"Growing Up In Briarcliffe"
By Bob Wigo

   I imagine there are those from outside the area who might overhear the mention of “growing up in Briarcliffe” and envision an upscale neighborhood comprised of stately single homes replete with swimming pools and tennis courts. For those of us who grew up in that wonderful enclave in Delaware County that notion would certainly raise a smile for we know that our Briarcliffe was something very different than the images of the upper middle class environs the name may suggest.

    Briarcliffe was, and is, a huge collection of brick row homes constructed circa 1950 on land bordered to the north by Providence Road ( I know guys, that’s a stretch ) to the east by Oak Avenue ( although some purists may say Ashland Avenue), to the south by Academy Avenue (sorry, not MacDade Boulevard) and to the west by neighborhood streets winding along the eastern perimeter of Our Lady of Fatima Church and School’s property. There are a few intricacies as to how the actual geography measures up against the perceived borders but for brevity’s sake I hope you will agree this outline will suffice. Our mailing addresses said “Glenolden 19036”. We never did. Home was Briarcliffe. 

     As World War II vets and their young families sought a patch of ground to call their own, neighborhoods like Briarcliffe and
its’ twin sister a few miles to the north, Westbrook Park, were sprouting from the ground. Three bedrooms, one bath, a garage, and a postage stamp of green grass in front and back; row upon row of solid brick boxes. In 1950 the going price stood between nine and eleven thousand dollars. Thousands of newlyweds and young families scuffled up enough cash to get themselves in the door and a
neighborhood was born. And what a neighborhood!

    Memories abound. The best and most succinct recollection came from an old friend when asked of his best Briarcliffe memory.
“Kids, kids and more kids, doing everything together. “Briarcliffe was a neighborhood in every sense of the word. The Moms were full time Moms. Every Mom knew every kid and every kid had a good idea that there were always more than one set of eyes watching over him or her. We answered to them all. We spent our days in and out of front doors for cold drinks and peanut butter sandwiches
wedged between heated contests of wireball, wallball, stepball, halfball, boxball, rundown, capture, muckle and countless other games of skill or chance. Baseball cards were flipped and pennies were pitched. We played basketball “on the wires” that ran across the back of our houses. Garage doors provided the backdrop for wiffleball games. We built miniature golf courses in our back yards. One quick glance out the front door and a guy knew there was plenty cooking and he better hit the front step running. There was always room for one more. The neighborhood simply buzzed all day long with the raw energy of hundreds of kids living life as fully as our little slice of heaven would allow.
 
     There were ball fields and basketball courts. Bikes to ride. Sprinklers to run through. The girls were jumping double- dutch or playing hopscotch with a wary eye out for the approach of their tormenters There was always a Dad in the bunch, having volunteered to manage a little league squad, that had a bag full of baseball equipment in the garage. Full days would be spent at Westbridge or Rively playing pitcher’s hand. Evenings were for games closer to home with the folks up on the patio looking on. Angelo’s Water
Ice truck created a mad scramble at every turn as we hustled home in hopes of landing just one more quarter toward the evening’s treat. Paradise curbside. Water ice, a soft pretzel and smiles all the way around. 
 
     Early on there was a pharmacy with fountain sodas and penny candy. Wynn’s Market handled our milk and Tastykake requirements and Joe’s Hardware kept a close eye on their pimple ball inventory. The dark and mysterious Cedarwood Tavern spilled its air conditioning out onto the sidewalk as we strained to catch a glimpse of the patrons. Briarcliffe Swim Club, for those of us fortunate enough to enjoy membership, was only a short walk from home. It was our oasis from Memorial Day through Labor Day, our escape from those sweltering summer days before even the luckiest among us knew of window units or could even imagine central air. We cooled down in the crystal clear pool, played basketball, pitched horseshoes and saw girls in bathing suits for the very first time. We walked home through the cemetery and pretended we were cool.

     Walking among the swarms of kids were many wonderful adults who recognized the potential of this enormous energy and the need to provide a place for us to play and learn the valuable lessons of competition. The Briarcliffe Father and Son Athletic Association was born of the hard work and dedication of a group of men and women with a vision for the future of our little corner of the planet. Fields were manicured, courts were paved and painted, teams were organized, leagues were formed, coaches coached and parents cheered as their children enjoyed the spoils of the enormous effort that created, and maintains to this day, one of the finest youth organizations
to be found anywhere. The opening day parade through the streets of our town was the official greeting of Spring and all the joy and fun in store. We marched in our uniforms, the Larks, the Robins, the Eagles, carrying our gloves, waving to the folks lining the streets while the firetrucks blasted their air horns. They made us the stars of the show for that one day and we drank it up. If the world had any problems, they never visited Briarcliffe on the day of the parade. Every one of us who were blessed to participate in all the “Father and Son” offered owes an enormous debt of gratitude to the men and women who have given so freely of their time and energy. Our organization became the cornerstone of our community and remains so to this day. I cannot imagine life in Briarcliffe without it. Several of the founders are still involved nearly fifty years later. People like that are special and should be appreciated. They made a difference in thousands of lives. Thank them when you see them, for all of us.
  
     The neighborhood spawned a diverse cross section of personalities. From those humble brick rows were born doctors, lawyers, educators, musicians, athletes and authors. There are innumerable success stories. There, of course, is a darker side as well. The same drugs that invaded our urban centers through the sixties and seventies found their way to our friends and neighbors. Heroin has sadly claimed a dozen or so of our own over the years. The peripheral effects of those same drugs paid their house calls to most of us. There was theft, family troubles, an isolated but clearly distinguished gang mentality within a small portion of the youth community and just a hint of danger that hung in the air from time to time. Often a fight would be announced and we would join the crowd. Somebody had something to settle and they were going to do it for all to see. We cheered or winced as our buddy gave one out or took one square on. There were some car wrecks, “guy’s been drinking”, some people got banged up pretty bad. This was our world and it moved fast. We acknowledged our difficulties and embraced all we were capable of embracing and moved through the troubled times. Families helped families. People pulled together. Kids just kept right on being kids and Briarcliffe, through the energy of its children and the dedication of its parents, kept up its collective chin and maintained her status as a great place to grow up.
 
     We forged lifelong friendships there. Guys with nicknames like Geeter, Turk, Bake, Cone and Crec’. There was Brocks, Wils, Juhls and Dutch, Marco and Raz. I remember Smiley, Breeze, Bags, Beast and Bones. The list is as long as those rows of red brick. Many of us spent eight years together at Our Lady of Fatima. Some of us went to Darby Township public schools. We were all from Briarcliffe. For those of us that attended OLF together the bond just got stronger as the years passed. We played football and basketball for our school. Won some. Lost some. There were holiday tournaments and track meets. Our calendars were booked. 
  
     When any two of us are together we inevitably stumble upon a name that had escaped us for a long time and the laughter erupts as all the good feelings of being a kid there wash over us. We lost some of those friends and mourned together. Some of our children have been taken far too soon and we hold each other up during those saddest of times. Some of us married the girl next door. We come from a place that nearly demands we stay in touch, get together, celebrate. Long spells without contact are broken by hearty greetings and a resumption of conversation that seems may have paused just moments ago. There is so much common ground, so many shared components of our lives. We went to school together, we played together, we competed with and against each other, we experienced our first kisses in the back alleys there, we snuck our first smokes down by the “crick” and cracked our first beers together in our parents’ basements. We heard our first live music together and danced our first dances with Briarcliffe girls. We lived there. Really lived there. And that living is celebrated every time two or more of us get together. I have always been proud of our capacity to celebrate each other. There is an inherent connection between us all, men and women, that insists on being acknowledged.  

     As a kid I considered myself the luckiest of the lucky. Great parents who knew the value of their love for their family and valued our love in return, wonderful siblings each and every one, abundant laughter and neighbors who took their roles to heart. I even considered living on Briarcliffe Road a bonus. In my young mind, the flagship of the neighborhood. Each and every day growing up in Briarcliffe was a gift from friends that knew about friendship from the ground up. We were born into those friendships and they were us. To this day meeting an old friend from the neighborhood is one of life’s wonderful pleasures. We joke, the conversation soaked with the sarcasm
that has become our trademark. We laugh loud and hearty. We run down some of those strange nicknames and we laugh some more. Kevin Arnold would have fit in pretty well but Wayne, he would have thrived. Briarcliffe runs right through the center of all of us.

     Briarcliffe remains a vibrant community to this day. The “Father and Son” remains a mainstay in the experience of the youth of the neighborhood and many who enjoyed that organization thirty and forty years ago now work diligently to ensure that same experience for the youth of Briarcliffe’s present. The swim club still bustles on sultry summer afternoons. Our church stands tall atop the hill where we raced our sleds on snowy winter evenings. Many, many of the boys and girls we grew up with are now the men and women who returned to Briarcliffe to raise their own families and recreate the magic of their youths for their children. If they can manage to capture just a small portion of their own childhoods, there they will provide for their children a great foundation and a connection to which they can always turn for the comfort of home. And the kids will probably pick up a pretty good nickname along the way! 

     I cannot pass on this opportunity to say thanks to all the friends and families that made our neighborhood so very special. To all the crazy characters that made me laugh so hard You know who you are. And a special thanks to you Mom and Dad for a job so perfectly done and for putting us all right where we knew we should be. Long live Briarcliffe and all of the wonderful people that make it the place I will always call home. 
 
Bob Wigo
bwigo@verizon.net