NCE was on High Street, and there was an old, castle like building with a big sign, "Newark College of Engineering". I was impressed.

The following Saturday, I got up early as usual, got on my bike and started to ride. Newark, why not ride down to NCE?  So off I went.  I got to Newark, about 22 miles, found High Street and NCE, and then returned home to tell Frank. The coolest thing about the trip was riding through a town called Moonachie. Nothing special about Moonachie, I just loved the name!

When I got home, I was excited to tell my brother. "How do you know you were at NCE?" he asked. Because it was on High Street, I told him. "Well a lot of towns have a High Street,” he replied.  I could tell he was not really sure I had gone all the way to Newark, but a few weeks later he would find out.
 

A. Peter Johnston

I had two close friends I often rode with on Saturdays, Ray Johnston and Peter Johnston. They were not related; we all just hung around together. We never knew where were going, we kind of decided as we started the day. Except for one time when we actually planned a trip to Bear Mountain, even took some food and water. But that's a story for another day.

Raymond Johnston

It was Peter who was riding with me that day. I had told Pete about this town called Moonachie, so we headed off in that direction. We got there pretty quickly and decided to go see NCE. And from NCE, we went to my friend Foster's house in Irvington.  I had met Foster in Ocean Gate, where we spent our summers. Foster and I had become close friends. We had some lunch at Foster's and then headed home. That's when the adventure started.

We back tracked to Newark, High Street and was headed to Moonachie. Moonachie was named after Chief Monaghie, a member of the Iroquois tribe. I think the Spirit of Chief Monaghie was not happy about me being amused by his name, so he decided to do a rain dance, and make it rain on my parade. The problem was, it was cold. Rain, plus cold, makes snow. And did it snow!

We never made it back to Moonachie; it was in Nutley when the snow became too deep to ride in. Pete and I stopped and looked at each other. This was not going to work, so we asked where the police station was and started walking. We identified ourselves to the officer at the desk, and between looks of disbelief and laughing, he asked again the name of the town we lived in. "Bergenfield," we replied in unison. Call my dad, he has a truck, he can come get us. The officer had some one take our bikes and showed us to a waiting area. They got us some hot chocolate, and we waited.

After a while, I heard my dad's voice out front. He was thanking the officers and joking with them while my brother came in the back and got Pete and me.  My father had not brought the pickup, as I thought he would, but brought the '62 Chevy II Nova station wagon. It was still snowing hard as Pete and I climbed in to the back seat. My brother took care of our bikes, and so we headed home.

When we got home, my mom had dinner ready. Dad went into the bathroom, washed his hands and then we all ate together, Mom, Dad, my brother and me.  I never said thank you, my mother never asked about it; we just ate dinner and talked like any other Saturday. And so it was, just another Saturday.

Joseph DiMaggio