The old neighborhood

By John J. Rooney

When I wake up in the middle of the night and have trouble getting back to sleep, I follow the advice of sleep specialists who recommend a vicarious walk through a familiar, pleasant scene. In my imagination, I find myself revisiting the section of North Philadelphia where I grew up - a rowhouse, working-class, Irish American neighborhood known as Swampoodle.

I close the front door behind me, cross the porch, and descend the steps to 20th Street. Two versions of the scene come to mind. In one, the A's are at home, with the Stars and Stripes flying high from the center-field flag pole; the stands in Shibe Park, and on our roof and others around the park, are filled with customers; and the street is alive with vendors and fans. In the other version, the team is on the road, and I'm with Dutchie, Moonie, Bobo, Cantaloupe, and other kids playing stickball, pimple ball, hoseball, handball, halfball, awning ball, wireball, buck buck, pom-pom-pullaway, or one of the other street games we competed in day after day.

Moving south on 20th past Kilroy's Tavern at Lehigh, I head west, looking across at the sycamore-bordered square where we played ball. I see the metal water fountain with a foot pedal that we dashed to after a game; that Schuylkill punch was never so welcome. The statue of Connie Mack that now graces Citizen's Bank Park stood nearby.

At 22d Street, Charlie's restaurant, with a counter and a couple of booths, was a favorite hangout when we were teenagers. I can still taste those hamburger steaks and Texas hot wieners. I move on past the drugstore on my right, where the teenage girls would gather for a cherry Coke (or a Coke and a smoke).

Across Lehigh, from 23rd to 24th, sit the gothic structures of St. Columba's. There, Sister Bernard Loyola taught eighth grade and terrorized the school. I see her pulling up her sleeves to free those ham-sized hands as she rushed to the back of the class, brushing aside anyone in her path to get at some misbehaving boy, the way an All-Pro linebacker zeros in on the quarterback.

I pass Schilling's, the German bakery with the rich, tasty ice cream; the Lehigh movie theater, one of several within walking distance; and Cahill field, where we played sandlot football.

By now I've probably fallen back to sleep. If not, I might continue out Lehigh to Fairmount Park, past the old Robin Hood Dell, across the Strawberry Mansion Bridge over the Schuylkill, and along the trolley tracks to Woodside Amusement Park.

Since I have written a book about growing up in Swampoodle, I often find myself talking about it to individuals and groups. At a nursing home in Mount Airy, a resident asks, "Do you remember Lefty Grove?" I assure him that I remember him well, and that he won 31 games for the A's in 1931. "Well," the man continues, "I saw Babe Ruth hit two home runs off a Lefty Grove in one game."

A baseball writer calls to ask if I recall a massive homer that Ruth hit high over the right-field fence at Shibe Park. Oh, do I remember that behemoth blast! It cleared the roofs on 20th and on the near side of Opal. The writer thinks it may have been the longest home run ever hit. I recall that the ball broke the second-story window of Russel Frain's house, and I manage to get the address for him. With this information in hand, he revisits the neighborhood and measures the distance from home plate (now the site of the altar at Deliverance Evangelistic Church) to the spot where it landed.

What happened to that ball? I heard from a college student in San Diego who told me that his grandmother presented it to him. Maybe so, but it was common practice to palm off a ball that cleared the fence during batting practice as one hit by Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, or some other slugger during a game.

My grandchildren, nieces, and nephews now live all over the country, and in a couple of other countries as well. Like so many with roots in Philadelphia, they still have an interest in the city, root for its teams, and retain an affection for the "old neighborhood" they heard about from parents and grandparents A former resident now in Michigan writes to reminisce about Swampoodle: "I never tasted anything as good as those Texas hot wieners that Charlie made." People ask if I remember a street where they or a relative lived: Hemberger, Bouvier, Taney, Margie.

A man who lived in West Philly writes that he and his friends used to ride the El and the Subway to games at Shibe: "We always wondered what it would be like to live in one of those houses on 20th Street across from the ballpark. Now we know."

A college student stops me, smiling broadly. "It must have been wonderful to grow up in that neighborhood," he says. Thinking back, I can only say "It sure was!"