THE ROCKAWAY I KNEW
By Matthew Bashie

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: MY FATHER, THE CAR WRECKER!

Zap! Wham! Bang! Crash!! ...and it was all over! My father's Studebaker was no more! The only problem is that when the jalopy met its demise, I was sitting in the passenger seat.

My father was a notoriously bad driver. He usually "racked" up one or two car accidents every few years so it was no surprise to anyone when we finally lost our 1949 auto. Unfortunately for me, I happened to be with my dad that fateful day. We driving eastbound on Peninsula Boulevard, sitting and waiting for the traffic light to change so we could cross Montauk Highway - and then it happened. The light changed and my dad, heavy on the accelerator, jumped ahead not noticing that a car heading north had not had the opportunity to stop for the light (which was now in our favor) so the other vehicle simply "plowed" in the passenger side of our sedan - colliding with us directly behind where I was sitting.

After what seemed like an eternity, they rushed this injured (?) nine year old to the hospital - St. Joseph's Hospital in Far Rockaway, to be specific. I can only assume that my father had asked them to take me back into Queens. We were in Lynbrook at the time and the nearest hospital was Mercy (in Nassau County), about five minutes away. But I was carted back to Far Rockaway - a trip that took fifteen minutes but felt like an hour to me.

In the emergency room, I was checked over and it was determined that I had no broken bones, nothing earth-shattering and other than the fact that I was in mild shock, the prognosis submitted was that I would survive - so after a minor waiting period, they transported me to a bed in a semi-private room on the second floor.

Apparently my father had not been injured in the accident - however later on, he did discover that he had a few permanent problems that were a direct result of that encounter, but at the time he seemed to be somewhat shaken but in good health. A typical reaction on the part of my parent, dad decided to stay with the car and to allow me to make my own way through the maze of a city hospital and after a quickie call to my mother explaining to her what had happened and where "the apple of his eye" had been transported, dear old dad simply dismissed me from his mind and occupied himself with the police, the paper work, and the tow truck that would cart our family vehicle to a body shop.

At that time, my mother was working as bookkeeper for an automobile dealership in Woodmere. "Albert Motors" was a franchised Lincoln-Mercury dealership situated on the south side of the Woodmere, Long Island train station. The accident occurred about eleven in the morning so mom was at work and she did not have to think twice about where her priorities happened to be - she had no intention of dropping work and rushing to the hospital to see whether I was dead or alive. In fact, what had happened is that dad told her that I was unmarred and unharmed - covered with glass and shaken up a bit so evidently she was not as concerned about my welfare as she might have been had she learned that I had been badly injured. However, as a kid in the hospital for the very first time, I found her reaction to the entire incident a bit callous. I felt rather abandoned. What mom DID do is to send someone else in her stead. She sent her employer.

Let me backtrack a bit here and relate something about my mom's place of employment. "Albert Lincoln-Mercury" was owned and operated by Albert Wides, a young bachelor in his early thirties. Albert was also the younger brother of Melvin Wides, who at that time was operating his own car dealership - Wides Chrysler-Plymouth (later Pontiac) which was located on Beach Channel Drive in Far Rockaway. So, because mom was working for one of the two brothers, I knew the family. It seems that the senior Mr. Wides had opened an auto dealership in the Rockaway area and had been very successful - especially immediately after the war when cars - both new and used - were so difficult to obtain. After his death, both sons followed in his footsteps and had been fortunate enough to open dealerships of their own.

As I said, my family was friendly with the Wides' family - as friendly as possible, realistic, and manageable under any employer-employee relationship. I had met the senior Mrs. Wides on many occasions when she happened to stop by the store and I was "hanging around" waiting for mom to drive us home after her work day ended. I always felt that Mrs. Wides liked me. "Uncle" Albert as I called him, even attended several of my childhood birthday parties and I was friendly with his brother's daughter who was a year older than I. So, it was no surprise when Albert Wides showed up at the hospital to "check me over" for body damage and to fill out the paper work and to facilitate the hospital folks admitting me into their fine institution. Certainly Mr. Wides was no stranger to me and I guarantee you that HE got a lot more respect, attention, and accommodation at the hospital than my own parents would have received from the medical staff. Back in those days, automobile dealers were considered to be "Long Island Royalty." It was nice to have friends in "high places."

Within only a few hours, St. Joseph's needed my bed for an adult patient - so I was transferred into pediatrics, probably where I should have been placed at the very beginning. However, because I was the only "older" child at the hospital at that time, they determined it would be best NOT to place me in with the "little kiddies", but instead gave me my own private room. If you ever have a chance to see a picture of the hospital, which was then located on Beach 19th Street - "my window" was on the first floor, directly to the left (or south side) of the main entrance - that was MY room!

If memory serves, both of my parents did find the time to stop by to see me a day or so later. My dad had some pictures of the accident and I was definitely interested in seeing those. We were not a wealthy family so I don't remember receiving any flowers or gifts. My personal friends were all minors so they were not allowed into the hospital to visit with me so I had a week to myself, to contemplate life and to read a few books and magazines. I was happy when my one-week "vacation" was over and I returned to my own home. Throughout life, I have always been the happiest sleeping in my own bed.

Oh, and before I forget - my dad decided not to get the damaged car repaired but he sold it for junk and bought another vehicle. He purchased a gray year-old (used) 1953 Studebaker. Some people just never seem to learn!

If you wish to contact me at any time, feel free to do so through this web site.

matt@rockawaymemories.com

I always love hearing from my fans and friends. M. B.