In the late 50s suburbia exploded across the farmlands of Long Island, changing its landscape and small town culture forever. Families from Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx pushed out to the sticks, looking for fresh air and a safe haven to raise their children. I, like so many of my generation, lived an unsupervised childhood that characterized many of Long Island’s suburbs of the early 60s.
Later known as latchkey kids, we considered ourselves frontiersmen, daredevils, and self-confessed hellions, running wild through our neighborhoods. Keys around our necks, we escaped the loneliness of our empty homes and banded together to share escapades and the consequences of our antics. Always attuned to nature and the changing seasons, we waifs, marooned on islands of our own imagination, skirted trouble, plotted capers, and shared grand adventures in the fields and woods of our Long Island.
This collection of vignettes recounts the exploits and pranks of us kids who loved adventure, roaming the fields and woods, and liked to just mess around.