Mr. Lavalle was my next door neighbor while growing up in Cambridge.  But for a few hours one summer day, he was my Dad… at least while having the left side of my forehead stitched up at the Cambridge City Hospital Emergency Room.  More on that later….

James and Voula Lavalle had eight kids …all very close in age …Leslie, Paul, Sheri, Mark, Debbie, Scott, Denise and Craig.  By today’s standards the thought of bearing eight kids is not only a Herculean effort but raising them is worthy of a Presidential Medal of Honor bestowed by the president of the United States.

The neighborhoods back then was full of families whose kids filled the streets, alleys and playgrounds. Mr. and Mrs Lavalle did their fair share for sure.  We were never in the house…until the street lights came on…We played all types of games, like Pinky or ½ ball, Lion in the Den and Relieve-e-o and we created a few that must have origins in an insane asylum. I can remember a few I’d like to forget:

HIDE THE BELT I don’t think I have ever talked about this game outside my group of neighborhood friends. As sadistic as it may sound to you HIDE THE BELT was a game we found fun and it was played only in Stinson Court an alley off Allston St.in the neighborhood. To play Hide the Belt properly you need a Garrison Belt…   This type belt was a multi-purpose belt that was used for holding up your Dad’s pants, could be part of a uniform or a weapon of discipline in your parent’s arsenal of disciplinary armaments. The guy who won the eenie, meenie, miney, mo catch a tiger by the toe if he hollers let him go, out goes Y,O,U gets to hide the belt 1^st. Everyone else had to hide their eyes. When the belt was hidden within the alley the guy who hid it would yell out OK….and everyone would run throughout the alley looking to find the belt, as he barked out hints that signaled warmer, colder to where the belt was. Whoever found the belt then had the right to beat the other players with that belt until they ran back on to a safe place we called ghouls….a predetermined base.

As crazy as this sounds…we had rules…all our games had rules… No whipping above the waist…No holding and absolutely no whipping when someone touched ghouls…. Just so you don’t think we were crazy….
BUCK-BUCK Just to paint a picture this game is like a human eighteen car pileup. One guy would grab onto a sturdy fence and bend over at the waist (Mr. Tavilla’s seemed to be the favorite). Then another guy would wrap his arms around the first guy’s waist line forming a two-man horseback kind of thing. Then a third guy would run about fifty yards and jump into the air and come down on the back of one of these guys trying to break the chain. If he failed to break them apart, he then had to join the chain and the next kid would get his chance to break it. Eventually, some of the big boys would rumble down and destroy the chain. My back is hurting just thinking about the 200 pound 12 year older’ s that grew up on my street.

CRACK THE KNUCKLES Crack the Knuckles was a card game with basically the same rules as rummy. Except that the red cards added up as “Blood points” if you were left holding them when an opponent went out. For example, if you were holding a Queen and a seven of hearts, that was 17 points……which meant the player who went out was now allowed to whack your knuckles with the top part of a full deck of cards, 17 times. Blood was often an integral part of this game.

Speaking of blood…  Back to the Cambridge City ER

It is safe for me to say that no kid from Cambridge has ever become a professional champion Croquet player.  Croquet is a very old game, widely known and practiced in France since the XI century under the name of ‘jeu de mail’.   It was then borrowed by the British around 1300 and modified over the centuries where my ancestors the Scots made golf out of it.  I offer this history to give some contextual explanation to what happened on that warm summer day in the alleyway behind the Lavalle’s house.  I’m not quite sure who’s grand idea it was to buy a croquet set (complete with wooden “hammers” clubs ) for a group of very physical, full contact minded boys who referred to themselves as “the alley gang”.  I suppose introducing a more high brow cultural style game to sway us away from beating ourselves to death seems practical, but only under mature supervision for sure.  The supervision for this day was the oldest Lavalle brother Paul.  By all rights Paul Lavalle would certainly have been the most appropriate considering his age, status and athletic experience.

He set up the game in his backyard and began to explain the rules and objective of the game to us all.  With a mallet in hand and ball close to the 1st post, Paul stood over the ball like Tiger Woods ready to give it a tap.  What happened next is not so clear to me as I found myself laying flat on my back barely holding onto consciousness.  Somewhere along the way Paul lost the French and English version of the game and stroked directly into the Scottish version by swinging his mallet like a gold club …..striking me square in the forehead above my left eye.  Blood gushed everywhere..

When all the screaming and yelling subsided Mr. Lavalle said “Donnie your mother isn’t home so, I’m gonna take you to the hospital” …  “Put this towel on your head and try not to get blood all over the car”.

Oh ….and when we get to the hospital…if anyone asks …..you are my son and your name is Mark.  I was nervous about going to the hospital ….so to lighten things up I replied…OK Dad….  he looked at me smiled and stated “that must have been some knock in the head” don’t worry we’ll get you fixed right up.  We both laughed…   I knew what he meant…  I wasn’t his son for real but I was someone he cared about.. we were neighbors and we took care of each other.  We both knew my mom couldn’t afford the medical expenses so we became a family to get the help we needed together.

I survived the game of croquet with a small scare ……but to be honest I don’t remember the pain the blood, guts hanging out of the open wound or the stitches…I only remember the feeling being a part of a huge wonderful family… a Lavalle and Jim’s son for a few hours that one summer day.  I’ll miss you Mr. Lavalle…  say hello to Voula for me…