MCF LI 2: Let's Go to the Mall!

When you're a kid, and you live on an island, there are only so many options for amusement. It's even worse if you live on an isolated part of the coast with no movie theater, and little more than stationary stores, bike trails, and pizza places for diversion. Granted, the beach is an option for a few months of the year, but may also require adults to drive you if it's beyond your limits. The beach might only be five miles away but it may as well be fifteen like the nearest mall. At least, that was my experience growing up on Long Island. Some kids were more fortunate, and lived near malls or movie theaters. I was nearly in high school before my town finally got a theater, and we've never had a proper mall. The central hub for all mall activity in my neck of the woods was Roosevelt Field.

Historically, the Roosevelt Field Mall was once an airfield, from which Charles Lindbergh launched to fly across the Atlantic Ocean for the first time. To me, it was always a mall, and a hard one to get to if my mom or dad weren't able to drive my friends and I. It took twice as long by bus, due to the convoluted bus route, and I was at least 12 or 13 before my mom even conceded to let me take public transportation with my friends. These days, there are far better options for movies, infinitely preferable to the old theater, but as a kid it was the place to be. I vividly remember my dad taking my friends and I to see Gremlins there.

While the mall was fun for kids to travel unsupervised, it morphed into something undesirable when shopping with one's parents. I often remember my mom dragging me to Alexander's or Woolworth's. The highlight of the Woolworth's in the mall that set it apart from the one in my home town, was an adjoining diner with an entrance both from the store and the mall. If I behaved, I got to have a sundae.

The mall has changed and expanded quite a bit, especially in the last decade or so. Stores have come and gone, and the entire structure was renovated to add a second floor and a massive food court shaped like a blimp, with the counters at the base of the structure. One of the things I miss about the mall from my childhood is the Petit Mall. Before the changes made in the ‘90s, there used to be a separate section of the mall, an older structure that felt tacked on and didn't match the rest of the place. There was a hair dresser shaped like a cavern, with a rocky exterior. The rounded sign posts conjured images of Paris, and is the closest I've ever been to France. The Petit Mall had a certain mythical quality as well, as I couldn't always find it. The entrance was at the end of one of the main hallways, and tucked in a corner. There was a period of time in which I vividly remembered being there with my parents, but when with my friends I could never prove it existed. Now, it no longer does.

The mall is not always about shopping. Sometimes it's just a place to fill time. I've spent more than one lunch hour as an adult wandering through various malls with my coworkers, looking in game or book stores before settling in a food court. As Roosevelt Field grew, other locations became preferable. In high school and college, a friend and I often hung out at the Sunrise Mall in Massapequa. There were fewer crowds, and it boasted not one but two arcades. One offered the best air hockey tables while the other had the rare six player version of the first X-men game as well as Captain America and the Avengers. It had a great central fountain with a round walkway on the second level overlooking it. While the current design of Roosevelt Field boasts similar aesthetics, back in the early ‘90s it set Sunrise apart and made it more modern. They also had a much nicer theater built into the mall, though I only saw a few movies there, including the historic Star Trek®: Generations, one of only four films from that franchise that I've seen on the big screen. I haven't actually been out to Sunrise Mall in well over a decade, but during my early college years when I was first driving and had more freedom, it was often the destination of choice.

Long Island is a mecca of malls and strip malls for shoppers and Mallrats. While Roosevelt Field and Sunrise Mall figured most prominently in my life, there are a few others of note:

• I've only been to the Smith Haven Mall a few times, but it's my understanding that its the center of Suffolk County the way Roosevelt Field is for Nassau.

• At the other end of the spectrum is Green Acres Mall, a somewhat dangerous locale that I've only set foot in once or twice, accompanied by friends from the area. In college we'd often go to the nearby freestanding multiplex where we caught such films as Street Fighter, ID4, Desperado, and Last Man Standing. What I remember most about the last film is members of the audience attempting a dialogue with Bruce Willis, pointing out that he'd popped more caps than the type of gat he carried could discharge without reloading, and thus his movie was playing all of them. On an unrelated side note, I should mention that this was the first theater I ever went to that had metal detectors in the lobby.

• My other childhood favorite besides Roosevelt Field was the Broadway Mall. It had more quaint shops lining the halls between the larger department stores, a great ice cream counter with the best waffle cones, and most importantly a long, dark arcade. It seemed pitch black from the outside, but once one stepped into the darkness, eyes would adjust to the bright screens. I loved the cacophony of explosions and electronic music. It was there that I was first exposed to the wonders of animated games like Dragon's Lair, Cliff Hanger, and Space Ace. I marveled at the overwhelming odds and piercing music of Gauntlet, which sang out and beckoned amid all the other machines. Sadly, the current Broadway Mall no longer has this arcade or any other, and an attached Target, a multiplex adjoining a modern food court, and a neighboring IKEA are its main attractions now.

• Finally, Long Island's newest mall is the Source, originally constructed as an addition to Fortunoff's. Major points of interest that are no longer there include the Virgin Megastore, the Rainforest Café, and Jillian's, which is now a Dave and Buster's. It has a great food court with a huge window overlooking Long Island, as well as a few other restaurants including a Cheesecake Factory. Stores of interest for me include Old Navy, Circuit City, KB, and an exterior-accessed Cold Stone. The mall has also recently put a miniature golf course on an unused section of lawn outside their parking garage.

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Even when we have nothing to buy, when there's nothing to do, we shop. Browsing through merchandise, eating a variety of food, watching movies, observing people and admiring architecture are all attractive qualities of the mall. When it's hot outside you can shop at dozens of stores and enjoy air conditioning, and in the winter you can stroll through a tropical environment, past waterfalls and fronds. As malls are redesigned and connected to neighboring structures, I joke about Long Island becoming one great mall. Looking at something like the Mall of America in Minnesota, which boasts its own amusement park, over 500 stores and 2.5 million square feet, there's definitely precedent. The days of making a pilgrimage to the mall may be left in my childhood, as the expanding malls will make pilgrimages to me.

Previously, on MCF LI:
MCF LI 1: Fire Department Parades

MCF LI 1: Fire Department Parades

While watching Clerks II this past weekend, I thought about how much Kevin Smith loves New Jersey. It's no secret that all of his movies take place in and around the places he grew up, and the setting becomes another character. Mind you, I later read that parts of it were filmed in California, and some viewers noted palm trees in the background during the go-cart scene. Still, he's a filmmaker that's proud of his roots, likes where he's from, and in his heart will never leave. In the same vein, I'm introducing MCF LI, a semi-regular segment in which I'll paint a verbal portrait of some aspect of growing up on Long Island, from malls to parks to beaches and more. Today's installment focuses on fire department parades.

It's a typical scene on a Saturday night around 6 PM. Side streets in some suburban neighborhood have been marked with temporary “no parking” signs even as firetrucks, polished and shiny, line up from various neighboring towns. Fire fighters gather before coolers, sharing beers, laughs, and sandwiches. Nearby, a pretzel vendor walks by, pushing a shopping cart. The wheels squeak and turn in opposing directions on the pavement, even as the air distorts above the tray of charcoal briquettes. The freshest pretzels are toward the top. Other vendors sell balloons on sticks, often distorted stout renditions of superheroes like The Amazing Spider-man or The Incredible Hulk. Cardboard boxes lined with black trash bags stand at attention every few feet on each block, ready to catch cans and other wayward recyclables. Noise is heard as various brass, woodwind, and percussion instruments are fine tuned in preparation. Judges, overweight men with clipboards and baseball caps, take their position at various points along a 1-2 mile route. Soon musicians and fire fighters alike line up, uniforms neat and shoes shined, and move out in formation, one division after another. Some departments may wait as much as an hour to play, but marching the actual parade will take even less time. Most adopt the motto, “Hurry up and wait.” At the end, a reviewing stand oversees with politicians and more judges, as one final strong song is played and an announcer reads off the name of the department. As the sun sets, some remain in the park, picnic area, or school ground where the procession ends and barbecues begin. Others, weary from their labor, head home for a well-deserved rest.

Be it Nassau or Suffolk, North shore or South shore, at one time or another various communities host events such as these throughout the Summer. Some are standard, held in the same city each year, such as Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, or Colombus Day. Others are battalion parades, hosted by different communities within each set of cities and towns each year. While as the son of a musician and later a musician myself I'm most familiar with the two or three hours on a Saturday night dedicated to the parade, these battalion competitions are often all day events for the departments. They gather early on for competitions to see how well the equipment works, who can scale walls the fastest, or how quickly fires can be extinguished. Just as the officials, trucks, and musicians are judged on their appearance, so too are the fighters judged on their performance. At the end of the day trophies are awarded to the departments with the highest scores in various categories.

Very little can stop a parade. I've played in rain short of torrential downpour. The one parade that was called on account of rain this year almost happened. We stood in the rain for a half hour before an official decision was made and we were sent home. I don't think I've watched a parade from the sidelines since my dad got me into the first fire department band I used to watch him play in. I see infants in strollers, and small children blowing obnoxious neon plastic “trumpets” purchased from the many vendors wheeling their merchandise along the sidewalks. Some of the older, mischievous kids spray Silly String, but many of the younger ones gaze in wonder at the instruments. Sometimes a parent will hold a child up and a drummer might let him or her hit the drum. Sometimes we'll play a few notes to a toddler of a children's melody, prior to the start of our actual performance of course. Once on the street there's no deviation from the program, marches played in time while we maintain rows and lines with military precision, staying in sharp step with the drums. Left, right. Left, right. At the aforementioned judging points, lines are painted across the street. Every person in a row has to hit these lines with the same foot at the same time, or lose points before the watchful eyes of the parade officials.

There are the occasional tragedies. Ten years ago, it wasn't uncommon to see band members standing on the back of a truck, hanging on to a rail for dear life as they hitched rides back to the beginning of the parade where their cars were parked. Even fire fighters rode outside the trucks. it was dangerous even if the drivers rolled along slowly. One year someone fell off a truck and died, leading to new regulations. Many trucks now have internal cabins for up to eight people. When they respond to a fire, no one is hanging on the back of the truck. Everyone is seated inside. The bands meanwhile are provided buses by their respective departments. Five years ago, an annual Labor Day parade was dissolved after an old set of bleachers near the reviewing stand collapsed under the weight of the spectators. That parade has not taken place since. Finally, this past weekend, tragedy struck at the most recent department we've been playing for. While working on the ladder inside the firehouse, routine maintenance on a truck, a fireman slipped and fell. Another fireman, pulling in with a second truck and unaware of his comrades plight, ended up pinning him between the two vehicles. He'd later die from the extreme trauma. Naturally we got a call this week from our contact in the department saying they would not be participating in an upcoming parade this Saturday, mourning the loss of one of their own. With a six hour feast with one band in the morning, and a job with a catering hall in Queens with a third band in the evening, the loss of the second gig was fine though the circumstances awful. Every day these men and women are on call, ready to risk their lives and rush into burning buildings. To die in such a random and meaningless fashion is tragic, and I can't imagine how the driver of the truck must feel about his buddy. It's a horrible thing to live with.

The life of a fire fighter is fraught with danger. On Long Island, the most action many seem to see is the occasional false alarm. Just the other day a few trucks responded to a drill at my office. Some people may see them drinking and laughing on the weekend, and think that's all there is to it. Yet they're always on call, and the sirens are a welcome sound when they're truly needed. The parades and competitions may keep them sharp and in practice. By competing against one another, they have incentive to be better, and ready for the next emergency. Most of all, the parades entertain and inspire children, who see the uniforms or the shiny trucks, who hit the drums or clap with glee at the music, who see some of the things we adults do and accept the seeds of, “When I grow up I want to be....” I march down the street, and recall a time when I was on the other side watching, thinking the same thing.