web1_TTL070916pasr.awards.jpg

Hazleton teachers receive grants

web1_201408012_Benefieldwebsite.jpg

Nathan A. Benefield: Spend-first, tax-later is flawed budgeting

<p>WILKES-BARRE &#8212; Last Sunday, I decided to take a spin around &#8220;the lake&#8221; &#8212; Harveys Lake.</p><p>It was a slow trip around the 8-plus-mile Lakeside Drive that surrounds the lake. I wanted to look at some memories, but at the same time I wanted to make sure there were no joggers or bicyclists on the road. Which, by the way, there weren&#8217;t. I thought that was strange for a holiday weekend at the lake.</p><p>I drove by the sites of my memories &#8212; Hanson&#8217;s and Sandy Beach being the most vivid. The buildings are gone. Those glorious halls where kids used to pile in to dance to the favorite songs of the &#8217;60s and &#8217;70s.</p><p>Gone too were the people who would crowd around the lake and on the lake to swim, barbecue, boat, water ski &#8212; have fun. The lake has become a private place now. Only a couple small beach areas remain, and I&#8217;m pretty sure there is a charge to use them.</p><p>Man I wish I could smell the vinegar being poured on French fries, I thought. Or hear the screams from the roller coaster. Or lie on Sandy Beach with my transistor radio and watch the &#8220;scenery.&#8221;</p><p>As I drove past Hanson&#8217;s, I opened the window on that hot, humid afternoon to see if I could hear Joe Nardone &amp; The All Stars playing in the second floor dance hall.</p><p>I repeated the window opening as I drove past Sandy Beach, hoping to hear Eddie Day &amp; The Night-timers, or Eddie Day &amp; The Starfires, or Eddie Day and anybody.</p><p>I did hear those bands in my head. I heard the songs &#8212; I saw the kids dancing. I remembered the fun of those halcyon days of my youth.</p><p>And then my thought turned to Aug. 13. That&#8217;s when Eddie Day &amp; The Starfires and Joe Nardone and The All Stars will again play at the Irem Pavilion in Dallas. Around 700 to 800 people will show up to dance the night away &#8212; swaying and swinging to great songs by the bands that first brought them to our ears.</p><p>It will be an awesome night. Not just because of the bands, or the music or the people. It&#8217;s the nostalgia indelibly ingrained in our DNA. This night, this dance, this music brings it all back. It transforms us back to &#8220;the lake&#8221; and Hanson&#8217;s and Sandy Beach and countless other venues and countless other bands.</p><p>It allows us to relive the days when we were young lions and lionesses. For me, it&#8217;s much more than fun.</p><p>In the 1960s and early 1970s, we never thought about how many more dances we would attend. We never gave our futures much thought, either. We lived for the day. We lived for the fun. We lived for the music. We lived for the chase.</p><p>After I drove around the lake, I decided to take the long way home. I drove over Plymouth Mountain, like we did back in the day. I thought about nights of underage drinking, playing pitch in my friend&#8217;s house, eating Red&#8217;s subs and drinking Stegmaier in quart bottles.</p><p>I thought about hanging out in front of C. Matus&#8217; News on Main Street, holding up a parking meter, watching life go by. I thought of church bazaars and potato pancakes and sneaking a bet on the Big Six. I thought of Plymouth High School &#8212; the red and black of the Shawnee Indians. And games against Nanticoke and Swoyersville and Kingston and Newport and Ashley.</p><p>I went back further, to Little League and the Wilkes-Barre Junior Barons and Pop Hughes, Snoggy Mergo, Joe Evan. I thought of how delicious a Mergo&#8217;s hot dog with mustard, spiked with beer, would taste. I longed for a CMP from Golden Quality, or a cherry Coke at the Rea and Derrick. I wanted to oil up my new Wilson A-2000 glove and play at Barnes Street field.</p><p>And then I thought of sleigh-riding down Nottingham Street and riding my bike down Mountain Road, Wiffle Ball games in the backyard and climbing Walter Roman&#8217;s cherry tree and grabbing only the ripe ones.</p><p>Funny how a short car trip can take you thousands of miles over several decades. And I loved every second of it.</p><style>
.neFileBlock {
	margin-bottom: 20px;
}
.neFileBlock p {
	margin: 0px 0px 0px 0px;
}
.neFileBlock .neFile {
	border-bottom: 1px dotted #aaa;
	padding-bottom: 5px;
	padding-top: 10px;
}
.neFileBlock .neCaption {
	font-size: 85%;
}
</style>
<div class='neFileBlock'>
<div class="neFile"><img class="neImage" src="https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/web1_Oboyle_Bill-2-1-2.jpg">
<div class="neCaption">Bill O&#8217;Boyle </div></div><div class="metaInfo"><photo0>https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/web1_Oboyle_Bill-2-1-2.jpg</photo0><caption0>Bill O&#8217;Boyle </caption0><photoCredit0></photoCredit0></div></div>
<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>By Bill O&#8217;Boyle</p><p>boboyle@www.timesleader.com</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Reach Bill O&#8217;Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at boboyle@www.timesleader.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Beyond the Byline: A short trip can encompass years of memories