A Child’s Words of Light in November Gloom 1946

By Jean Caligiuri McKenna

My mother used to say that after the clock strikes 4 o’clock in the afternoon, the day begins to change and subtly take on a waning feel. As an adolescent schoolgirl during the 1940s, this was even more profound in the later autumn days of November, when the few cherished hours of after-school daylight would grow slimmer with each passing day.

Freed from the halls of P.S. 44, I would amble home on these late fall afternoons in the 2 o’clock hour with my pals Dolly and Jeannie. Relieved from the day’s school duties, we’d jubilantly walk down from Beach 94th Street on the boulevard, staggering with the other girls, frolicking with gossip and laughter. Along the way, I’d stop into Greenberg’s candy store to buy two pretzel sticks for a penny, then cross the street to say hello to Papa in his barbershop. Upon arriving home at Beach 84th Street, I’d find Mama fixed in the kitchen cooking supper. At that age, when your mother is home, all is right with the world, even if you only see the back of her as you dart in and out. In my race against the hourglass of time, I’d drop my books off and speedily set out of the house back into the precious remaining daylight.

I’d barely hear Mama’s usual call of “Where you go?” as I’d sprint towards my big sister’s house on 87th Street by the Long Island Railroad El. A few satisfying hours of stoop banter and street games with my cousin and nephews were usually enough to fulfill me before surrendering to the imminent dusk and heading back home to a safe evening of dinner, homework and leisure with Mama and Papa. Sometimes, when the mood called for a quieter pace, I’d take my 6-year-old niece, Patti Ann, along for a leisurely bus ride to busy Central Ave. in Far Rockaway, or just for some local window-shopping, without money! Patti Ann was six years younger than me, but she provided soothing company as a diversion from the usual tomboy activities. On these wistful days when I didn’t feel like playing or talking much, she would lovingly oblige, tagging along as a willful silent partner. Ping-ponging together across both sides of Rockaway Beach Boulevard’s store-front windows we would pass the time peering into Piazza’s Bakery, wafting in the sumptuous sights and aroma of the Italian pastries and fresh baked bread. Sometimes, the tinkling overhead shop doorbell of Harold the Jeweler’s would lure us inside its narrow gallery to browse. Ogling the sparkling earrings and bracelets, we’d silently divide our glances between the glass encased jewelry and the shop’s proprietor, Harold, laboring back and forth from behind his high counter stool with the aid of arm crutches. If I happened to have a nickel on me, we’d stop in Cott’s Grocery for a water pickle from the wooden barrel while observing Mrs. Cott behind the counter. Taking the pencil from behind her ear, she’d jot figures on a paper bag, itemizing credit to customers until payday, with her familiar instruction, “You pay me Friday then.” Whelan’s Drugstore on the corner would always be an ideal place to thumb through magazines and rotating nail polish displays before strolling the short walk back home.

One late autumn afternoon after such an excursion, Patti Ann and I walked back to my house as dusk was setting in between 4:30 and 5 o’clock. How fast the brilliance of daylight turns to an ominous pitch-black chill of night after daylight savings time! Relieved at escaping the dark, I knew I’d soon be greeted by the warm safe setting of kitchen lights and aroma of piping hot beef and vegetable soup, with Mama in her apron ready to serve me.

As we entered through the front door, I was immediately struck with stark darkness. The lights were all out and my eyes widened with bewilderment as I yelled out loud: “Ma”—no answer. There was an eerie absence of life, no sound, no scents, no aromas. Again, I yelled out: “Ma…Mama”—no answer. The silence grew louder. Papa was still in his barbershop on the boulevard cutting hair, as usual, but Mama was always home whenever I arrived at this time. Even though I was the only child living there, I never came home to an empty house, as she was always there.

If nothing else, my mother’s presence was always a sure thing. Standing in a dimmed entry hall of unexpected blackness, I suddenly felt confused and alone in my own house, without the comfort of her protection. The longer the silence wore on, the more the uneasy emptiness grew like a hovering permanence. There was no phone to contact anyone, and it was too dark to find a light. Disoriented, an unexplainable panic overwhelmed me, and I became frantic with fright and worry, asking, “Where could she be?!!” Feeling lost and abandoned, I began welling up with anxious tears. Sensing my oncoming despair, Patti Ann must have mustered all her courage as she caringly took my hand with her little hand and attempted to console me with a sorrowful plea of “Don’t cry, Aunt Jeannie, Grandma will come home.”

Upon seeing her big brown innocent eyes looking up at me with genuine concern, my inner clamor quickly dissipated. “Oh, how beautiful,” I thought! Here was a 6-year-old, relatively new to the world, comforting a 12-year-old in the only way she knew and with all she had to offer, her love and compassion! Within five or ten minutes, Mama arrived home. She had been around the corner on Beach 85th Street at the house of her seamstress friend, Mrs. Stefanelli, having her dress altered. She said she tried to tell me before I left the house earlier, but in my youthful whirlwind, I must have missed the message. But that no longer mattered now. Within minutes of my mother’s return, the lights were on, the steaming beef soup was served, and all was right with the world. I was filled with joy!

Though the sudden disruption of my comfort bubble that evening was temporary, the unexpected heartfelt solace I received from my little niece Patti Ann was lasting. Her brave efforts, trusting eyes, and angelic voice were like a divine beacon in a gloomy fog. All these years after, I make a point to never discount a child’s words. Out of the mouths of babes, they can be a candlelight of God’s love and wisdom, just when you may need it most!