Oh, How Things Have Changed!
YES, it is tough to argue that things do continually change. This is never more evident than when a large piece of time passes, and someone with a good memory reviews a long life. I would like to take you all back to the 1950s, a much quieter time right here in Belgrade. This is all from memory so bear with me!
It’s August 8, 1957 or thereabouts. The day is born with noticeable humidity in the air. The houses feel clammy as air conditioning is unheard of in that era here in Belgrade, and I suppose throughout our nation. As we local kids awaken, we are likely pondering the same thing; that today will be a swim day. After breakfast is behind us, it isn’t long before we start to question our moms about when we could go swimming. The answers varied, I’m sure, from “Perhaps later this morning” to “After lunch.” Each family will vary as some have multiple children, some of whom take naps. We won’t know who else might be going, or when, until we get to Sandy Beach. What we do know is that fun will be had for several hours by jumping off the small dock that protrudes out into the waterway known as Mill Stream, swimming underwater across the stream and doing cannonballs when the occasional boat comes by. Most mothers didn’t work away from the home and were their own baby sitters.
By noontime or shortly thereafter, moms and their children can be seen scuffing their way down Skunk Alley (so nicknamed) in Belgrade Lakes, actually named Red Oaks Lodge Road or The Hulin Road. Ken and Eunice Pray own the land that “our beach” is located on. Beach is a misnomer, actually a gravel strip that runs along the stream for 60-80 feet or so. The waterway is often called the narrows of Mill Stream where boats nearly collide when coming in or out of Great Pond. The area was dragged and widened in the 1930s to accommodate larger boats.
Boat traffic in or out of the stream is light as usual during our childhood swims, as there were few boats on the lake compared to now. A few aluminum or fiberglass boats might be seen, but these materials are just coming into common use. Mostly the boats are wood and range from Chris-Craft type inboards to small Rangeley type fishing boats. The latter are rented down by the dam to locals who want to go fishing. The rental shop is owned by Ralph Stuart, soon sold to my dad, Clifford Johnson. The bigger boats are coming in for gasoline at Everett Johnson’s Marina, which is located across from Bartlett’s Store, soon to be Day’s Store.
We boys tend to hog the little dock at the beach and have battles to push each other into the water. The mothers look on discreetly as they sit on their towels and chat. If a boat comes and we recognize the people (or not) we give our best cannonball off the dock to spray them. I recall my father came through once slowly towing a broken down rental boat that he had rescued from Great Pond. We bombarded him hard and that night at the supper table I got read the riot act. From time to time my older brother and his friends come by us water skiing, and spray us worse than we do them. Short term mayhem ensues, and the mothers reprimand all involved, including the water skiers when they get home. There was no speed limit in those days, if you can imagine!
I really don’t know how, but we all lived through it and seldom anyone was hurt. Today I sit here on our porch and watch kids driving boats that go much much faster and worry they will be hurt badly. Yes, times do change, but some things never do.
Rod Johnson, a.k.a. “The Luckiest Boy,” is a member of the Belgrade Historical Society.
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