Summer meant something special growing up in Queens during the 1970s and 80s. Those long, hot days came with their own soundtrack—one that’s faded in today’s quieter, more insulated world. Back then, summer was loud, vibrant, and alive with the voices of the neighborhood, and the heat didn’t stop us from soaking in every moment.
Today, you walk down the same streets, and it’s eerily silent. Maybe a few cars hum by, air conditioners buzz, but that raw, unfiltered sound of kids screaming and laughing for no particular reason? It’s mostly gone. We were always outside, running around, calling out to each other, with the summer sun blasting down. And the heat? Well, the AC was a luxury most families didn’t have.
If you were lucky, maybe you had one window unit in the bedroom, and it got turned on only on the hottest nights. My bedroom had one, but most of the time, it was off, and my window was wide open. I wanted to hear everything—the neighborhood waking up, the sounds of kids playing even before breakfast, the distant ice cream truck jingling its way through the blocks. That was the sound of summer: pure, joyful noise.
Saturday mornings were the best. The sun would shine through my second-floor window just right, waking me up in time to hear the world outside come to life. There was always a girl or two down the street screaming out in play, and kids were already starting their games. You didn’t need an alarm clock in the summer, not with the whole street as your soundtrack.
And then there was Mr. Palletti. Every so often, he’d walk out with a big wrench in hand, straight to the fire hydrant on the corner. You knew what was coming next. With a quick turn, water gushed out of that hydrant, shooting high into the street, and suddenly, the whole block had its own makeshift pool. No fancy sprinkler heads to tame the blast—it was just cold water, gushing out full force, drenching anyone in its path.
We didn’t have backyard pools. Our swimming lessons happened right there in the street, and that water was freezing in the best way possible. Cars didn’t stand a chance. If you were driving through, you’d get drenched unless you rolled up your windows fast. Most cars back then didn’t even have AC, so imagine getting hit with all that water, trapped in the hot, steamy car with the windows up. The streets of Queens were unforgiving in the summer, but we didn’t care.
It’s funny how those sounds stick with you, long after the fire hydrants have stopped gushing and the kids have grown quiet. Summer isn’t the same anymore, at least not in the way I remember it. Back then, it was loud, chaotic, and alive—screams, splashes, and laughter that carried on until the sun went down. Those were the sounds of summer, and for those of us who lived it, they’re unforgettable.
If you grew up in that era, you know exactly what I mean. We didn’t need much—just a fire hydrant and a hot summer day. That was enough to make us feel like kings and queens of the street.
