To a small child, the summertime vacation is a hastily-fleeting affair - at least so it seemed to me - a youth of seven back in August of 1960. I had just completed the first grade and although I was looking forward to resuming my studies in only a matter of a few weeks, I was in no great hurry for those leisurely warm days to come to any abrupt finale. Over the years that would ensue, as I progressed through my formal education, I can now think back to those carefree days and those many summer vacations. Those last few days immediately before the return to school - counting backwards, "only six more days "off before I have to go back; only five more days ..." you get the idea!

I was born and raised in Brooklyn, not a far distance from the famous beaches of Coney Island and, indeed, on many occasions my parents would take their prodigy to spend a few summer hours on the shores of the Atlantic. As I was to discover in later life, if you really expect to have a good time, you need to include "someone special" to share those moments with you. Certainly my parents performed their duties towards me as best they knew how (or were able) but they most definitely were not ranked very high on my personal list of preferred playmates. Of course, I did have an older brother (by twelve years) but he was away at college and well "out of the house" by now and I only saw him on rare occasions. Even though he was truly my brother, my own "flesh and blood" I had more in common with the boy who lived next door - for at least my neighbor shared my childhood interests.

So, it was a special "treat" for me on a Sunday morning back in mid August of 1960 - we were going to travel out to Rockaway Beach to spend the day with my aunt and uncle and my cousin, Sam, a lad only fourteen months older than I.

My aunt and uncle (my father's oldest brother) had been renting a bungalow in the area of Beach 29th Street in the Far Rockaway/Edgemere section of the Borough of Queens. I remember the "wooden shack" being about three huts away from a large boardwalk - a four-room temporary abode on the east side of a paved but extremely sandy street. There was no access to the boardwalk from that particular street; the entrance ramp was about four or five blocks away - but it really didn't matter all that much. We were visiting that day to take advantage of the lovely white sand and cool water so all we really had to do was to walk southward to the end of the road and then cross underneath the wooden walkway and - instant beach!

Once our car arrived at the designated target (Uncle Billy's bungalow) our family of three disembarked only to be embraced by such close and loving relatives. Neither Sam nor I would waste the time with such formalities (eww — hugs and kisses!) and in only a matter of minutes, we had both donned bathing trunks and were headed off to frolic in the surf. Adult supervision apparently was not as pressing an issue fifty years ago for I recall that almost an hour had gone by before I noticed the four adults sitting on a beach blanket - engaged in conversation. But I just knew they were keeping "gentle watch" on their valuable offspring.

It proved to be a marvelous day - simply super! I did not want it to end. Sam and I had built a sand fort, created a neat moat, and thinking back, I wonder why the two of us did not simply "burn away" in that hot summer sun.

My cousin and I had gotten along so well - we were perfect as age mates, relatives, and as friends. When my folks announced they were getting ready to "pack up" the car and leave, not wanting that day to come to an end, I pleaded with them to "leave me behind" - I wanted to stay on with my cousin and extend my Rockaway vacation. After much discussion, my aunt and uncle agreed that "it wouldn't be too much" of an imposition for me to stay on with them for another few days, possibly the entire week. Sam and I were elated and ultimately my parents heeded my plea and they departed for that long drive back to Brooklyn with one less passenger in the car.

Later on in the evening (long after my parents had left) my aunt and uncle decided that the four of us would walk the few blocks to the nearest ramp, for we were to have our dinner at one of the many food concession stands lining the north side of the boardwalk. We dined on hot dogs served in paper sleeves, French fries delivered in small cardboard baskets, and soda pop contained in real-waxed drinking cups.

After completing our "paper banquet" it was decided we would take a stroll on the boardwalk. Of course, Sam and I ran ahead and "discovered" a group of concessions - the ones featuring coin-operated novelties almost immediately caught our attention. By the time Sam's parents "caught up" with us, we were firmly ensconced in a large wooden amusement building - talking inventory of the many exciting offerings.

It was in that very building, that wooden ancient concession where I first saw a recording booth. The structure reminded me of a pay telephone facility - a large one-person compartment. Sam immediately wanted to make a recording to commemorate our wonderful day. I can still remember the wordings written on the outside of the booth: "Make A Permanent Recording Of Your Own Voice" and "Play Your Own Voice Back On Your Own Home Phonograph" - and yet another slogan announced: "Make Your Own Record - Only 35 Cents."

"Good Old" Uncle Bill came up with the needed coins and the "two of us kids" quickly climbed inside the booth and shut the door tightly behind us. The facility was actually constructed to contain only one person but being quite small (at ages 7 and 8) we had no difficulty sharing the same wooden bench.

We sat facing a wall -- instructions were printed directly onto the wooden "face plate" above a rather large cloth vent (a vent which served as the recording microphone). Next to each line of instruction was a small light bulb. As each bulb "came on" we were expected to do exactly as the instruction associated with that particular bulb told us to do. In fact, instructions (in red print) advised us to read and understand everything BEFORE inserting the coins into the machine.

Sam slipped the coins into a metal "push tray" which accepted one dime and one quarter. We pushed the slot inward and then pulled it back out - things were self-serve or "mechanical"back in those days! We heard the coins drop and then a few seconds later, the machine "came to life" and it began making all sorts of noises. We watched as the light bulbs began lighting (only one bulb ever lit at any one time). We were instructed to began speaking when a red light "told us" - recording now! We hurriedly announced our names and began rambling - silly things, childish things - in 90 seconds it was over. The next-to-last bulb "came on" stating" recording complete. The final indicator told us that our disk would be ready in 60 seconds. At the end of that time, a six-inch disk emerged from a slot under the "display panel" and underneath that, a manila carry envelope appeared. We took our souvenir, its case, and exited the booth.

I remained with my cousin and his family for the remainder of the summer. On the day my dad picked me up for the return trip back to our Brooklyn home, Sam surprised me by offering to let me have the recording disk which we had "made" two weeks before - a momento of the few fleeting days of wonderful summer vacation.

I am sorry to admit that I have absolutely no idea of whatever became of the cheapo recording Sam and I produced almost five decades ago. I don't even remember seeing it among my possessions when I finally moved out of my parent's home - I was then an adult and had taken a place in the city to be closer to my place of employment. I can only suppose that somewhere "along the way" the small round plastic disk was thrown away.

While in my early twenties, I briefly dated a young woman who just happened to be a fan of singer Barry Manilow. Living in the city, I didn't have a car but conveniently my girl friend did - her car, her choice of music! - so I was constantly "bombarded" with Manilow music via the "magic" of an 8-Track tape player. As I remember it, a beginning track on one of Barry's best selling record albums includes a 90-second "bit" - something he had recorded in one of those very booths (in Brooklyn, no doubt) when he was a small child. The tinny sound of a five-year old Barry Pincus (his real name) speaking for a minute for prosperity, reminded me of the recording Sam and I had made together back in 1960. Obviously those recording booths were not limited to only the amusement areas of the Rockaways - apparently they were located all over the city during the 50s and 60s.

A recent contribution by one of the many viewers of the www.rockawaymemories.com website has instigated this particular remembrance. My special "thanks" to an anonymous contributor who located an old "record your own voice" disk and sent it along to be shared with others. This particular recording was made at the old ever-popular Rockaway's Playland during the early part of the 1950s - an interesting label reveals the clown face and the famous logo. You might consider checking your own basement or attic; you might find your own recording - perhaps a record you yourself made so many years ago! Such wonderful memories!!

By the way, for those of you "out there" who would welcome a research project - see if you can ascertain which of the Manilow record albums includes that abbreviated "cut" of Barry speaking when he was only a child. Hint: It is on the same record which includes the original "Mandy" song which was initially vocalized as "Brandy." Good luck; good hunting. A.B.

email: bline@rockawaymemories.com