My Sister, Fran, was in a Drum and Bugle Corps. Originally called the Bergenfield Ravens, they soon became the Dumont Police Cadets. Fran was captain of the color guard and her close friend, Camile Conklin, was the Drum Major.  The Corps used to practice at the Teaneck Armory, and I went with my sister to watch several times. I loved to stand behind Camile, run back and forth, and pretend I was conducting. Fifty years later, I would meet up with Camile again at the Macy’s All-Star Drum Corps, but that's another story.

My Sister, Rose, was getting married, and I was asked to be the ring bearer. My cousin, Marie would be the flower girl. It was so cool the day I went with my dad and brother to get fitted for my tuxedo. The wedding was to be at St. John’s Church, on Washington Avenue in Bergenfield.

The day of the wedding came. We rode to the church in a brand new Cadillac limousine.
Marie and I waited in the back of the church for our turn to walk down the isle.  When our turn came, down the isle we went.  When we got to the front of the church, I stood next to John and turned to watch my sister come down the isle.

With Rose on his arm, down the isle they came. Dad had a huge smile on his face, and wow, my sister looked beautiful! 
 

After the wedding, we took a bunch of pictures, which I must confess was an absolute pain. Let’s get to the party, you know, the reception and all the fun stuff.

The reception was held at the VFW hall, on Washington Avenue in Bergenfield. I got to sit up at the head table and even had a little Champaign. There was lots of food, music and dancing. It was a great evening, but also a long evening, and soon I got tired.

I am not sure what time it was (my children would probably say 9 PM) when I decided to go to sleep. It was so bright and noisy at the reception hall; even sitting by my mom I couldn’t get to sleep. So, I went outside, found my fathers car, crawled in the back seat, and proceeded to fall fast asleep.

Now it seems my father had agreed to lend his car to Rose and John to take to Florida for their honeymoon.  And of course, John’s friends were obliged to “decorate” the car. You know, tie cans to the rear bumper, write all over the windows. Problem was they discovered me asleep in the back seat.  “Hey,” they shouted at me, “wake up!” I woke up angry and told them to leave me alone, this was my car.  “Rose and John are taking this car on the honeymoon,” one of them shouted; “Out you go.”  So reluctantly, I got up and left the comfort and peace of the back seat of my dad’s car.

I walked around the parking lot, trying to find another car to sleep in, when I got one of my usual great ideas.  I knew where we were, on Washington Ave.  I had walked this way home from the Teaneck Armory with my sister Fran.  It was simple. Go straight down Washington Ave, past the church, then turn right on Merritt, which was easy to find. There was a French dry cleaner on the corner; you couldn’t miss it. Well, actually you couldn’t miss smelling it. It had a constant odor of cleaning fluid. Easy, simple, so off I went at about one o’clock in the morning, looking sharp, dressed in a tuxedo.

At some point, back at the reception, when everyone was getting ready to leave, they realized I was missing. Out into the night everyone went to look for me. Dad had alerted the police. It was a huge commotion. I don’t know why, I was simply going home to go to sleep.

It was a mile and a half walk to get home.  It seemed like only a short time before I got to the center of town, where all the stores were. Then, about the time I got to Betty-Lee Drugs that I noticed a car riding slowly along side me.  My sister Fran had told me never to stop or talk to people in cars. But they kept following me.  Finally one of them called out to me, “Where you headed?”  “Home,” I replied, looking straight ahead and still walking. “And I can’t talk to you.”  I was getting tired and wanted to stop, but I kept walking; it was the right thing to do.  “Listen son, we’re police officers, it’s ok to talk to us,” came the voice from the car.  I turned my head and looked; sure enough it was a police car with two policemen in front.  I stopped and looked at them. “Would you like a ride?” they asked.  I was tired and did want a ride, so into the back seat I climbed. “I live on Merritt Avenue.” “We know,” the officer replied.  And off we went. 

We drove down Washington, and turned on Merritt.  You could smell the cleaning fluid, even in the car, as we turned the corner. Up the two hills on Merritt to our house.  Mom was on the stoop, crying, as the police officers let me out. She ran to me and gave me a hug. Dad came over and talked to the policemen. He had smile on his face.  “Can I go to bed?” I asked my mom. She simply nodded. And that’s the way it was, the day I went for a walk down Washington Avenue.