CHAPTER 1
Ten White, Two Chocolate
Clink! Clink! Clink! The familiar early morning rattling outsidemy bedroom window gently roused me from my slumber. A newday was dawning. Ten white, two chocolate, I thought sleepily. That wasthe number of milk bottles the delivery man from Westfall Dairy lefton our doorstep every other morning. Yes, that's a lot of milk for onefamily, but we were quite the blossoming tribe. "Ten white and twochocolate" was just right.
The early morning reveille was an anchor for my soul. The gentleidle of the milk truck and the clinking of glass against metal were subtlereminders that all was well in my world. Strange as it may seem, thoseordinary sounds set my roots secure and deep.
My bedroom was on the second floor of our old and rather largetwo-story, gray-shingled home. The house was originally a two-familydwelling; we lived in one half and for many years rented out the otherhalf. The time came, however, when Dad realized more space was neededfor his ever-expanding brood. So the two-family dwelling became a one-family"mansion" simply by opening up the second-floor wall at thetop of the staircase. That was when I lucked out and took up residencein a spacious bedroom in the front of the house, overlooking FergusonAvenue. It was a large, inviting room decked out in dainty blue-floweredwallpaper, with two large windows, and strategically positioned at theend of a long hallway. Despite the fact that the door to the creepy oldattic opened right outside my bedroom door, I felt privileged to occupythe best room in the house. My reasons may seem trivial to some, butnot to me.
First, being off by itself, that bedroom was a great place to hideout when the commotion that a large family naturally stirs up becameoverwhelming. Second, it was the sunniest room in the house. SinceI was and still am such a "sun worshipper," that was very important.Third, there was this gigantic, old red maple tree outside my window. Atleast it grew strong and tall until my father had it cut down for reasonsI am still at a loss to understand. I loved that old tree. The call of theblue jays who routinely rested in its branches and the chattering of thesquirrels who playfully frolicked on its outstretched arms, set my heartat peace and provided me with hours of amusement.
Dick, the eldest of our tribe, shared the middle bedroom withbrother Bob. It was sandwiched between my room and the room at theother end of the hall which our younger brothers Bill and Craig, shared.As such, the guys seldom got to hear the clink, clink, clink of those tenwhite and two chocolate. But they remember the routine well. They alsoremember that on really cold mornings when the milk wasn't brought inright away, it would partially freeze. Just for the record, there's nothingworse than partially frozen milk! What a waste of a perfectly goodbottle of chocolate milk!
Every time I think of that sacred room with its reassuring soundslike an early morning milk delivery, the chatter of squirrels, or the trillof the jays just outside my window, one word comes to mind ... roots.My roots run deep in the soil of my childhood home.
Roots
We all have memories that fasten us to our heritage – sights and soundsthat trigger a feeling of belonging. For me, it's the pealing of churchbells, the whistle of a passing train, certain songs that once blaredfrom a transistor radio ... Johnny Angel, Soldier Boy, It's My Party, BigGirls Don't Cry, Bobby's Girl. Remember Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny YellowPolka-Dot Bikini, and the Purple People Eater? And of course, whoof us growing up in Port Jervis could ever forget the theme song of"Reveille Ranch" greeting us each school morning as we stumbled intothe kitchen? The catchy, lively tune still rings in my ears ... "Come on ...get up ... the sun is up in the sky ..."
* * *
But that was then, and, well, our world has changed. Life in our hecticmodern world begs us to question whether children today enjoy thatsame sense of security on which we thrived. Do people today, childrenor their parents for that matter, feel grounded? Do their roots run deepand stable?
In our mobile and global society, setting down roots appears tobe a luxury of an unrecognizable, distant past. According to the 2011Census Bureau, 11.6% of our population changed residences at leastonce in 2010 (approx. 45.3 million people). Amazingly, that indicatesa downward trend. In 1985, mobility had peaked with a rate thatclimbed to 20.2 %. In 2009, it had decreased to 12.5%. Now only 1in 9 households lives in a state of transition (about 11.6%) – still anintriguingly high figure.
Of those who changed residences in 2010, 6.7% moved to a differentstate entirely. Fifty-five thousand of those fled my home state of NewYork to take up residence in Florida. Forty-one thousand left New Yorkto go to New Jersey (go figure). As you might expect, California, perhapsthe most expensive state in which to reside, and one riddled with anincreasing number of economic problems, saw the largest migrationout of the state.
Since leaving our comfortable home at 8 Ferguson to begin lifeon my own, life has afforded me the opportunity to be among thoseincredible statistics regarding the mobility of life in America. I've beenmore like a rolling stone than a woman "rooted," at least as far asphysical roots are concerned. Let's see, is that twenty-nine or thirtymoves? But who's counting? Some have kindly noted that somewhere inmy ancestry there must be some Gypsy blood. If so, my siblings failedto inherit the gene. I am the Lone Ranger in that vagabond world. Mostof my siblings grew up, got married, and raised their families in or nearour home town.
Does it Matter?
Few would challenge the assertion that setting down physical rootsenhances our ability to live a more stable life, which in turn adds tothe creation of a more stable society. At least that is what the expertstell us. Thus, it follows that our apparently confused and flounderingsociety would benefit considerably if the anchored lifestyle that most ofus enjoyed as children became a more prevalent way of life once again.Kids are kids no matter into which decade they are born. The needsthat help anchor our souls really don't change from one generation tothe next.
Analyzing the current statistics, it's easy to surmise that manychildren growing up in our rapidly changing world have no clue where"home" is. Here one day/month/year, and gone the next because ofbroken homes, fractured families, movement to a better job, or amultitude of other reasons, far too many children have no physicalconstancy to help stabilize their lives.
Not only has this mobile lifestyle played havoc with individualfamily circumstances, but its effects are felt beyond the family circle.For example, some local school districts seldom know from one weekto the next how many students will be coming and going through theirdoors. This is especially true within the poorer socio-economic areas ofour country where mobility rates are normally the highest.
To be honest, I am rather certain that I would not choose the JohnnyAppleseed nomadic lifestyle of my adult years again if I were givenanother go-around at life. I still yearn for physical roots. A place to putmy weary feet up, sit back, and watch the garden grow ... A place tocall home sounds tantalizingly inviting. To experience the stability ofliving in a place where one enjoys the same neighbors for more than ayear and where friends of a lifetime feel free to drop by and relax overa glass of lemonade, just like they used to back in "our town" when wewere kids, sounds heavenly.
Aside from the fact that being physically mobile makes it moredifficult for us to plant roots, it has become apparent that it's not justchanging our place of residence that hampers our ability to settle down.Our ever-expanding world of technology affects this aspect of our livesas well. Technology changes so rapidly that by the time one product isreleased for us to assimilate into our already dizzying life, it's outdatedand another new improved model is on its way. The world of fashionalso plays its part in keeping us in a state of constant imbalance. Justas one new designer trend takes hold, those who control our clothingindustry introduce another to take its place. We're told to stay awayfrom real butter and use margarine in its place because all that butterclogs our arteries. A few years later – wonder of wonders – butter hasbeen better for us all along; it's the margarine that will do us in. "They"say drinking pop loaded with sugar will kill us, so using drinks withartificial sweeteners is the better choice. A few years later ... whoops,artificial sweeteners cause cancer. Like puppeteers, the movers andshakers of our world yank one string and we jump accordingly. Theypull another string and we're sent scrambling helter-skelter in a differentdirection entirely.
Setting down roots of any kind is a daunting task in our modern,fast-paced, and constantly changing society. If as adults we have adifficult time feeling grounded amidst all the change (which the ever-growingnumber of people seeking professional therapy might suggest),one can only surmise that the effects of this instability on our childrenare potentially even more detrimental.
Perhaps that's why modern research notes that the reason we holddeep affection for our childhood homes is because the environmentinto which we are born sets something like a homing device within us.That is why we often long to return to our physical beginnings and whysome people choose to stay rooted in their birth home. Inherently, weare drawn there like homing pigeons who instinctively return to theirroosts. So it's not really a surprise that so many in our birth familieschoose to plant roots right where they were born, and raise their familiesin that fertile ground. Nor is it a surprise that those of us who do leaveour birth homes to experience new adventures and new places, oftenreturn home for a visit. It's as if we are drawn "home" to reset our innerclocks once again.
More to the Story
Psychologists often remind us that children raised in a "stable" homeenvironment turn out to be better adjusted, more productive adultsthan those forced by vagabond parents to roam the countryside in theirchildhood. (Sorry kids!) But just for the record, I think my four boysturned out to be quite stable and very productive young men, despite thefact that they moved so many times they don't really have a clue where"home" is. Their answer to the question, "Where were you raised?"is ... "All over." According to conventional wisdom, their lives shouldhave been doomed to failure because of their unsettled childhood. Yet,my sons and millions more young people just like them who were alsoraised in less-than-ideally physically stable environments, have grownup to be outstanding citizens of their communities.
Thus, as much as the craving for physical roots is embedded in ourpsyche and as important as these roots can be in providing a senseof stability for our lives; as much as it would benefit many a youngperson to experience one foundation solidly in place as the rest of theworld spins at high speed, perhaps there is something more going onhere. Inasmuch as my children have noted that they desire to establishphysical permanence for their own children – having missed out on thatimportant part of life themselves – it makes one wonder if that longingfor a place to root goes deeper than the physical; perhaps it's a call toone's own variable of clinking milk bottles ...
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Port Jervis today and the town of my childhood home are no longerphysically the same. Gone is the old Strand Theatre we regularlyhaunted on Saturday afternoons. Gone is the old roller rink at JoylandBeach where, as teens, we skated to the latest hits ringing out overthe loudspeaker. Van's beach closed years ago; even the "pine forest"in which we ate many a peanut butter and pickle sandwich on warmsummer days while gazing up at the towering pines, no longer exists,if, indeed, it ever did. Cordisco's and J.S. Raub's shoe stores, which sawto it that no child went barefoot, closed years ago. Homer's famoushamburgers are no longer uniquely Homer's. Most of the neighborsupon whose porches we spent so many tranquil evenings, have eithermoved or long ago passed away. And the clink, clink, clink of thoseearly morning milk deliveries has given way to large supermarkets whichinsist we come to them for milk sold in plastic throw-away cartons.You'd think the environmentalists would be clamoring for us to returnto the days of Westfall Dairy with its recyclable bottles and friendlylocal service ...
The physical world that made home "home," has long since passedaway. Our town is now home to a new generation of children who arebeing raised in a vastly different community than the one in which wegrew up; a community that will afford them far different memories thanthe ones we cherished. What was, in many respects, is no more, exceptin our memories. Even our childhood home at 8 Ferguson Avenue ishome for someone else now.
Real roots, therefore, must run deeper than what we find in thephysical world, which is in a constant transitory state. What that earlymorning reveille of clinking glass against metal and "ten white and twochocolate" speaks of is the importance of establishing deeper roots – rootsthat don't change with the blowing of the wind.
Turning Back the Clock?
As the stable '50s gave way to the turbulent '60s, the desire for changethat had been silently brewing in the hearts of the young swept throughour country. Seemingly overnight, our once peaceful society explodedinto a rebellion that mushroomed and transformed our culture intoa way of life barely recognizable to our bewildered parents. The '50sprovided the physical stability we craved after experiencing the unsettledlife that a world war inevitably creates; it was a much needed reprievefrom the uncertainty of life. Yet, physical stability alone was evidentlynot enough to quell the inner cravings of youth who still felt there wassomething missing. A deeper experience was needed if life was to betruly meaningful. And so, the seeds were sown that would eventuallyturn our seemingly stable world on its head. It would take us years torealize, however, just what the rebellion was all about and why simplysetting down roots was not enough.
* * *
So should we turn the hands of time back sixty years? No, not entirely.As we seek to plant our feet within a community and reclaim a beautifulpart of life that we long ago forgot, we are simply reminded to plant ourroots a little deeper this time.
Clink! Clink! Clink! Ten white ... two chocolate. Thank you forthe memories, Westfall Dairy! Thank you for helping us deepen, andstrengthen, our roots.
* * *
With a family of 9 children, there had to be shared rooms. My brother Boband I shared the same bedroom growing up at 8 Ferguson Avenue.
Many years later, we would work together in the same building – agrand old Victorian on East Main Street, which my wife, Lynda, and Inow own. The historic building was extensively renovated and restoredby our father, a master carpenter and long-time director of the Port JervisDepartment of Public Works, in 1982. Bob and I shared the beautiful oldbuilding for a period of about 15 years. He had a thriving law practice; Ibegan my financial planning business there. Bob is now the Orange County,New York, Surrogate Court Judge and an Acting State Supreme CourtJudge with offices in Goshen, New York, so we no longer work at the samelocation. But we have indelible shared memories.
One of the things I recall about sharing a bedroom with Bob is that hewould sometimes talk in his sleep. The language was, however, unintelligible– almost like someone speaking in tongues. I also recall that in his teen years,he liked to party on occasion.(I was the good son, and never engaged in suchactivity.) It was years before I found out that Bob and some of his friendshad once "borrowed" a keg of beer from a party hosted by a few of histeachers. Joking about the incident, he says he always knew he'd be involvedwith the law; he just didn't know on which side of it he'd end up.
When we Onofry children were growing up, I would never have guessed,nor did I even think about, where each of us would end up professionally.One brother, Chuck, is a co-partner in a successful law firm; sister Suzanneis a senior administrator at a prominent university; brother Craig is aretired Superintendent of Schools; Bill, a respected and talented buildingcontractor; Kim, a hardworking and dedicated legal assistant; Peg, ahomemaker and author; and Robyn, a natural nurturer who has foundher niche as a caregiver for others.
Somehow, the simple lifestyle of the '50s and early '60s prepared us justfine for productive careers in our chosen fields. Our parents were not highlyeducated, but they were hardworking. That work ethic set the example forfuture achievement for us. We also learned how to engage socially withothers within the family, and with friends. These were the tools of our success– not technological gadgets.
