Mister Kelley and the blazing inferno

 The house where Jack and I lived can best be described as a quiet home in the middle of the suburbs where nothing much happened to anyone. We lived on a peaceful tree-lined street, sheltered from anything that just might appear on the six o’clock news. That’s right, our community was without murders, burglaries, and other assorted forms of mayhem. Well, if there were any, I certainly don’t remember them.
But I do recall an incident that involved my mother, Jack, me, my best friend Joel DeStefano, and a Bunsen burner. It is known to this day as the “The Mr. Kelly’s Car Wash” episode.
Jack and I were playing with our respective toys that we received from Mom and Dad Santa that previous Christmas. I was upstairs in my room with Joel, trying to figure out how to use my new Gilbert chemistry set. Jack was. . .uh . . . .(truly, my memory is a bit hazy about the exact whereabouts of my little brother). My mother was gathering the dirty clothes that were in the nearby bathroom and—luckily for us all—she was in the right place at the right time.
Joel and I busied ourselves with the chemistry set that we put on a radiator cover near a window in my room. The experiment that I chose required certain chemicals to be heated. So, I lit a Bunsen burner and turned the flame on high. Unfortunately, I did not have the foresight to remove the window curtains. If I had done so, there would be no story to tell.
Well you guessed correctly—one mishap led to another until a spark from the burner struck the curtains. Then, Joel and I realized we had a doozey of a problem—how to explain burn marks on the new drapes to my mom.
Alas, it was too late and I knew my fate was sealed; my Mom passed my room and saw the tiny flame that went astray. She dropped a basket of laundry and ran over to my chemistry set, all the while shouting, “Get me some water!” Then she threw the chemistry set on the floor to avoid a larger incident and tried to pull down the curtains. Mom was acting like a regular fire marshal. I, however, remained calm and returned with a small plastic cup of water without spilling a drop—an accomplishment I was quite proud of at the time.
And my poor brother was suddenly there, but he panicked and darted out of the room like a bat out of hell. He ran so fast to escape that he tumbled down most of the stairs until he lay on the bottom landing, fearing the entire ceiling might collapse on him at any minute. Yet, unbelievably he never shouted “help me!” or the more traditional “Fire!” Jack’s mantra while escaping this blazing inferno was the more creative, “No, no. . .not my Kelly’s Car Wash!!”
Those were the days when toys were toys, small fires remained small fires, and Bunsen burners were not child-proofed.