State of Cape Cod

Gimme A Loose, Lou…

Along with the sound, a lot of controversy has been generated by the noise machine at The Hot Chocolate Sparrow espresso bar in Orleans. The establishment is plagued by young folk who congregate in the parking lot, especially after the 11:00 PM closing time. Whether the kids constitute an annoyance, a problem, or something worse hasn't been publicly established, nor does it matter. The fact is they aren't welcome, the lot is private property, and they are trespassing.

The owners have installed a Mosquito, an English device reputed to emit an annoying sound that only youths can hear. Many who have commented publicly feel that it is, in effect, cruel and unusual punishment; that the teens need a place to hang out and to deprive them of this parking lot is unfair. They evidently feel that the owners of The Hot Chocolate Sparrow have an obligation to provide a gathering place for the youth of the town.

Perhaps this pro-hangout crowd should get together and establish a place for the kids to congregate. Something like what we enjoyed back in the day. A place like Lou's.

Lou's was a candy store that catered to young people. Every neighborhood had one. It was a kind of private club for kids in their early to mid teens. Lou's consisted of two rooms. A store in front provided candy, gum, cigarets, ice cream, chips, pretzels and other snacks, cold soda, and novelties like pea shooters, rubber balls, hula hoops, dice, kites, decks of cards, yoyos, etc. Kids had simpler, and less expensive, toys back then. The back room housed several pinball machines and a couple of card tables. Out back you could pitch coins against the wall, for fun only, of course. Punch ball, stoop ball, and other city games took place in the street out front. Basically a boys' hangout, a few neighborhood girls jumped rope or played hopscotch on the sidewalk.

Inside a juke box played popular tunes. In those days, before smoking was demonized, if you couldn't afford a pack of cigarettes and wanted a smoke you had only to say the magic words, “Gimme a loose, Lou,” and Lou would sell you a single cigarette. If you won a few free games at pinball you could ask for the cash equivalent instead. The most adept pinballers would put the front legs of the game on top of their feet so they could move it up and down gently without tripping the tilt mechanism.

Various versions of Rummy were played at the card tables but the favorite game was 7½ – similar to Blackjack with the eights, nines, and tens removed. Face cards were worth ½, Aces, 1, and the best hand was, you guessed it, 7½.  No cash was allowed on the table: bets, if any, were settled afterward. Lou depended on the income from refreshments, the juke box, and cigarets.

I'm certainly not condoning the questionable activities and unwholesome behavior but, unlike many teen gatherings today, at Lou's there was no alcohol or drugs, and there was never any trouble. All the kids lived nearby. Their parents may not have been aware of all that went on but they knew where their children were, they knew when they'd be home, and that neither Lou nor the nearby neighbors would tolerate any vandalism or rowdy behavior. Lou had his livelihood to protect and the kids didn't want to lose their gathering place. Very symbiotic.

The Hot Chocolate Sparrow presents a different set of circumstances. The kids don't live nearby. The parents don't know where their children are. They don't know, or perhaps don't care, what they're doing or when they'll get home. There is no Lou nor any neighbors to keep an eye on them. When the owners of the property attempted to protect their investment they were beset by politically correct types asserting, in effect, the rights of young folk to trespass – probably the same people who would immediately bring suit should a mishap occur.

Times change. There are no real neighborhoods any more. The corner store is long gone. If a gathering place is needed for the kids, the parents should provide it, and not expect the proprietors of an espresso bar, a convenience store, nor any other business to do so. A church hall, or perhaps a school building, might be rented or pressed into service. Apparently the moms and dads would rather trust to luck that there will be no disaster and continue to ignore their parental responsibility, and instead cry foul when someone dares remind them of it.

Visit our sister site, Non Illigitimi Carborundum

4 comments »

Leave it alone, why don'tcha?

We moved to Cape Cod from New Jersey in 1974. Like most “washashores’ we fell in love with the place after vacationing here. The climate was agreeable; the beaches, great. The long golf season was a plus. We liked the woods, the narrow, winding roads, and the low-key, casual life style. The houses with their weathered shingles were charming. We loved the informal, low maintenance landscaping most people seemed to favor.

We came from a suburban town in northern New Jersey: the exact turnpike exit escapes me. The homes weren’t all the same, but the rectangular lots were. Each house was set back the same distance from the street with a sidewalk in front separated from the curb by a grassy strip. All had paved driveways and were surrounded by meticulously clipped shrubs and manicured lawns. There were few trees. It had all the charm of habitats in a zoo.

Our house on the Cape is in the middle of a nearly triangular lot with streets on both sides and across the flattened point. We left all the trees except those which had to go to allow access for construction equipment and a septic system. This left a small lawn between the house and a patch of woods in back along with narrow strips of grass on the two sides, between the house and a dense row of hemlocks. There is a stand of pine and oak in front. No Lawn.

The term “lawn” is a misnomer. Initially grass was indeed planted. For a while it was duly watered, fed, limed, weeded, and mowed. This quickly got old and hasn't been done in years.

The term “lawn” is a misnomer. Initially grass was indeed planted. For a while it was duly watered, fed, limed, weeded, and mowed. This quickly got old and hasn't been done in years. Some grass survives, along with moss and carpet-like vegetation that's attractive and soft underfoot, with tiny white or yellow flowers in summer. Whatever grows gets mowed like a real lawn, but not nearly as often. A light machine suffices for the spaces around the house. A rugged mulching mower, salvaged from the dump, pulverizes the brush and other vegetation that insists on trying to grow among the trees out front and mulches the leaves in the fall. No raking, ever. It looks rather neat and in harmony with what we consider the Cape Cod ambiance.

Once the only house in the area, the neighborhood is now fully developed. The lots, except for ours, are pretty much the same size and shape. The houses are set back about the same distance from the street, each with a paved driveway, a lawn and meticulously manicured shrubs. The grass is automatically irrigated, rain or shine. Landscapers regularly infest the area, trailers blocking the streets and the peace disturbed by noisy machinery. There aren’t many trees. The effect is eerily reminiscent of the New Jersey town we abandoned.

Presumably these people moved here because they had visited Cape Cod and liked it. Why, then, did they go to such lengths to replicate the neighborhoods they left behind? These aren't tract houses but individual homes built on privately purchased lots. Here was a lovely, wooded area inhabited by quail, skunks, rabbits, raccoons, birds, and even an occasional turtle or fox. Shouldn't people have taken pains to disrupt it as little as possible?

While the environment deserves respect, people needn't always defer to nature. The Fourth of July fireworks should be held on the beach and the plovers should just have to make do. There shouldn’t be any Canada geese defiling the playing fields and golf courses. Coyotes should be treated like the predators they are. Gulls and terns can settle their differences without human interference. Four wheelers ought to have access to beach trails year round and, whales and pacifists to the contrary, those defending our country deserve the best radar and sonar available.

Cape Cod is universally acknowledged to be an area of unique natural beauty worthy of special consideration. Why, then, are so many who found it attractive enough to settle here trying to suburbanize it? They knew there weren’t many sidewalks, four lane highways, nor big box stores. They drove in the summer traffic. Newcomers constantly agitate to abolish hunting, a way of life here since time immemorial. Cape Cod houses had lawns but they weren't worshipped, and sandy areas where grass had a tough time taking hold were tolerated. If those things were important to them, why did they move here? They should have gone to New Jersey. It’s got everything they seem to hold dear.

17 comments »