West Oakland Memories
Published: December 31, 2008
WEST OAKLAND MEMORIES
By Bob Blumenthal
It was a magical time, and I was lucky to be a part of it. For fifteen summers I experienced a “high” that no drug can induce. Who knew that the summer of 1948 would change my entire life? I was an eight-year old city boy who was accustomed to the fumes of buses and the clanking of garbage cans. Then, one day, my parents decided to spend the summer in a place called the West Oakland Bungalow Colony. As I sat in the back seat of a ‘48 Dodge, I took in the sights. After crossing the Washington Bridge, I began to notice that there were more trees than houses. I had no idea where we were going, but when I arrived, I immediately fell in love with the place. We referred to it as “the country”. My summer home was a tiny bungalow on the banks of the Ramapo. It probably didn’t look like much to most adults, but it was my kingdom by the sea. This is where it all began – an adventure of a lifetime.
What made this experience so unique was the fact that most of the families returned year after year. The friends that I made as an eight -year old were also my friends as an eighteen-year old. The community was so close knit; my bungalow was everyone’s bungalow, and everyone’s bungalow was my bungalow. Not only were doors unlocked, but I do not recall knocking before entering. As kids, we pretty much walked in and out of homes without any concern that we might be intruding on someone’s privacy. Since all dads and some moms worked during the day, the kids were taken care of by any adults that happened to be around. My parents commuted to the Bronx each day, leaving me to fend for myself. Today, this would be considered some form of child abuse, but in the 1940’s and ’50’s it was common practice in the Colony.
There were three gathering places in the Colony. At the far end of Riverside Drive, across from the waterfalls, was an ice cream / burger place known as Reimer’s Rest. It was at Reimer’s where I tasted my first frappe, and learned to play the pinball machines. As I moved into my preteen and teen years, the jukebox in Reimer’s devoured many of my hard earned nickels. My fondest memories were taking my dates there at night and dancing on the handball court. During the day we played ping-pong for hours. If you were looking for someone and they weren’t at home, you would most likely find the person at Reimer’s.
During those lazy, hazy days of summer, we practically lived by the waterfalls. We dove off a raft and jumped in and out of tubes. Sometimes adults were present and sometimes we swam alone. I enjoyed getting picked up by someone’s dad and thrown into the water. Although there were lots of kids and lots of horseplay, somehow, no one ever got hurt.
The adults built a clubhouse, which was referred to as the casino. Just about every adult went there each evening to play cards and socialize. This meant that most of the bungalows were empty, which, of course, was a paradise for young teens, that were testing the waters with the opposite sex.
One of the great features of the Colony was the friendly attitude of the adults toward the children. From time to time, a father would drive around searching for kids who wanted to go for pizza. When the car was filled beyond today’s safety standards, those lucky enough to be in the area were taken to a place in Haskell called the Anchor Casino. No one had to ask their parents if they could go. We just got in the car and left. Another destination for these on -the- spot sojourns was The Milk Barn. I recall a woman named Trudy, who took it upon herself to organize social events for the young teens. My favorite was the hayrides. A farmer from Franklin Lakes drove us around the country roads and we all had a great time throwing hay, and/or “making out” under the hay.
After renting the bungalow on the Ramapo for three years, my parents built a house at 69 Riverside Drive, At night, my dad held court on the dock in front of our house, which was located next to the railroad trestle. There were benches on the dock and every one from the Colony could fish there. He prepared a special kind of bait that he used to catch catfish. Every time he caught a one, he would assign me the task of snipping off the “horns”. A breakfast of catfish and cream cheese on a bagel was my summer staple. Not too may kids in the city could make that claim.
On a spring morning in 1951, I was in the house when my father called me to come outside. When I saw him holding a camera, I turned to go back inside. He was an amateur photographer and it took him forever to take a picture. He used light meters and all sorts of equipment, which made picture taking a trying experience for me. He kept calling me because he wanted me to meet this big African American who was standing by the dock. Then he wanted me to take a picture with the man. Before I knew it, the guy lifted me on to his shoulders as if I were a bag of feathers. A few minutes later, the man was on his way, and I was glad to resume whatever I was doing. The man was Joe Louis. Years later, when the name meant something to me, I asked my dad what happened to those photos. He was unable to find them.
During my early teen years, I spent much of my time on the Ramapo River, before the Ford Motor Company contaminated it. The water was clean and deep. I knew where to catch pickerel and where to catch carp. Since so many fishermen lined the banks of the river, I decided to make a few dollars by selling bait. Worms were easy to catch. My dad taught me how to locate wormholes. He mixed a spoonful of dry mustard with a quart of water. By pouring this solution down the holes, the worms became irritated and crawled out. I would then wash the solution off the worms and place them in a container partially filled with soil. I had a difficult time convincing my mom that the icebox was the best place for them. We didn’t get a refrigerator until 1955. I sold the worms for ten cents a dozen.
Spontaneity was a large part of the Colony life-style. Someone would say, “how about playing a game of softball?” I don’t know exactly how it happened, but within minutes, over 50 people of all ages appeared on the field. Kids and parents would come from all directions and teams were quickly formed. The best players split up to make the teams even. No one was excluded and everyone played at once. It wasn’t unusual to have 15 players in the outfield. Just as mysteriously as the game began, it ended. All of a sudden, everyone began to leave. Final scores and winners were never mentioned. We all had a good time and went our separate ways after the game.
Going home for lunch was not always a good idea. While you were away, your friends might decide to go on an adventure, leaving you with nothing to do until they came back. We had two favorite places – Lookout Rock and Lost Lake. Behind the now defunct West Oakland Railroad Station, was a trail that led up the Ramapo Mountains. Near the top was a huge rock, which we labeled Lookout Rock. Hikers would stand on the rock and yell down to the people in the Colony. Although they could barely be seen, they could be heard. We often took jars and filled them with blueberries, which grew in abundance in that area.
Nothing compared to our adventures at Lost Lake. As a pre-teen, these were frightening experiences. Someone discovered a trail outside the Colony on Skyline Drive. We hid our bikes and followed the path to a lake on top of the mountain. I later learned that it belonged to State Senator McCevoy. Later it became a scout retreat. However, during the early fifties, we were told that no one was allowed to trespass on the property and that there were guards armed with shotguns who patrolled the area. When we got to the lake, we felt lucky to have survived the journey. I remember a dirt road that encircled the lake. Whenever we heard a car coming, we dove into the bushes or hid behind a rock. It was one of those terrifying, but thrilling escapades that led me back to the lake over and over again.
One of the most daring moments of my childhood was crossing the railroad trestle. While we knew the passenger train schedule, we had no idea when a freight train would pass by. Tension mounted as we approached the middle of the trestle, because we were too far from either end to avoid a train. Even though we put our ears to the track before leaving, it was always nerve-wracking for me. Years later, I bought a conch shell while visiting my parents in Florida. By blowing into the horn, I recreated the sound made by the locomotive. I couldn’t resist using it whenever I saw kids crossing the bridge. Of course, I waited until they got to the dreadful middle.
One of the great treats of the summer was the “spray man”. To be away from the Colony when the “spray man” came, and later discovering that he was there, was a devastating experience. The Bergen County Mosquito Control Commission sent a jeep that was filled with chemicals to kill mosquitoes. As the jeep puttered around the Colony, a thick, white smoke was emitted from the exhaust. If you stood on West Oakland Ave. and looked down, one would think that all the bungalows were on fire. However, if you were a kid on a bike, this was the ultimate fun experience. There is nothing like riding through thick smoke with zero visibility. We yelled to each other to avoid collisions. The poison which was aimed at destroying mosquitoes, also drifted into all of the kitchens as well as our lungs. We followed the “spray man” for many summers without hearing a word of warning from any adult.
There were several interesting characters that added to the color of the Colony. One man was Buddy Fisher. We called him “the walking man” because every time we saw him he was walking somewhere. He never seemed to have a destination. He just walked and walked and walked. He always wore a beret and he looked very old. A young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Feldman, practiced fencing in the street. It wasn’t unusual to see them dressed in their white uniforms and mask doing whatever fencers do. Al Immergut lived on the corner of my street. To say he was intolerant of kids would be like saying Custer didn’t get along with the Indians. He was about 4 foot something, and he reminded me of an ogre. If you walked by his house, he would yell, “What are you doing? “I don’t think he meant any harm. As I grew older, I realized he was all bluster and he became more humorous than frightening. Ronnie Modell, an accomplished trumpet player, often serenaded his neighbors as he practiced and honed his skills. Sammy Weiss, looked like someone from an Al Capone movie. He always had a cigar and he could dance like Arthur Murray. He was the typical “wise guy”. Aunt Eppy lived in a huge bungalow that had once been a restaurant. Her specialty was holding mock weddings.
During the 40’s and early 50’s, it was a pleasure to watch these “marriages” take place. My mother, Rose Blumenthal, held adult talent shows in my back yard. There were no television sets in the Colony until the late 50’s. This meant that the residents had to create their own entertainment. I always enjoyed watching my mom sing and recite poetry. Every so often a delivery truck from Krug’s bakery would bring pastries to Reimer’s Rest. The truck had a funny horn and the driver loved to use it. In addition, he gave away free Henrietta Hawk comic books. When we heard his horn, we all came running. Old man Mullins often fished off of our dock. He had a heavy Irish accent. He liked me and told me lots of stories. He also liked to imbibe. One day, he offered me a shot of whiskey. I was about 15 or 16. My father was there and he persuaded me to drink it. He told me that I had to down the shot all at once. I never drank whiskey after that. Did my Dad know something? My last person was an Oakland police officer. As a child growing up in the city, the police were not exactly the “good guys”. They intimidated kids whenever they had an opportunity. Their specialty was taking our stickball bats and placing them in the holes of the manhole covers and breaking them. So you can imagine my apprehension when an Oakland police car pulled up to the area where a stickball game was in progress. The officer got out of his car and walked up to the batting area. There was no doubt in my mind what his intentions were to be. He asked the batter for the stick, and we all waited for the inevitable. When he asked if he could take a swing, we all looked at each other in total amazement. I don’t remember who gave him the okay or if he hit the ball, but my appreciation for cops did an instant 180. The officer later became the Chief of Police. His name was Joe Woods and he frequently stopped by to take a whack at the ball.
I suppose that summers at the Colony were so memorable because of the various milestones that took place in my life. I learned to ride a bike and to row a boat. I learned to fish and to catch frogs. I survived summer floods and at least one hurricane. I experienced my first kiss and began to realize that those pesky girls who were once 9 and 10, became a bit more interesting as they became 11 and 12. The summers were filled with romance and heartbreaks, pinochle and poker, Yankees and Dodgers, and just having the time of my life.
It is difficult to say when this period came to an end. To me, it was so gradual, that one day I asked myself “Where did everyone go?” Sometime in the early to mid sixties, we graduated college and began to find our niche in life. As our parents grew older, they sold their bungalows and moved to sunnier climes. By the end of the sixties, the Colony looked like a ghost town. While I was saddened to see it come to an end, I knew then that I experienced something special, and that I would carry those experiences with me for the rest of my life
Note: During the summer of 2008, I received a call from George Cohen, one of my Colony cronies. I hadn’t seen him for nearly 50 years. He contacted another friend and we held a mini-reunion at the Colony. Reimer’s Rest was gone. The swimming area by the falls was overgrown with bushes and weeds. The casino remained, but it looked like an empty warehouse. The dock in front of my old home at 69 Riverside Drive disappeared. As Thomas Wolfe aptly stated, “You can’t go home again.” However, the memories are treasures that can never fade. For fifteen summers, I experienced a kind of happiness that clearly enriched my life.
I would like to thank a man named Napoleon who generously offered the use of his property next to the falls to help us relive old times.
- Linda Eisenfeld Browner says:
Please tell Bob Blumenthal how much I enjoyed the trip down memory lane! What a surprise to see my face in the group photo!
Linda Eisenfeld Browner
- ron panitch says:
Wow. Thank you Linda for sending this to me. I remember Ronnie Modell racing Teddy and winning the race although Ronnie was much heavier and everyone thought Teddy would win. I also recall Officer Woods and what a terrific guy he was. David Adelman, Rob Friedman Ronnie Modell and my sister Vicki, of blessed memory , were in the older crowd while George Cohen, Bernie Eisenfeld, Cynthia Resnick, etc,. were in our crowd. Another memory to share is my father out on the “stoop” as Joe Louis was doing a jog through the colony and invited Max to join him on the run. After they arrived at the Pompton Lakes Training camp, the Champ arranged a ride back for my father. The next morning my father was unable to get out of bed and was sure he had contracted the dreaded polio disease although it was just every muscle in his body ached so he could barely move. Some of the friendships transcended West Oakland and i recall Danny Eisenfeld would have lunch at my father’s butcher shop in Maplewood, New Jersey several times each week. So many memories and so many great times. Last one is jumping into the back of Al Stempler’s truck and singing while heading for Reimer’s and ice cream.
- Cynthia Resnick Blauschild says:
Cynthia Resnick Blauschild July 16th, 2009 10:39 pm :
It truly was a magical time. I too have written about “The Colony”. It was a special time. During the winter months my parents, sister and I lived in an apartment with my Mom’s Parents. My grandmother ruled the roost. The only time my mother was truly her own person was in Oakland. She changed from a nagging shrill, on edge person to a warm loving mommy. Some of Bob’s memories differed from mine because he did guy things but most brought back a time of innocent freedom and complete joy.
I fished off the “Island Bridge, that was originally wooden. Each evening my mother would pull splinters from the back of my legs with a tweezer. Ouch! Somehow the pain did not deter me from digging up big fat worms as soon as I was splinter free I would dig worms for the following day. Night crawlers were the best for catching fish. One of my fondest memories (and there were so, so many ) was greeting my beloved Dad as he stepped from the train stop at the top of the steep hill that hid “The Jew Colony” I can still see his great big grin and feel his hug. My sister, Marian and I holding each one of his hands as walked toward “the Island”. I am sure there were other dads and kids doing the same thing but for me they disappeared as soon as my father took my hand in his big gentle one. When he had changed into his bathing suit we all went for a dip by the falls. My dad could barely swim. He would walk down the steps, dunk and wet himself take a deep breath, exclaim, “Ah Michiah!) then, with the weight of the world expunged from his shoulders, he would plunge into the water head first, arms flaying legs kicking mightily only to propel himself a mere foot from when he stated before standing up. He was funny to watch and magnificent too. My sister and I would then splash him, He would pick us up and throw us about until my mom called us to dinner. Oh how I miss those summer evenings. My dad held down three jobs borrowed money from relatives to buy the Island just so our family could be together for a few weeks in an atmosphere free from stress, the devastating heat of summer’s in the Bronx and a place he could call his own. (How my parents learned about the colony is another story for anothet time)
My dad bought the Island and two house for $4000.00, borrowing 1/2 from my grandmother who unbeknownst to my parents had borrowed it from her brother. That is how my Tanta Necha and Uncle Abe Schwartz came to own the other house on the island. My Dad was hoping to rent it out and get some income, but was told that his mother in law had not actually borrowed the money but instead was given it for 1/2 ownership of the island. In other words my grandmother had betrayed my father. My sister and I never had or have since witnessed my dad lose his cool. He ranted and raved and then collapsed into my mother’s arms. He had so many dreams that had been shattered and giving up part ownership of” the Island” was yet another. But being my dad he made the very best of the situation. He and my mom stood up to my grandmother and won a small victory. My Grandmother was made to promise that she would visit only one week during the summer should she choose to. Over the years there would be tension between the two households but all in all it wasn’t bad living next to my Aunt and Uncle. My cousins Barbara, Lillian and Milton helped keep the peace treaty. Lily was slightly younger then my mother and they became friends. She was married to Sidney Daly and had two sons Marshall and Kenneth Who we all adored.
Barbara was another story. She was not liked. She threw tantrums when she did not get her way and had a mean streak that was hidden from the grown-ups. When she babysat my sister and I were targets of her anger. She would “accidently” trip us, or push the hammock high enough to tip over etc. Her bad behavior towards us was stopped when one day while she was “playing” (agitating and teasing actually) with a newly acquired kitten she threw it at me spitting and hissing. I still have the scars. Usually Barbara got away with her hurtful antics, by crying and proclaiming “it was an Accident” This time she her accuse was she wanted to share the kitten. But it did not fly. Luckily my mom had just come out of the bungalow and witnessed the deliberate act of doing harm. From then on Barbara was under careful scrutiny and no longer was allowed to baby sit us. My Uncle Milton, was big and hairy he was nice but rarely stayed for more than a few nights a summer. He never married. Barbara Married and had two boys. My husband and I saw them socially a few times but we relly never became friends. Marshall left for College and became a lawyer.
My mom saw Kenny one summer just before she sold the Island. He and his wife dropped by to say hello. Since then I have lost track of the Schwartz and Daly family
I loved the “ISLAND”
I would pretend it was a ship and go sailing. I would swing on a bed that my dad had rigged up in our enclosed porch and watch the most spectacular sights of mothernature during a full blown Oakland storm. The blinding bolts of lighting, the crashing of nearby trees as they were hit and felled, The smell of burnt wood that permeated through the screened windows, the deafening sound of thunder that shook the cinderblock foundation of the bungalow. No great storms could equal those that I lived through in Oakland they were both terrifying, thrilling and wonderful. I still to this day love to watch thunderstorms rolling through. Yet they could never match those of a child pretending to be on a ship during a wild mind blowing Summer Storm in Oakland.
Which brings me to the floods… The very first summer we spent in the bungalow my dad discovered why the houses and Island were so cheap. In those days you never hired an inspector. So when the first rain fell my parents discovered the roof leaked like a sieve. My sister and thought it was great fun. My mother and father took all the pots and pans, wastepaper baskets, tins and any container that would hold water including soup bowls and cups and placed them under the drips in a valiant effort to halt the onslaught of water. They could not. No sooner had we emptied one container than another would be overflowing or another leak would be discovered. my sister and I kept on emptying and running about having a grand old time (we were four and five years old) until we grew tired of “the game” and fell asleep on our beds between two buckets and a tin container. My parents fought bravely on through the night, to no avail. The next day, the bungalow was soaked, soggy and damp as a dish rag. My mother and father were exhausted from mopping and wringing out towels. They bought material to fix the roof on credit and my dad and mom climbed to the roof to on a borrowed ladder, and repaired it themselves. It held for several years until they were able to afford to hire a roofer.
That summer we also experienced the raging Ramapo. After several days of raining the gurgling brook that flowed sedately underneath our bridge became in a matter of an hour a roaring river, rising rapidly. The bridge was covered and the water was flowing into the bungalow, We had been asleep when a bull horn warning us of the danger woke my parents. We were literally trapped. all the beds were on chains and as we evacuated from them my dad quickly lifted the beds off the floor. To make matters worse it happened the week that my grandmother had come to visit. Fortunately the Oakland Fire department came to our rescue. They tied a huge rope to one of their trucks tossed it across to my father who tied it to a tree. Several men crossed the bridge holding on to the rope and using it as a guide while the Ramapo did it’s best to claim them. My dad carried my sister Marian on his shoulders and made it across to the mainland, he was followed by me, my grandmother and mother all carried by firemen to safety. The large fire truck was able to get out of the colony and bring us up to the hill by the railroad station where several cars including ours were parked safely away from the flooded Colony, so we were able to drive back to the Bronx. After two days of sunshine we made the trip back. Parked at the top of the hill when we discovered the colony was still flooded. There were places that Rowboats were used get around. People were wearing hip boots to walk on the flooded road that was passable. My mom wanted to go back to the Bronx She was vetoed three to one. There was only one area that was treacherous enough to pull a person into the swollen river and we knew enough to keep away. The bridge was still covered with water but just barely. My mom refused to cross. She stayed with her friend Fay until later in the day when the river receded below the bridge. By that time my dad had hosed out the house. The mud, silt and debre not to mention the bugs were gone. We all helped in mopping up.
From then on the first sign that the Ramapo was rising or a flood warning issued and my mother packed us up and we left. She became a joke among her friends. They made chicken noises as she bundled us up and left the colony before the first drops of rain touched the ground. My mother could swim, but she had a terrible fear of drowning due to a childhood trauma. She could care less that most of the time the water never reached flood heights and she took the mocking when she returned to a dry Colony the next day with good nature. Because every once in a while, she had the last laugh when The Rampo would rage and it’s banks over flow sending the colonists scampering to high ground, while my mom was long gone and safe in the Bronx.
So many memories
Each of my Birthdays Aug. 5) from the age five to 16 were celebrated with my colony friends.
My house was one of the larger bungalows and a gathering place. We had a TV and kids would come to watch the 64 thousand dollar question, play cards on rainy days or just plain hang out.
I learned to ride a two wheel bike in Oakland. My dad found it while driving his cab. The tires were flat the chain was off, and the spokes were crooked. He secretly fixed the bike and painted my favorite color. He gave it to me for my eleventh Birthday. I cherished it. My parents could not afford a new bike but yet they managed to get me one with a new bought horn and basket.
My 16th birthday was a blast. I invited friends from the Bronx. My dad and I worked side by side evenings to build a slate patio so that we could dance. We finished the day before my party.
My husband proposed to me in a bungalow that his mom had rented for the summer of 1959.
Every family in the colony was invited to my engagement party. They all chipped in and bought me Oneida flat ware in a oak lined box, service for 16 that I use still. Over two hundred people crowded on to our Island coming and going in shifts. My dad spent the day grilling hot dogs and hamburgers. Guests dined on potato salad, coleslaw, sauerkraut, and baked beans. The Island was decorated with Chinese Lanterns borrowed from a good neighbor known as Cassy. Each lantern was lovingly unwrapped, the paper placed back into box and the lanterns were hung with deliberate care by Cassy himself. My future husband, Harvey, caused my parents a great deal of embarrassment when late that evening after a bit to much celebrating he became ill and used several of the empty boxes to cover up the fact that he upchucked. Cassy was good natured and other boxes were found to place the lanterns in when they were taken down and given back. Three sheet cakes were ordered for the party. Linda Eisenfeld while helping to carry one of them nearly dropped it. My dad was able to salvage the smeared writing. So a catastrophe was avoided, barely.
We went ice skating on the river during winters when it froze up.
We girls cheered for our guys when they played ball against the exclusive Oakland Boys Academy
Mark Reimer was a dynamo on the mound.
My best Friend was Sheila Rosenbloom, We would take our beach chairs to side of my house and each read contentedly, neither of us speaking. Years later, when we were both pregnant we would sit knitting side by side in that same spot with the same feeling of peace.
Many evenings my sister and I would be serenaded to sleep by my parents and their friends. More times than not, Frank, the ice Man would join in and add his magnificent tenor voice regaling us with “O Solo Mio”. They would build a campfire outside our bedroom window, roast marshmallows, drink (whatever) and read the printed lyrics of songs like “a bicycle Built for two, or “The Old gray Mare”
The Ramapo could perform miracles. I learned to swim quickly and when I swam in it’s cool rippling water I was transformed into a beautiful mermaid, I was light as a feather and no longer a pudgy over weight little girl. It healed my psyche. Ah Bliss. To this day I still love being near water. One of the selling points of my house is a brook runs behind it and through a park.
I walked the falls when it was not to rough, and learned to conquer fear of falling. I learned how to row a boat, play canasta, spin the bottle perform in front of an audience, baby sit and how to have fun. The summers slipped away but the memories have not.
Cynthia
- Shelly Langfelder Baron says:
The Colony was a very special place for everyone who ever lived or visited it. We all new each other,
and all have different and special memories that we will cherished the rest of our lives. We made our own camps in the summer. All the above comments bring back wonderful memories. The wall on Center street and Riverside drive as we got older, we would meet there, laugh there, cry there, tell stories there. The Wall was between Donny Perlman’s house and my house., Actually, it was a cement wall that
Lena Feldman had. For some of the older girls, we would wait for the townies to come down to the colony and hang out with us. We would often walk down the dirt road past Bobby Blumenthal’s house
and go to Moog’s for candy and ice cream. The best was Lilly Reimer would make us Sundaes with the
best Hot Fudge, which was always cold. Lime rickeys, everything was charged and at the end of the month our parents would pay the bill. Trouble, for most of us.
We all learned how to swim by just jumping in the water. Nobody every taught us. We would rap our toes
around the edge of the falls, as not to fall off, and go to Sandy Beach, actually we would sneak in, instead of paying. The casino every weekend was filled with laughter and fun, with shows, put on by us, our parents, we had square dances, magicians, you name it, we had it. The casino was turned into a Temple
during the Jewish holidays, and we would all come back for weekends after the summer was over.
Labor Day weekend, you could see all the kids saying goodbye to one another, crying, unhappy, to go
back to the Bronx, Brooklyn, and the city areas of New Jersey.
Many of us stayed friendly all through our lives, and we all always discussed the wonderful times we all
had in West Oakland Bungalow Colony. Some of us got married and had our children come there in the
summer’s. however, that did not last too long.
I first came to the Colony when I was 4 1/2 yrs of age. I stopped going there at age 23. I also had a large
- Shelly Langfelder Baron says:
The Colony was a very special place for everyone who ever lived or visited it. We all new each other,
and all have different and special memories that we will cherished the rest of our lives. We made our own camps in the summer. All the above comments bring back wonderful memories. The wall on Center street and Riverside drive as we got older, we would meet there, laugh there, cry there, tell stories there. The Wall was between Donny Perlman’s house and my house., Actually, it was a cement wall that
Lena Feldman had. For some of the older girls, we would wait for the townies to come down to the colony and hang out with us. We would often walk down the dirt road past Bobby Blumenthal’s house
and go to Moog’s for candy and ice cream. The best was Lilly Reimer would make us Sundaes with the
best Hot Fudge, which was always cold. Lime rickeys, everything was charged and at the end of the month our parents would pay the bill. Trouble, for most of us.
We all learned how to swim by just jumping in the water. Nobody every taught us. We would rap our toes
around the edge of the falls, as not to fall off, and go to Sandy Beach, actually we would sneak in, instead of paying. The casino every weekend was filled with laughter and fun, with shows, put on by us, our parents, we had square dances, magicians, you name it, we had it. The casino was turned into a Temple
during the Jewish holidays, and we would all come back for weekends after the summer was over.
Labor Day weekend, you could see all the kids saying goodbye to one another, crying, unhappy, to go
back to the Bronx, Brooklyn, and the city areas of New Jersey.
Many of us stayed friendly all through our lives, and we all always discussed the wonderful times we all
had in West Oakland Bungalow Colony. Some of us got married and had our children come there in the
summer’s. however, that did not last too long.
I first came to the Colony when I was 4 1/2 yrs of age. I stopped going there at age 23. I also had a large part of my there for many years. We had two houses, with 3 and 4 bedrooms in each house. My grandmother lived in one house with my Aunts and Uncles and cousins and My family lived in the other house, Mom, Dad, Judy and Carol. After many years, my grandmother no longer stayed there and neither did my cousins and Aunts and Uncles. When my sister Carol got married, she lived in one house with her family, and then when I got married I lived in the other.
We had our own beach area behind our house, I remember many a night that we all went skinny dipping. I feel very fortunate to have had a childhood with such wonderful memories and good times growing up. When you tell people how your life was in childhood, they wish they could have been there.
I am very happy, that finally, we are all going to see each other once again. We will all share each of our memories together. Looking forward to seeing everyone once again. If you have not decided to come, think twice. This will be a one time happening. Be there, if only for a few hours.
See you all Aug 30th.
Shelly.
- carol levine hanowitz says:
Thank you Donny for getting in touch with me and for bringing me back to a very happy and carefree time in my life. We all had our own special memories of the Colony, and even though we had different memories, the consensus is what a great time in our lives.!!!!
So many things come back to me and I will just mention one that I don’t think anyone has brought up.
Does anyone remember the rainy days in the colony, trying to get enough kids together and get a cab ride into Pompton lakes to see a movie? We didn;t even care what was playing.
Oh well, I am sure that we will have many, many more special things to talk about and people to remember.
See you all on August 30th.
Carol
- Helene Hepner says:
Thanks Donny for getting in touch with me. I have found myself thinking about the old days and Oakland alot lately. They were the happiest times of my life!! Does anyone remember me riding around on my bicycle delivering fish from Maxie’s (my dad’s) fish store that all the mothers ordered? How about the motorcycle guys that used to ride down to Reimers?
See you all August 30th
Helene
- George Cohen says:
When I called Bob Blumenthal a bit more than a year ago just after I located Saul Weitz with Google we never expected that our 3-way reunion last summer would bloom the way it has. Bob began tracking and it just gathered momentum this past spring.
Shelly, Cynthia, Carol, Ron and Bob – thanks for sharing your memories – they are mine as well. Bob has a large stash of photos from “back in the day” and Linda Eisenfeld contributed many more. You can look at some of them at the “official colony website”:
http://www.triptaker9.com/oakland
It will be great to see everyone on August 30.
George
PS:If anyone wants a current picture posted on the website (so we won’t be too surprised when we see each other) send it to me at:
- Sharon Jacobson Rubin says:
Thanks to my cousin Cynthia for sending this onto me. I read it with great fondness for the good times I had with my cousins Cynthia and Marian, Aunt Sadie and my big strong Uncle Abie Resnick. I spent a couple of weeks each summer at The Colony. I remember walking across the bridge to” the island ” with great trepidation. Sometimes the Ramapo was friendly and at other times it was menacing. But if I was holding my Uncle Abie’s hand I was safe and brave, I loved to sleep on the enclosed porch on the suspended bed.
Ah, the great times and friends we made. My first crush was Donny Perlman, we would all gather at Reimer;s Rest put money in the juke box and dance. “Trickle, Trickle” to this day brings an instant memory of The Colony , dancing with Marian or with Donny or Norman Ribakoff or one of the gang. Going to the shows at the Clubhouse where we all learned enough Yiddish to understand the “dirty” jokes being told. I wish I could be at the reunion and be with everyone. But I am busy with my family responsibilities here in Boca Raton. I send my best to all of The Colony and dedicate this note to my cousin Marian Resnick who was taken from us way too soon. She was my best friend and confidant and I will always miss her. So on August 30th raise a glass to Marian and those other pals who have left us too soon.
Sharon
- Bob Blumenthal says:
I enjoyed reading Cynthia’s account describing life on the island. Like so many things in the Colony, this was a unique place. It was the only house with a tv and I remember watching the Ed Sullivan Show there on a number of occasions. The Resnick residence was also one of the most welcoming places. Kids just seemed to congregate there. One time I was amazed to watch Mr. Resnick kill a wasp by squashing it with his thumb on the window.
I think we are all surprised by the number of people who are coming from everywhere to be at the reunion. Yet, if we give it some thought, we really shouldn’t be surprised at all. We were impressionable and there were so many wonderful people that entered our lives during those days, that we just feel good thinking about them. Actually meeting them will be awesome!
- Jodi Hanowitz Mulholland says:
The Colony holds special memories not only for those who spent their summers there, but for their children as well. My great grandparents (”The Walking Man” himself, Buddy Fisher) and “Grandma Buddy,” my grandparents Estelle and George Levine, and my parents, Carol and Jack Hanowitz had strong ties to the very special place “down the hill.” I, too, have memories of easy summer days by the Ramapo River. I always wore my Keds sneakers in the water, even though my mother did not…
My memories include vivid pictures of “the Tickle Man” Al Immergut, Blanche and Al Stempler, and of course our dear friends Mimi and Al Saler. Some of the memories I hold close to my heart are stories told to me as a young child by my parents and grandparents. As we grew older, my sisters and I, and Jed and Matt Freeman (Patsy Saler Freeman’s boys) listened to the stories our parents shared. But of course, no Colony story would be complete without mentioning the floods, and the row boat evacuations.
Though the years have passed quickly, the photographs and memories remain. I have, more than once, driven past the colony and turned my car around and driven down the hill (always beeping my horn~second nature) to make a “loop” around, past the vacant lot across from Aunt Jean and Uncle Charlie Tillman’s home, past the clubhouse, and past the river where we spent the days. My children know some of the stories, and this article and the comments have reminded me of the power of storytelling. We need to share more of those stories.
We are all connected.
- Judy Langfelder Betheil says:
I can’t beleive this is really going to happen. My sister Shelly and I have been talking about how much fun it would be for the last few years. I was part of the younger group, but also have great memories. I was 1 /2 when my parents bought the bungalow (the front house). I don’t remeber the early years but remember lots from the time I was about 7 or 8 on. I met my husband through Ellen and Donny Perlman. He was one of the group that used to come out and play baseball (from the Bronx). I’m really looking forward to seeing everyone August 30.
- Donny Perlman says:
I am thankful that Bob, George and Saul visited the “colony” and agreed to try to have another reunion with more participants the following year. I am greatful to Bob for finding me and starting me on my quest of locating others.
My dad bought our house in 1944. That summer was the first of many, I spent playing with truly wonderful friends.
I remember riding my bicycle and trying to keep up with the older boys, Ronnie Panitch and Bernie Eisenfeld. Showing up at the softball field on Sunday mornings and hoping either team would pick me to play on their team.
I recall playing with my friends and hearing Ronnie Modell practice the scales on his trumpet. Ron went on to become a university music professor and play first trumpet with the Dallas Symphony.
These were inded magical times, our Camelot.
I look forward to seeing all of you at the reunion.
Donny Perlman
- Bob Silver says:
I find myself at a loss of words sufficient to express my gratitude to my old and long-lost Oakland friends for their determined and effective efforts to locate and to connect those of us who grew up together in a special place a half-century ago. I will certainly be in Oakland at the end of August, eagerly anticipating reunion with the friends of my childhood. Equally compelling for me, I’m sure, will be the prospect of reconnection with my own childhood history, an almost forgotten part of myself.
Borrowing liberally from the title of a well known book, I’m tempted to assert that “everything I ever really needed to know about life, I learned in Oakland.” While not literally true, there is much about such a characterization that would be pretty accurate. Oakland is where I learned to ride a bike, to swim, to play softball (never very well), to play pinochle and poker, to hike, to dance, to fall in love: all part of growing up in the post-war 1940’s and 1950’s, yet less likely in the confines of life, as I knew it, back in The Bronx. Oakland was a physical, geographic, recreational, and psychological refuge, oasis, and virtual paradise compared with my everyday Bronx life. It is where I discovered girls…as playmates, as friends, as emerging sexual beings who could and would excite and delight a shy and tentative boy, making his way among the frequently overpowering forces of adolescence. A first kiss, a first touch, a first taste, a first date, a first dance, a first girlfriend, a first broken heart: all were part of the magical months spent each summer in Oakland. To this day, I am filled with overwhelmingly rich memories of the power of that special time and special place, and of the lasting impact that those long ago and far away Oakland summers have had on the course of my life.
Bob Silver
- Cynthia Resnick Blauschild says:
I must confess that I cried when I first revisited “The Colony” because growing up I saw it through rose colored glasses. It was Paradice. Each bungalow lovingly cared for by it’s owner. I remember Mr. Berkowitz hand painting each picket of his fence by hand before erecting it around his house. It no longer existed. The yard of the new owners was cluttered with junk. The ball field where so many games were played was over grown with weeds.
Reimer’s Rest was torn down. The Falls as we knew it were gone. Water no longer flows under the island bridge. The island itself has changed it’s configuration. The fence was broken. I did not recognize the bungalow that my father so dearly loved as did I.
When I first brought my husband to be to the Colony he called it a “Shanty Town”. He could not believe that the Colony he saw was the same one that I had described to him so lovingly. That was because he had not spent so many wonderful summers in it. Luckily his mother saw the place as a refuge from the City Projects and after renting the Marcus’ Bungalow for a summer she bought one opposite where Carol Kammeny lived. Oh how she loved that place.
Harv soon discovered how magical a place the Colony was. He loved to play ball and play it he did. On weekends he would play until dark. There were always boys and men willing to play until they dropped. Harv made new friends and at night played poker with them way into the wee hours.. He had been playing poker for years in the Bronx. but In Harris’s bungalow he found fresh blood (money). Bob Freeman, Carl, Ronnie, etc. were all victims. Harv was a card counter and earned money for his single mom gambling at the early age of nine. Later in life He became a high rollar. We traveled wherever there was a casino. Rooms, transportation, food, shows all free. If he were alive today he would have thanked all his poker buddies from Oakland for their help in honing his skills. SMILE! He would also tell you he played semi pro ball at Randalls Island and was picked to play with the now defunct Washington Senators. He would have been shocked to see the ball field as I did on that day. Which brings me back to the pint of this posting…
Which is to forewarn all of you who have not been to the colony for years and are coming to the reunion. The Colony can no longer be seen through those rose colored glasses of our youth. It is now a “Shanty Town” proving the age old adage, “you can never go home” Hopefully though we can carry our Colony Paradice of old in our hearts and memories and with our new clear glasses continue to see our friends for many more reunions.