“The Rockin’ Rooming House of the Rockaways” ©2017

Part 2

It seems to me, those past summer days were always…sun filled.

Families armed with blankets, bagged lunches, toys, an umbrella and youngsters in tow…beat the path to the nearby vast beach.

The sand would be burning-hot, so mamas carried the little ones, while papas dragged strollers with towels, etc.

(I’m exhausted just writing about it)!

The sea was always rough in the Rockaways…but so much fun.

The children clung onto the moored ropes, while they jumped and squealed in delight with each wave.

We wouldn’t return to the Chateau Warsaw until almost dusk…caravan style.

Sandy & still wet, we would wait our turn to wash-off in the wooden enclosed shower, in the backyard.

No sand dared enter the establishment, see the posted rules!

Later, in our changed clothing, we rush to the huge community dining area.

It was time to sit down to supper, at your own table, to devour our mother’s cooking.

Of course, we would checkout what others were eating. A lot of cross tasting went on, recipes were compared and adopted.

After supper cleanup, we were beckoned to the wooden slated boardwalk.

It was miles long in those days, and only a block from our residence.

En mass we’d stroll…the kids running & skipping ahead of us.

The Atlantic Ocean was foamy as it crashed thunderously against the huge rocks of the jetties. Endless spans of sand and dark scary sea lit with the moon’s reflection casting a path to the horizon.

It was both magical and medicinal…at the same time.

Can you imagine what this sight meant for the tenement dwellers’ myopic eyes, or the fresh clean sea breezes that filled their lungs those Rockaway evenings?

We exercise until we reached 35th Street on the boardwalk because it had an arcade of games, carnival rides and food concessions. It was always crowded & noisy in a most festive way.

One always seemed to have room a frozen creamy custard, a hot dog, French fries, a slice of Tony’s pizza, a soft salty pretzel, with mustard liberally smeared over it…or the piece de resistance “Jerry’s Knishes”.

What choice was given…oniony potato, greasy kasha, (groats), or sweet cherry or blueberry cheese knishes, sending smells of mouthwatering teases.

Writing about “Jerry’s Knishes”, I chuckle remembering being pregnant with my first daughter and yearning…all day only for them.

I couldn’t eat a thing, as I impatiently waited for my husband to walk with, me to “Jerry’s”.

Of course, we hit the place.

I “inhaled” about 6 knishes, to our amazement.

I paid for that with heartburn that lasted the rest of my pregnancy.

It was as a bride of 18, I stayed at the Warsaw Chateau for the first time.

The older ladies took to teaching me to cook. I burnt pot roast and over salted chicken soup, and overcooked noodles, that I still remember.

I messed up plenty, but they were kind when tasted some of my mistakes.

Friday mornings were the most frantic, in the house as all the women were preparing for the best meal of the week. The menfolk would arrive for the weekend having stayed in the city, all week to work. Their wives would shop early in the morning, bring the food home in a shopping wagon or along with the kids in the carriage. Everyone bought cakes, pies and bread in the 67th Street Bakery as the community kitchen had no ovens.

Friday night was truly special at the Warsaw Chateau.

Husbands, fathers and children were all together. We were truly a full house joyous house there in the Rockaways.