The Party's Over

They still make the stuff!

On the night of Labor Day, 1961  my three good friends and  I were  celebrating the end of  summer in style  . The next day, we were all starting high school, and  up for having a  very good time that evening. For Paul, Danny, Mike and myself, this meant  listening to the radio, playing poker, popping popcorn,and  slurping and burping down a ton of Vernor's ginger ale and  ice cream. Too young to drink or smoke,so  this would have to do.

We were all  heavily into the new folk music craze in a big way, and fans of  the Midnight Special, an FM show that played great folk songs at night.. So, we turned up the radio in Paul's kitchen,  and broke out the Jiffy Pop,  . The trick was to heat it over the gas flame on the stove until the foil formed a dome, but not so much that the popcorn came out blackened and disgusting. Paul had a lot of practice at this, so we did ok, with only a few dinky refugee kernels left on the bottom.

With the popcorn done, we loaded it into a bowl, got out the Vernor's Ginger Ale from the fridge and scooped ice cream into mugs. All  of us preferred not to mix the Vernor's with ice cream, because it lost its very special burpiness. In those days, you couldn't buy the super fizzy stuff in Chicago, but Paul's mom brought in from Detroit when she visited relatives there. You go, Mrs. Broder!

Caught up in our poker game, listening to The Weavers and Bob Gibson and making pigs of ourselves, the time started to slip away from us. I distinctly remember that I was losing and didn't want to quit.Reluctantly, we called it a night, mistakenly thinking it was Sunday with an 11:00 PM curfew.

Saying goodbye to Paul, the three of us ambled across the street and began slowly making our way home, chattering  excitedly about starting school the next day as freshmen. Just as we passed our synagogue, a car pulled up. From the rolled- down driver's window came," Good evening, boys. Do you know what time it is?"

We knew the answer, but had no idea who these men were.So as fast as we could, we took off like bats out of hell. The car followed us and from a loudspeaker came  our doom.
" Stop!This is the police.  It's a week day night and you are in violation of the 10 o'clock curfew."

Just great!. Busted on the night before starting high school. What now?  And what would our parents say?
The two juvenile officers showed us their badges and we piled into their car.We bitterly argued that all of us were no more than a few blocks from home.  Our pleas ignored, the unmarked car turned around and drove us to the Chicago Lawn Police Station two miles down on 63rd Street. It was only a few  minutes after curfew, but there loomed a long night ahead of us.

63rd Street Police Station

After the short, unsettling ride,  we walked into the red brick police station that looked like it had been built during the Spanish American War.  The floors were dingy, the walls were a grimy green. I did notice a photo of the newly elected President Kennedy brightening an otherwise dreary scene. Maybe we'd get a presidential pardon?

We were ushered upstairs where the desk sergeant filled out forms sealing our fate.   Charged with breaking curfew, he did  promise  if we had no more violations during the year, our records would be wiped clean. But, added the sergeant, we couldn't  go home until one of our parents picked us up. By then  it was 10:45 and Tuesday was the start of high school. We also were full of ginger ale and by then, our bladders were full to bursting.

I knew that my parents were just returning home from a concert. I called home and luckily, my dad answered. In  a quavering voice ,I asked t  be picked up at the police station along with my friends. After a few questions, he said he'd be right over.  To my relief, he sounded much more upset with the police than with my friends and me. He also mentioned that he'd call the boys' parents and tell them they were safe.

     A short time later, Dad walked into the station with a grim look on his face.Having just come home from a night on the town, he was dressed immaculately, with  a dark blue suit, gold cuff links at his wrist and gleaming black shoes He looked like the respected physician he was. Then he began to berate the sergeant.
" Don't you people have anything better to do than to keep these high school boys here when they have classes tomorrow?  Why aren't you patrolling the streets and keeping criminals away from our businesses?"
 "Who are you, mister? What business is this of yours?" demanded the officer.
  "I'm  Doctor Marder. My office is on Kedzie. That's my son and his friends sitting there; I'm taking them home."    I listened and was impressed.
Without another word, Dad strode over to us. A few minutes later, we were on our way back home. Danny and Mike's parents had the same reaction as mine. They couldn't understand why the police couldn't just give us a warning and drive us home. They did warn us, though, that if we broke curfew again, we'd all suffer the same fate. Grounded for the rest of high school!  Lesson noted and well learned.