under the watchful eyes of our parents.

If this picture could somehow be a “scratch and sniff,” I’m sure I would smell the fresh-cut grass of the driveway, perhaps the odor of kielbasa cooking on the stove or horseradish being grated on our back porch, the exhaust of my dad’s car backing up, or my mom’s Jean Nate perfume. And, I hope, those lilacs in our side yard.

It was just like my mom, sitting there on our porch — with her son, not ever thinking that our days together would be cut way too short.

These memories will never leave me. I cherish them — always have and always will.

And now I have this picture to back them up.