Celebrating life on Newins Street

For more than 70 years, Newins street has been a nice place to call home.

A quiet, tree-lined, dead-end street just off Main, it was, in the words of one longtime resident who grew up here, “quaint.”  Kids rode their bikes and neighbors kept an eye on each other. 

It was walking distance to the shops along Main Street, the library, post office and school, but secluded enough to feel insulated and cozy.  Deer, mallards, opossums, and turkeys joined the squirrels and birds to complete the country atmosphere.

The houses, most built right after WWII, were modest-sized Capes and ranches, with deep yards, just right for raising a family.

As the holiday season approaches and families come together to make and share memories, three adults who grew up and continue to live on Newins Street offered their impressions of this neighborhood and the reasons why they continue to live there.

Leeann Huey recalled childhood play:

“Without a doubt, Newins Street was a perfect street to grow up on during the 1960s and early 1970s. Traffic was minimal and restricted primarily to the families that lived here. For children, of whom there were many, this translated into the street being our playground. We weren’t restricted to our own yards; the entire street and neighborhood were fair game. So it wasn’t unusual for the street to be chalked up with bases for our regular kickball games, or adorned with hopscotch squares numbered 1-10. And bicycles far outnumbered cars.  We were quite put out when a car did come down the street; however, drivers knew to go slowly and wait for the kids as well as the family dogs to move out of the way. After the sun went down, especially on weekend nights, there were some very intense games of flash tag and kick the can.”

“Ours was a particularly active yard.  There was a very elaborate basketball hoop Dad constructed for the side yard—it drew not only kids from our street but surrounding neighborhoods as well, for some very serious games.  If the players’ timing was just right and mom was baking her famous banana bread, they would be treated to a hot slice slathered in butter.  At that time, the house had an elevated side porch—later converted into an office—that was the perfect venue for a community play.  Who knew Newins Street had so many budding theatrical performers.  And, when the snow came, which it did with a vengeance in those years, our backyard had the perfect slope down into the woods—the best sledding spot in the neighborhood.”

Given the proximity of our street to the school, we were not eligible for bus service.  The neighborhood kids all walked together, the older ones keeping an eye on the younger ones, making sure no one crossed Main Street. But it wasn’t just the kids who walked to school.  Very often, we were accompanied by the family dog. He was most fortunate as he only had to walk one way.  Once he was sure we were all safe in our classrooms, he would find his way to dad’s office and crawl under the desk until Dad drove him home.

Today’s parents might wonder how our parents kept track of us, as we were freewheeling all over the street and neighborhood.  But dad had an easy solution. When it was time for us to come home, he’d stand at the front door, put his fingers to his mouth and let out a whistle that could be heard all over town. We knew it was time to run, not walk, home.”

Jeff Hopper’s childhood memories sound like a scene from “Stand By Me.”

“I was born in 1968.  My grandparents, Bud and Irene, met at the old LI Hotel in the late 1940s. She was from New Jersey and moved here to work on an estate.  Bud was born in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, and just out of the service when they met.

Their house, next to a patch of woods on a dead-end street close to town, was a perfect backdrop to my childhood. The Japanese believe in ‘forest bathing’: being among trees for their soothing effect, the value of more open space.

As a kid being on a dead-end, [it] gave you freedom. Everyone knew each other, so parents didn’t have to worry.  We rode our bikes over the rail tracks to N. Saunders Street, hung out in the woods.  Louis Strebel across the street brought home a huge cargo net from his job at Idlewild (now JFK) Airport and strung it between two trees for kids to bounce on. Or we’d race through Lasky’s backyard.  It was a stable neighborhood with few new faces. Parents looked out for each other’s children. And it was still like that when Chris and Tara, our kids, were born, so it was nice for them.”

It was much the same for Tom Best, grandson of original owners Carol and John Raynor, who had decided to live and raise his two children on Newins Street.

“Yes,” he said. “Three generations have been newborns in this house.  Breakfast was always great here. Grandma would ask what we’d like the night before, then grandpa, an early riser, would go to the local bagel shop for fresh rolls or bagels for me and my brother, Chris, and be back here by 5 a.m. Then grandma would cook us whatever we’d asked for the night before. In the morning, it would be laid out on trays in front of the TV, waiting for us. Oh, what a life it was!”

The chalk marks and games of tag and kickball are long gone. Increased traffic means fewer kids ride their bikes. There are fences across once open yards and different faces.  But for those who grew up and chose to stay, Newins Street was, and is, home.