It was a Yorkville tradition, kids prayed for a heat wave. Yes, that meant miserable nights of sleeping with no air conditioning, but if the temperature rose over eighty and it got good and humid, the odds were high some adult was taking you to water.
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No father wanted to move his car on the weekend, but if Dad's boxer shorts bonded with sweat and stuck to his butt when he got out of his
chair, he'd get slightly delirious and in that state of impaired judgment he'd be ready to deal with alternate side parking 
when we got back from our outing.
In 1931, the gang favored Lake Ronkonkoma on Long Island. In August 1962, my family's water options widened: Sparkle Lake, north of the city; Davies Lake, right over the George Washington Bridge; and if Dad was reminiscing and pining for his body surfing youth we'd head for Beach 116th in the Rockaways, then go straight to Curley's Bath House, a gigantic worn wooden structure that I mistook for an ancient ruin from the original Irish landing in the Americas, which I imagined happened hundreds of years before, and further imagined was as interesting a story as Columbus' Santa Maria, Nina, Pinta or the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock. I was just waiting for someone to tell me the story, and I didn't understand what was taking them so long.
At Curley's , we'd drop off our street clothes in a locker, leaving on the bathing suits that we put on at home to get into the water faster. Dad rented a heavy duty beach umbrella for a buck fifty. Rory and I fought over carrying the luggy thing that was larger than both of us. It was sturdy, the heavy canvass top was blue and yellow, and the pole supporting it had twice the girth of a stick ball bat. The sun bleached wood was smooth to the touch from the tip to the top. We all loved the rough surf, except Mom.
.
My memories of Sparkle Lake are limited. Once, someone in our group found Davies Lake, a location much closer to Yorkville, we stopped going north and became charter members in Davie's Lake summer crew. If I remember correctly, it was less than 15 minutes from the Jersey side of the GWB. On a lake morning, the scotch ice frozen the night before would be mixed in with the dry ice and regular ice we bought at the warehouse between York and First Avenue in the low 90s. I lived for the tuna salad slightly frozen in the Tupperware on a Glazer bakery's poppy seed roll with extra mayo.
.
Davies Lake was the place from 1962 to 1972. Top 40 music played all day over the property's
loudspeakers. Evey conceivable game was played. The girls we ignored or fought with in 1962, slowly came on our radar as we left the lower grades and started moving towards our teens. Watching the girls tan over the summer became a priority. Observing someone tan takes time and concentration, and we were prepared to make all the necessary sacrifices.
.
.
when we got back from our outing.In 1931, the gang favored Lake Ronkonkoma on Long Island. In August 1962, my family's water options widened: Sparkle Lake, north of the city; Davies Lake, right over the George Washington Bridge; and if Dad was reminiscing and pining for his body surfing youth we'd head for Beach 116th in the Rockaways, then go straight to Curley's Bath House, a gigantic worn wooden structure that I mistook for an ancient ruin from the original Irish landing in the Americas, which I imagined happened hundreds of years before, and further imagined was as interesting a story as Columbus' Santa Maria, Nina, Pinta or the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock. I was just waiting for someone to tell me the story, and I didn't understand what was taking them so long.
At Curley's , we'd drop off our street clothes in a locker, leaving on the bathing suits that we put on at home to get into the water faster. Dad rented a heavy duty beach umbrella for a buck fifty. Rory and I fought over carrying the luggy thing that was larger than both of us. It was sturdy, the heavy canvass top was blue and yellow, and the pole supporting it had twice the girth of a stick ball bat. The sun bleached wood was smooth to the touch from the tip to the top. We all loved the rough surf, except Mom.
.
My memories of Sparkle Lake are limited. Once, someone in our group found Davies Lake, a location much closer to Yorkville, we stopped going north and became charter members in Davie's Lake summer crew. If I remember correctly, it was less than 15 minutes from the Jersey side of the GWB. On a lake morning, the scotch ice frozen the night before would be mixed in with the dry ice and regular ice we bought at the warehouse between York and First Avenue in the low 90s. I lived for the tuna salad slightly frozen in the Tupperware on a Glazer bakery's poppy seed roll with extra mayo.
.
Davies Lake was the place from 1962 to 1972. Top 40 music played all day over the property's
loudspeakers. Evey conceivable game was played. The girls we ignored or fought with in 1962, slowly came on our radar as we left the lower grades and started moving towards our teens. Watching the girls tan over the summer became a priority. Observing someone tan takes time and concentration, and we were prepared to make all the necessary sacrifices..
.
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