One of the reasons I enjoy researching and writing about history is that it reminds me how uncomplicated life used to be. Whenever I find myself struggling with rapidly-changing modern technology, the 24-hour news cycle and the irritating ding of my cell phone, I long for my childhood days when the whole world was our neighborhood.

It may seem hard to believe now, but neighborhoods used to be where everything important happened. For me, that was the Chase Road, just outside the city of Fulton. In the 1950s and early ‘60s, Chase wasn’t a major country road. The mile or so stretch that connected Hannibal Street with Honey Hill Road only had about a dozen houses spread out on it. Today, Chase Road is the location for Fulton’s Youth Soccer field, which some days brings hundreds of cars up and down it, but when I was kid, seeing a car drive by was a rarity.

Our home had a large side lot that my dad kept mowed and it was the gathering spot for neighborhood baseball and football games, all organized by my brother. There were lilac bushes that made great places for hide and seek. We lived on the edge of a woods and a short walk through those trees led me to a small stream to explore. Yes, much of our neighborhood was immersed in nature, but there were also interesting people to visit.

When I was very young, my mom’s parents, Joseph and Providenza Tomarchio, lived next door. They were farmers, with muck land, vegetable and flower gardens, strawberry fields and fruit trees, and my love for gardening took root on the sunny days I spent with them. But as a kid, the best thing about living next door to grandparents was that whenever I got on Mom’s nerves, I could head over to Grandma’s for a slice of homemade Italian bread topped with peanut butter.

My neighborhood also had a spare grandmother—at least that’s how it seemed to me. Kitty corner from our home lived Blanche and Frank Bajourn, an elderly couple who befriended our family. Blanche offered Mom tips on running a household and because of her gentle spirit, we ended up calling her Grandma Bajourn. I could stop by whenever I needed a little extra TLC.

When I got old enough to travel that mile-long Chase Road neighborhood, I had my bicycle. I used it to get to my Uncle Joe Leotta’s muck farm, just around the bend on our road. Joe ran the farm with his parents, John and Nellie Leotta, and they gave me my first job, when I was ten years old, topping onions. And best of all, if I worked a full Saturday, John and Nellie provided a hearty farm lunch and dessert!

Because there were so few houses on Chase Road, when a new family moved in it was a major event, one that deserved a fitting welcome. My siblings and I decided we’d pull out all the stops to meet the Richardson’s family of ten children, which instantly tripled our pool of friends. To jumpstart those friendships, we organized a parade with a few other kids and marched passed their farmhouse. I think somebody played a musical instrument, while others held welcome signs and cheered for our new neighbors. We must have been quite a sight.

In time, the Richardson farm became well known for its sweet corn, but what I remember was their watermelon patch directly across the road from our living room. I watched my favorite summer dessert growing through the season and we could always count on one of the Richardson boys to invite us over to the fields, where we kids got to choose a melon, crack it open and slurp up its sweet juice.

When I was eleven, our family moved into the city of Fulton. My dad built a house on Schuyler Street and I made friends in that neighborhood, too. But by then I’d entered junior high and met kids from all over Fulton. My world started expanding and it never stopped. That makes me glad I have my early childhood memories and I know I’m not alone in fondly recalling my neighborhood. Now and then I hear from folks who share what they remember about growing up in a simpler world. Here’s what Mike Otis had to say about his neighborhood:

“I lived on the south end of West Second Street in Fulton—the dead end across from the high school practice field. This is not PC, but it was known as Pollack Alley. The duplexes were built around 1916 for Polish immigrant Woolen Mill workers. The neighbors were hard workers who kept their properties pristine. One neighbor squeegeed his driveway in the rain! They were devout Catholics and raised their kids to be good citizens. I lived there from age 12 through 42…A lovely place to be.”

I expect I’ll be hearing a lot more about neighborhoods through my association with the Fulton Library’s Memoir Project. The Project began in 2012, with the goal of having current and former Fultonians share their stories about growing up, attending school, working and playing in our city. Since then, our all-volunteer committee has published five books of memoirs on a wide range of topics, and our next book’s topic is Fulton Neighborhoods.

We’re looking for people who have stories associated with their neighborhood and/or the home they grew up in. We want to hear about the history of those neighborhoods, how they formed and endured, as well as how homes were built and remodeled over the years.

A natural tie in to this Memoir Project theme is the inspirational work currently taking place through Fulton Block Builders, which has initiated a revitalization of our neighborhoods. The program’s founder, Linda Eagan, told me that when she’s out talking with people about the Block Builders program, they say things like “I live in the best part of Fulton.” Linda says she hears that no matter where they live.

Just imagine the book that will result from collecting memories from those who rightly believe they grew up in the best neighborhood in Fulton. Maybe you’re one of those lucky people with a story to tell. If so, please contact the Fulton Library at (315) 592-5159 or fullib@ncls.org