A Woodsdale Kid in North Dakota

Never in the ancient world of Woodsdale did I think I would end up in North Dakota. In fact the place probably went through my brain once a year in geography class. Since both West Virginia and North Dakota have coal, here I am. As a kid I remember standing on the back porch and seeing the Northern Lights. The Northern Lights never amounted to much from Woodsdale. In North Dakota if you look closely you can see them on many nights, it is a faint green glow in the sky. However, early in our life in North Dakota I saw such a magnificent show of the Northern lights I almost repented. It was the most spectacular natural sight ever seen in the sky. The whole sky was awash in multiple colors. It looked like someone pouring color down a curtain
that was blowing in the wind.

Western North Dakota is just about as opposite from West Virginia as a place could be. I have lived in wide open spaces so long the Woodsdale has shrunk so badly it feels like a shirt I outgrew a long time ago. As a Kid I remember thinking there was space around the houses, and the streets were wide. Now, a trip to the hills feel like everyone is squeezed into little gutters. When I first came to North Dakota everyone said " I get claustrophobic when I am in the East". At the time it made no sense to me, but now I understand.

I always tell people you have to learn to live in North Dakota. After you have lived here a few years the land seems to fit. You can almost always see for miles here. If you get on a slight rise you can easily see twenty or thirty miles. More than anything the lack of people here is an asset. There are never any lines for anything. Traveling long distances becomes routine.

When I first moved her with my wife Cissie, Cissie said "You get us out of here as fast as you can". Now, I could not get here to move East if I had to. The weather in North Dakota is very misunderstood by anyone who has not lived here year round. The summers are wonderful. The days are much longer than in Woodsdale in the summer. The sun is up by 4. A.M. and doesn't set until 10 A.M. The days are long when you want them long, and short when you want them short. Winter is not as bad here as portrayed. With low humidity the cold is not that bad, unless the wind blows. If it does you are in big trouble, but I have been cross country skiing at ten below with just a heavy sweater. Most people would find it hard to believe, but snow affects travel in North Dakota far less than West Virgina. West Virginia probably gets more snow, and it is a heavy snow. Here the snow almost always blows off the roads by itself.

The two main things that have kept us here are pheasant hunting, and sailing. As a kid never did I even think about sailing. In the summer for the last twenty years my life has been consumed with sailing. Our kids grew up on our sailboat, and during the summer we spend about three nights a week on the boat. North Dakota is not thought of for large bodies of water, but Lake Sakakawea where we sail backs up into the North Dakota Badlands. Lake Sakakawea is the Missouri River dammed up. The lake it the third largest man made lake in the United States. The lake is many miles wide and 179 miles long. The real beauty of the lake it that it has hundreds of bays and is used by very few people. The best part of the lake is where is backs up into the Badlands.

Woodsdale is place far away in another land. Yesterday, I went on Google Earth and used the feature where you can drive down Bethany Pike at eye level. The shrinkage of Woodsdale still amazes me. As a kid Bethany Pike seemed big an wide. Looking at the Google pictures it looks like two cars can hardly pass. The homes that seemed to have big yard, now appear to be right up against the sidewalk. If Woodsdale shrinks any more you can just put it in a box and mail it to me. Don't leave it in the dryer so long.

Have a big nickle

I remember going to my Grandfathers house on Christmas morning. The usual gifts were an envelope from my grandfather with a five dollar bill, which was a fortune in those days, and a special book of life savers from my Grandmother. It was one time of year when all the cousins were in one place. One memory I always had of my Grandfather was him reaching in his pocket and pulling out a fifty cent piece. He would toss it to you and say "Here, have a big nickle". Wow, a big nickle could buy quite a bit at the drug store. Remember a candy bar was ten cents. Now, you can't get a kid to get out of bed if you left a trail of ten dollar bills to the kitchen. When we were kids we would do anything for money. Shoveling snow was one of the most lucrative jobs ever invented. A big snow meant the rich old ladies would shell out five bucks to get the walk shoveled. Even then service was everything. Once you trained an old lady that you could be relied on to show up an shovel before even being asked, the old ladies were hooked. You could retire at eleven or twelve if you had about three or four gold plated old ladies. In the summer we used to paint numbers on the curb in front of peoples houses. The young worthless bums of today have to be paid to inhale and charge extra to exhale. Fortunately the Chinese lend us money so no one has to work these days. In the old days the only Chinese were the Yee's that live up toward the park. The Yee's never were willing to finance the wasteful habits of the rest of us. Thank god we found where there were billions of Chinese to borrow money from so we can have all the wars we want without paying any taxes.

A Different Kind of Santa

My encounter with Santa in the neighborhood was a bit unusual. There was this older fellow with a long white beard who frequently was seen up and down our alley. Patty Saller and I would spy on him. I guess he was what we called "a bum" being politically incorrect. I,m sure he was well aware that we were watching him and one day he caught us spying and said something like "Hey little girls come over here and I'll show you something" which now a days would have been the signal to run but being curious and innocent we went over. He handed us an envelope and said "Merry Christmas" when we opened it inside was a rubber band twisted around a button set up to unwind with a buzzing that scared the bejesus out of us. He laughed and walked away saying "Merry Christmas!! HOHOHO" So whenever we'd see him after that we called him Merry or Mr. Christmas if we were feeling polite. He was just another character in the neighborhood.

Santa Claus lived in Woodsdale

Growing up as a “Woodsdale Kid” had many benefits, not the least of which was that Santa Claus lived in the neighborhood too.

The first memory I have of Santa Claus is sitting in my living room with my Mother and two sisters listening to the radio just before dinnertime the last two weeks or so before Christmas. There were no TV stations in Wheeling in 1951. Local radio station WWVA broadcast a “live” program each afternoon on which Santa read letters from children all over the Ohio Valley. I remember listening every day for that wonderful moment of pure excitement when the Jolly Ole Elf said something like…”And now my little apple dumplings, here is a letter from little Howdy Meagle in Woodsdale who says that he wants…..” It’s hard to believe a more exciting moment for a five year old than to hear firsthand from Santa Claus, himself, that he got your letter. The only other moment of equal exhilaration was when my Dad pulled back the big oak doors to our living room on Christmas morning to reveal the greatest tree ever made…our Christmas tree! And, by golly, Santa got all the presents right. It was truly a wonderful life for a five year old Woodsdale kid. Nevertheless, in two short years everything would change.

When I was seven, my sisters were teenagers and were always involved with some activities after school. So, it was just my Mother and I sitting by the radio to wait for Santa to read my letter. One of the most notable qualities of this “radio” Santa was his laugh. It was not really a “Ho-Ho-Ho” in a phonetic sense. It always started rather softly and quickly reached a crescendo of what was truly a belly laugh. This particular year Santa sounded like he had a cold, a very bad cold. Santa’s laugh had that raspy sound like when a cold drops into your lungs. Santa coughed a couple of times on the air. (Remember these programs were done “live”.) Hey! I knew that cough. Where had I heard that cough before? Then it donned on me that my Dad coughed just like that.

That night, when my Dad came home after work, I didn’t have to wait long for confirmation of my suspicions. As soon as Dad coughed, I knew the truth. No doubt about it when he coughed again. I mustered all the courage that I could, and confronted my Dad. “Are you the radio Santa Claus?” My Dad knew just what to do. I suppose he had planned his answer knowing that sooner or later I would ask him that fateful question. After all, he had had practice with my two sisters before me. He sat me down and told me all about this thing called the “Spirit of Santa Claus”, and how he was one of Santa’s special helpers. I don’t remember much else, but whatever he said worked. I became one of Santa’s helpers.

My Mother made me an elf costume which I wore when I accompanied my Dad on Santa’s personal appearances all over town. My job was to give each kid a candy cane. We usually made two or three stops each night. I never knew just how popular and important Santa was until then. I loved helping my Father, and watching him sit patiently hour after hour lifting little kids up onto his lap. He always preceded that magical question he asked each child with his distinctive Santa Claus laugh “Well, my little apple-dumpling, what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?”

I recollect looking forward to the Thanksgiving Day parade downtown that kicked off the holiday season. I remember feeling like a very proud son when my Dad would pass by seated high up in Santa’s sleigh waving to all his boys and girls. I always wanted to shout out “Hey! My Dad is Santa Claus!”

My Father was a true keeper of the “Spirit of Santa Claus”. He stopped his public appearances about the time I got out of college, but he never lost his passion for preserving the spirit. Every fall he would visit all the local department store managers that usually hired a Santa’s helper during the Christmas season. His goal was to encourage them to establish specific policies and procedures that protected the children. He was adamant that no drunks, perverts, or anyone who might take advantage of all those innocent children ever be hired as a store Santa. He was ahead of his time…..

My Father was laid to rest in May 1989. No one thought it odd or out of place that Dad chose to wear his favorite Christmas tie and St. Nick lapel pin to meet his Maker. After all…he was Santa Claus!

Winky Dink

When we first got a tv, one of the most popular kids' shows was Winky Dink. You had to send away for a special green plastic sheet to put over the tv and then you would draw on the screen whatever they told you to draw....like dot to dot, if I remember right. Another show we all enjoyed was Howdy Doody. Did you know that the guy who played Clarabelle the Clown on that show later became Captain Kangaroo?
Life was full of things we would now consider weird...like free records that came on cereal boxes, S & H green stamps that our mothers redeemed for all kinds of goodies, Lincoln logs, erector sets, Tinker Toys.
At the Quinn house, we were blessed. Our favorite Aunt, Agnes worked for Marx Toys and each year we would make a pilgrimage to her house to pick up the toys. If you were over 12 yrs old you could stay up all night on Christmas Eve and put together forts, doll houses, farms, and a zillion other neat things for the younger kids. One treat that I always loved at Christmas was tangerines in the stockings and there always seemed to be a lot of walnuts to crack and cheese logs to sample.
One Quinn tradition was to go thru the neighborhood with genuine jingle bells in the middle of the night and try to fool kids into believing we were Santa's sleigh arriving.
But my favorite thing at Christmas was trying to fool my dad with some VERY strange gift. One year it was three bottles of Old Spice...each had two little handles on it...so he was trying to guess what had six handles for weeks before the big day. Another year it was a cast-iron doo-dad with a screw mechanism thru it...we never did figure out what it was. But best of all was the year Dad found the shepherd's hook in the hall closet that Amy had used for a Bow-Peep costume at Halloween. It was a stick with a wire hook on the end all wrapped in newspaper. Someone wrapped it again in Xmas paper and gave it to Old Gold (my dad's nickname) with much glee. He kept unwrapping until he got to the stick and wire hook and decided it was a "chicken catcher"!

Snow in Woodsdale

Snowball throwing was a sport on Poplar Ave. that could get out of hand. Aggravating Bill Smoot was a lot of fun. All you had to do was throw a snow ball at his window, and run. He would come out on the porch swearing. One day things did not quite go so well and he chased us down the street and managed to tackle Chuck Hile. It did not come out real well for Chuck. Obama is learning the problems with exit strategies, Chuck and Bill Smoot taught me a lot.

If You Ain't Got the Dough Rey Mi

There were lots of ways for Woodsdale Kids to make money. We charged for entrance to our circus in the backyard, our zoo in the basement, and yes a lemonade stand or two. Boys had it easy, they could deliver papers or paint house numbers on the curbs. All of us could collect bottles and return them to the store for a deposit...the hedge along Bethany Pike at the Woods Run Park held treasures of bottles.
My brother Mike made his money by challenging kids to bet on pool games in my grandfather's attic or with his soft dirt factory.
There was no such thing as an allowance in our family so if you didn't earn the money, you didn't have any. My grandfather would pay for weeding his yard. Some in the neighborhood were foolish enough to pay my little brother to haul away their Xmas tree.....(when the city did it for free).
But the best way to earn money for summer swimming at Oglebay, or ice skating at Wheeling Park was babysitting. I was really lucky...because I was so tall for my age, mothers assumed I was also mature enough to handle their kids. I had some regulars I really adored and then some casuals as well. Small families were good, but because I came from a family of nine, mothers assumed I could handle their large broods easily. The Cochran's on Maple had lots of kids...to this day I can still remember most of their names...Brenda, Beverly, Barbara, Berry, etc. Good kids. I'm told that when all six of the girls in my family grew up and moved away, my mother took over our accounts as babysitter...I think she really missed being aroud little children. I have talked to some of those kids for whom my mom babysat, and yes, they all learned to spell using Spill and Spell or Boggle and they all learned to count using dominoes. My mother was magic when it came to teaching little kids.
Babysitting money paid for my clothes, entertainment, gifts for family, and extras for many years. When I turned 15 Mr. Goddard got me a job at Oglebay checking baskets at the pool. Now that was good money. I worked a half day and swam at the pool the rest of the day AND had free use of everything in the park.
Later, I transferred to the tennis courts. The only bad part was, that I didn't have a car, and didn't always have a way home so would have to walk the 3 and 1/2 miles to my house down the back road (Waddles Run Rd) It could get pretty scary when it got dark. But it was worth it! For 50 cents an hour, I had fun, made a fortune and met lots of new people.

Homedingers by Mike Quinn

Growing up in Wheeling I went to school with a lot of orphan children. The orphanage pictured happened to be located in a very well-to-do neighborhood full of mansions. As one of nine children I had the protection of a tribe. If you harmed one Quinn child, you could be subject to the wrath of nine of them. There was only one tribe more fearsome....it was the Homedingers as we called them. Those kids were smart enough to form a union. Most of them were tough enough on their own to kick a lot of butt. I was a pretty tough kid in my time, but Gary Caldwell from the orphanage always was nearby to tune me up if needed. He was the only kid on the playground I had to respect. The homedingers were in our scout troop and a lot of them were nice kids. some of them had mental problesm. Once I recall one of them stabbing me with a handful of darts on the wrist. Most homedingers were a grade or two behind, so that meant they were extra big for the class they were in, one more reason to give them a wide berth. I always felt sorry for the poor home kids as they were politely called. They forced those poor kids to go to Sunday School, which was a fate worse than death. Only once did I ever know of any of them getting adopted. I am not sure what happened to the place. God bless the homedingers!

Editors note: The old, scary Gothic building shown has been torn down and replaced by a new, modern building. The home now only takes boys.

WASA by Mike Quinn

Life as a young person in Woodsdale seems as far away as Jupiter. the things that happened in Woodsdale seem like remembering tribal rituals from another planet. Young people on the planet Woodsdale were incessant explorers always seeking the unknown. The unknown was everywhere. The United States has NASA, but Woodsdale had WASA (Woodsdale Aliens Seeking Adventure). The farthest reach of the galaxy from Poplar Avenue was somewhere in the extreme environment of Stratford Hill. WASA "idiot-or-nots" were well-equipped with all the left over WW II material that could be found in attics in the neighborhood. The young explorers would head to the hill with bayonets, canteens, and machetes strapped to their sides. Big Rock was the first major find outside the terrestial limits of the paved streets. I can remember sitting on the rock eating what was then space food....peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Sitting on the rock the young explorers talked about how the chief of the Stratford Indians used to sit on the rock with the tribe below him and make great proclamations, such as "All Indians must be home before dark".
As we got older we pushed the limit of the known univers clear to the old cistern that was part of the original Stratford Hill Hotel. One night when were were older we actually slept in that cistern and shot mice all night with a BB gun.
Back in the settled part of the universe the idiot-or-nots explored every known nook and cranny of the the old houses in the neighborhood. Inevitably our small band of boys nested. The nests were under the porches. Each of the old houses had a little door somewhere that allowed access under the porch. Whoever built the house must have known that at some point young boys would need a place to smoke cigars, look at Playboy magazine and plot to get into trouble. The person who built the porches did not provide for lighting, so candles were the main source of light. By some miracle we never burned a house down.
Sorry to say that the meeting places were well-stocked with cigars and cigarettes provded courtesy of the Drug Store. A certain member of the gang [Chris Hile] had no hesitation to relieve "Doc Hanger" of all the cigars we needed. I remember referring to the old pharmacist as "Doc Hanger" because either Doc or the customer would always greet one another by saying "How's it hanging"? Judging by the amount of smoking we did it is amazing on one had cancer by the age of twelve.
I am sure my father must have known what was going on under our back porch. One day I can remember sitting under the porch smoking when the kitchen door opened. My father stepped outside to give a soliliquy. His words were "It sure smells smoky out here, some day I will have to look and see where all that smoke is coming from." We all felt like we had been shot at and missed.
If there was a hole, we were in it. If there was a culvert or a tunnel, we went thru it. If there was a tree, we went up it. Climbing on the roof didn't bother us a bit. We ruined a lot of expensive slate roofs. The drop from the gutters on our roof to the ground was about 50 ft. One day sitting near the peak of the roof on our house, the piece of slate I was sitting on came loose and like a sled propelled me down to the gutter. With certainty I thought I was going over. By a miracle, I managed to stop myself in the old fashion wide gutter. If it had been a modern home, I would be a foot shorter to this day, or have my head peeking out of a small hole in my blue jeans.

More from Charlie.....

Colin Quinn was the most capable of kids. You name it and he was good at it. On top of that he was not full of himself as he never felt threatened by his mortal companions. I am not sure why, but somehow Rick Leibold who was the rat pack leader was upset with Colin. What Rick gave up to Colin in height, weight, and raw muscle, he kept as gray matter. Everyone knew an all out fight with Colin would not be good, so Ricky waited until Colin was off his porch and he tossed a penknife at Colin. Rick probably practiced a lot or was very lucky. It stuck in Colin's skull. Ricky is very lucky to be with us today.

Editor's note: Many years later Ricky received an email querry from Colin asking "Are you the guy who threw a knife at the back of my head?" Colin lived to be 47, married and had two children. He was living in Idaho when he died at Thanksgiving at a party of a sudden heart attack. His kids are now in college and doing fine. Ricky is still alive and attended the Woodsdale Kids reunion this past summer all the way from Minnesota.

















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My First Jihad by Charlie Swart

When it came to the pecking order of lower Woodsdale in the 50's and 60's, the house of Quinn was by far the most powerful. For some reason, which has always escaped me, the Mary Wheat house challenged the Quinn's. I believe I was around the age of seven or eight at the time one of the elder Quinn's [Michael] issued a Fatwa to prepare for open warfare against the Mary Wheat gang for their defiance. I knew I was involved in something big when I was asked to be a foot soldier to be capably armed with as many apples as I could hold. At that age I could not throw with a force which could put an eye out but none the less I had a big heart and felt the cause was just. I took cheer knowing that all the neigboring kids who counted (Leibolds & Butlers) were involved in some form or another.
I did not appreciate at the time how schooled in military tactics the Quinn's were. They copied the techniques used by the Russian shock troops during WWII. Essentially Stalin would arm the peasants with wooden rifles and have them attack the German positions in masse. The Germans would then open up on the shock troops with their artillery and reveal their entrenched positions. The main assualt group would then take care of the Germans. My role as a shock trooper was to lead the charge along with other dispensables against the Wheat front lines and force the Gang to exhaust their ammunition on us while giving away any hidden positions. I remember my nervousness on the day of the battle. This was my chance to be a shock trooper and I did not want to pass up the opportunity to make a good impression. As best as I can remember, the Quinns, Leibolds, Swarts and the Butlers were involved. A formidable force as these were the days when families knew how to make more than two children, (the Quinn's had around 13 or 14). On the day of the battle I recall more words (which I did not understand) than apples being thrown around. I came out of the skirmish unscathed but with a lifelong fear of Mary Wheat and her gang. These were the days when the rules against water boarding would have been ignored and as I was prominent (front & center on the field of battle), I knew the Wheat Gang would get even if they could.
I would like to know what Mary Wheat did to earn the Quinn Fatwa. Of note is back then it was where you lived, not blood which determined allegiances as the Leibold's were related to the Wheat's. They may have been first cousins.
The Mary Wheat gang morphed into the Alison Taylor Beat Up Club when I moved from Woodsdale. Unfortunately our gang never mustered enough volunteers to face Alison, alone or with support. Alison was a pretty tough cookie and we needed a four or five to one advantage to confront her. Fortunately for us, Alison was probably not aware of our club which accoutns for my never being beaten up by a girl.

One more Quinn Farm story

My brother Colin and I were down on the farm alone as teenagers. It was a warm summer day and I was sitting on the porch swing reading when a black snake poked its head thru the floorboards of the porch. I pulled my feet up onto the swing and yelled for Colin to come get rid of the snake for me.

Now, black snakes are not poisonous and are benficial on a farm as they kill rats, but that doesn't make them any more attractive to me...a snake is a snake. Colin came to the rescue...pulled the snake thru the hole, whirled it over his head like a lasso and let it fly as far from the house as possible. I was very grateful, but got much teasing.

Night time on the farm is blacker than a cave and you literally can't see your hand in front of your face. The only water supply at that time was a pump on the porch. In the middle of the night I heard Colin get up and go outside for a drink at the pump. The door creaked, his footsteps fell across the floorboards of the porch, and then...THE most bloodcurdling scream I have ever heard. I was sure someone had hit him with an axe or Bigfoot had smacked him in the head. Grabbing a flashlight, I ran to the rescue.

There stood my little brother, white as a sheet, with his hair standing on end. Around the handle of the pump was curled a familiar-looking blacksnake! Since we have rattlers and copperheads on the farm aplenty, his fear was justified, but the mere act of grabbing a snake in the dark is a heart-stopper.

The Great Intruder

Very few brothers at the age Colin and I were probably ever spent time in the middle of nowhere together, like we did at the farm. I forget how old Colin and I were, but I am guessing it was around the time I may have been twelve or so. Night time in the boonies was intimidating for two kids. The possibility of some crazed hill billy attacking was always foremost in our minds when we went to bed. At the farm was a peculiar manual. It was an actual army manual of booby traps from Vietnam. The manual had illustrated pictures of how to set traps. To get to the house one would normally cross the creek on a foot bridge. That was the first line of defense for Colin and I. The foot bridge was guarded with punji sticks. These were sharpened wooden spike meant for an intruder to fall on. Of course there was a trip wire around the punji sticks that would help you trip in just the right place to fall on the sticks. If you had such an unfortunate encounter you would likely be dead impaled on a couple of sticks. If for some reason you made it past those sticks you had to go up the steps. The steps to the house were also protected by the same system.

Assuming you were a skillful intruder and made it past the punji sticks, there was one last defense for the two helpless boys inside. At the top of the steps was a trip wire that led to a tin can inside a large steel cauldron. When the inbread guy from Deliverance tripped the wire and rattled the can it was time to take on of the many guns in the house and shoot him.

With some sense of protection Colin and I settled down for the night. It must have been just shortly after sun down. Our worst nightmare occurred, the can rattled. With gun in hand we peeked out the window ready to do what shooting we had to. The culprit was short and white and had feathers all over. Only a simple minded chicken could have made it harmlessly past the punji sticks, but this one did. Relieved we went to bed knowing the alarm worked.

The Shack in the Back

Some of you Woodsdale Kids were lucky enough to visit the Quinn farm at some time and I have heard some of the amazing stories you tell about it. The farm was a great place to run around unsupervised, work your tail off, and generally get away from the city.

There was no electricity or running water so an outhouse was a requirement. When we first bought the place there must have been a close family living there before us because they left us a four-seater. We had to move it every few years once the pit filled up and Dad told us that the building should be the most inconspicuous on the property so I'm not sure what prompted us to paint it orange with blue/purple spots. Brother Michael built a delux version (see photo) with a dutch door and skylite in 1971. This particular outhouse was movable which was handy when it came time to dig a new pit.

We all learned to "lime the pit" after use and the peals of laughter coming from the shack were due to the joke books that my dad kept down there for extracurricular reading. The worst thing about the place was you had to check for snakes and spiders before use and going at night was out of the questions so we had a few covered potties around the porch.

Taking their children down to the farm was popular with my siblings. One group of my nieces and nephews took a flashlight down to the outhouse to peer in the hole and of course, dropped it in. For days they went to see how long the light lasted.

I'm hoping Kim Butler or one of the Leibolds will jump in here and share their rememberances of the farm we called "Booneyville".

Contributors and Plans

We have four new team members...my sister Patti Quinn Greeneltch, Charlie Swart, Lee Frizell, and Howdy Meagle...all good writers who I hope will round out this column with lots of neat memories. If you would like to be a contributor...just leave a comment saying so. I will need your email address and you will have to open a Google account (free)...but then you can post blogs here on any topic that you think will be of general interest to all "Woodsdale Kids".
Lee and friends are planning a dance at the White Palace like in the 50's and 60's. Hopefully it would be the same weekend as the picnic (first weekend in July) for out of towners. We need some feedback as to what you would like in the way of music (DJ, live bands, Kim Butler playing oldies), and food. We are going to have to charge and take reservations so we know how many we are catering for. Input please?
Hopefully, some of you have neat pre-Christmas or winter memories that you would like to share. I still have lots of neat photos and stories and writings to come.

Thanksgiving at the Quinnery meant going up to the Turkey shoot at the Carriage Barn at Oglebay and winning our turkey. Melissa and Tom, the oldest Quinns were the best shots and usually managed to bring home a turkey. One year Melissa won a radio instead.....how do you cook a radio?
It was necessary with a family of nine children to have the three youngest sit at a small table instead of the main table. So Michael, Colin, and Patty were exhiled to a tiny table on the side.
On the main table, the one decoration that was mandatory was a Fostoria glass turkey. I don't really remember going around the table saying what we were thankful for, but I do remember Thanksgiving poems or songs being performed.
In later years, my dad and the boys were down on the farm for deer season. Yuk, venison for the WHOLE WINTER....to this day, I just can't stomach venison.
There was no Macy's parade on tv and I sure don't remember anyone watching football at our house (we didn't even have a tv until 1956 or so). I think the entertainment was either outside play, ice skating at Schenk lake, sledding, or inside board games...parcheezi, monopoly, or Scrabble. I'm thankful to have grown up in a safe, fun neighborhood with a loving family.

More Snow Stories and Pics

Yes, it was a big snow. Most of the kids in the neighborhood went up to the Etz hill to sledride. It was fun dodging the trees.
The kid down the street had a St. Bernard which we tied our sleds to and let the dog pull us up the hill at the end of the street. Steering a sled was an art form. Another favorite site for sledding was the "hill" across from St. John's chapel on Heiskell. I can remember seeing a daredevil of a kid go between the wheels of a car as it sped down the street...a miracle he survived...you just can't cure stupid so I doubt if he is still alive.
I often wondered what flatlanders did for fun when it snowed.
If the outdoors got too cold, we always had our basement. The floor was concrete so it was perfect for rollerskating. We also had an archery range at one time, put on plays, had a schoolroom with authentic desks with inkwells and a huge blackboard. My brother Colin had his imaginary restaurant in the basement ...motto?...Eat Out at Ooter's Inn.
Best of all was the fireplace that my dad built out of huge stones all containing fossils. In the middle of the fire an iron statue of a pioneer woman hung by the neck...don't ask me why. My father built a chair out of a barrel. The seat had a trap door and in the bottom half of the barrel was stashed all our Halloween candy...nine kids, A LOT OF CANDY!...enough to last most of the winter. Our favorite thing to do was turn out all the other lights in the basement and sit around the fireplace while my dad told or read a story. One of the classic favorites was called "Shingabis" . If I remember right, it was an Indian story about a penguin.
The plays were elaborate as well. One written by a my sister Louise was called "Seven Days on the Frontier" and involved a frontier family. I got to play a bear. Our wardrobe was extensive. The bear wore an old full-length fur coat backwards and growled and raged at the window outside the cabin. My dad would sit in the back row and bonk kids in the audience on the head with a long clothesline pole with a tennis ball on the end of it, if they played up.
Basements were a necessary part of life. Dr. Maury built a boat in his, but couldn't get it out. The Leibolds' basement was a teenage hangout where we would listen to Bo Diddly and Jerry Lee Lewis. Almost everyone had a usable basement...great place to send noisy kids to play when the weather was too bad to go outside.

The Big Snow

In this photo, the Carters (of Everbreeze) are shown bringing milk down to Edgington Lane during the Big Snow of 1950. The milk was for the hospitals.

The Big Snow began just before Thanksgiving in 1950 and left 22 inches behind. The kids had a field day being out of school, but it was so deep they couldn't easily get anywhere either.

I remember my father digging a trench between our house and my grandparents house on Maple. There is a famous picture somewhere, of one of us going along the trench and all you can see is a hat sticking up.

Rosemary Front told me that the doctor who lived next door to her spent an hour digging out his car only to realize that he could not drive anywhere. I sure don't remember any snowplows! And I don't think there were any complaints of cabin fever...at least not at our house where there were so many people to interact with.

In winter we used to fight for possession of the "register". The furnace grate that gave off that warm heat. The one in the front hallway was always covered with wet mittens giving off a damp sheep smell to the whole house. The coatrack in the hall was so covered with big winter coats and scarfs that it looked like a giant. And leggings....how many of you remember wearing wool leggings? In our family if you lost your mittens you had to wear socks on your hands instead so mittens were guarded carefully.

One year my father built a giant sled in his workshop in the basement. I can remember him planing and sanding the runners. We gleefully awaited the launching. When we finally got it up to Sled Riding Hill at Oglebay it stubbornly stayed put and refused to go down the hill loaded with many Quinns....needed metal runners, I believe. Using our old sleds we would tear down that hill and my dad would take the car down near the Pine Room, let us tie our sleds to the back bumper and ride up the hill to start all over....never mind the exhaust fumes or the fact that we could have swished out sideways in front of an on-coming car...and when we would be completely exhausted...we would have hot chocolate from the refreshment stand. Ahhhhhhhhhh.

One of the most amazing things about Woodsdale was for every kid who lived there it was the center of the universe. We lived on Poplar and knew the name of every person who lived on our street. All our parents knew each other and every mother went to school with your mother so there was little chance of getting away with anything.
If you lived on Upper Poplar you were okay, but anyone above Heiskell Avenue was a bit iffy and dangerous and above Edgington Lane was "Canada". If you lived past Orchard Road or Hamilton Avenue...you were a foreigner too.....perhaps that was "Mexico". There were other neighborhoods we would associate with like Claytor or Washington Avenue, but even then kids were considered tougher and more dangerous. Walking to our neighborhood theater The Mayfair through the shortcut by Kenwood Place (the old trolley path) was okay in the evening when it was still light out, but NOBODY went that way after dark....especially after a horror movie....who knew whether the Blob or the Giant Praying Mantis was lurking there behind the bushes? So it was up Chicken Neck Hill instead...the safe way home.
Despite the Edgington Lane gang, that street was sort of declare neutral territory because that is where you could get Wizards at the Colonel's store and buy cheap toys at Jakes. Those Lane kids called a War at Stratford Hill once and the fighting only ended when one kid got hit in the head by a BB. They had THEIR end of the hill and we had ours....ours was a lot tamer with a neat path, the big rock, numerous forts, vine swings, etc. Time passed in a dream there. You could spend the whole day and not come home til dark...and best of all...your parents were not worried...they may or may not even know where you were. Ahhhhh, the good old days!

One more from Brother Mike:

The Fulton carnival was a wonderful place to get your pockets cleaned, and your mind dirtied. Fulton was a little neighborhood down by Wheeling Creek. It was close to the Blw Knox factory that turned out the tanks for WWII. You could get your pockets cleaned by playing any variety of rigged games that gave the illusion you could win. Another technique was a ride that would turn you upside down until the change fell out of your pockets.

My favorite was the Alligator Woman. The barker would stand on the stage and yell "She walks, she talks, she slithers on her belly, Come see the Alligator Woman". It turned out to be a poor quality strip show, but to a junior high kid it was the big time. Then there was the hermaphrodite, this poor person made a living by showing people that his/her condition was actually possible. It seemed in the old days there were certain instances where all forms of decency could be temporarily suspended.

When dogs were noble

This is my favorite of my brother Michael's writings about the good old days:

In the old days back in my neighborhood of Woodsdale, all professions, were much more professional. The doctors really cared, the lawyers were honest and respectable, and even the dogs were professinal. The dogs were much more human then. Our dog Ski8ppy was a prime example. In those days you did not train a dog to do anything. The dog decided what its job was and did it. Skippy was the neighborhood policeman. Skippy protected all the children in the neighborhood. If a tough kid from outside our area tried to assault or threaten any neighborhood kid, Skippy quickly made it known that it wasn't going to happen.

One of the best things about Skippy was you never had to feed him. He had a route. After dinner, he went from door to door, and everyone saved left overs for him. Often Skippy went to Smoot's to watch TV and relax after a hard day. I always thought it was interesting to go across the street and see our dog resting in an over-stuffed chair watching television.

At our home Skippy would spend a little time on each bed checking on each of us nine children. After he was sure everyone was asleep and accounted for he would settle in my parents room. Skippy knew the sound of each family member coming up the steps to the second floor. If anyone came up those steps at night that did not belong all hell broke loose.

My grandfather' dog, who was named Jeff for Thomas Jefferson accompanied the mailman for years. The Wheeling paper did more than one story on Jeff. Jeff met the bus everyday that brought Wilbur, our mailman from town. Wilbur and Jeff walked toghether all day delivering the mail. Jeff left Wilbur at the bus and went home to my Grandfather's house which was close to ours. I don't know for sure, but I imagine Jeff had a glass of Bourbon at the end of the day with my grandfather. In the old days dogs were never a problem. The dogs roamed freely and no one cared. Unfortunately dogs have lost a lot of their humanity in recent times, but I fondly remember when dogs were noble.

Cooks and the Janitor

To start off this brand new blog, I have decided to start with a photo of the cooks and janitor at Woodsdale Grade school.

For those of you who didn't go home for lunch, you could get a hot meal for 25 cents and as many butter or peanut butter sandwiches as you could beg.

There was a small table where they sold candy as well. My fav was the long, salty pretzels which I think were 2 cents each.

The cooks were always nice and kind to the kids...I never saw one lose her temper. These were the same ladies who cooked for us at Nature Camp in the summer, I think.

In the cafeteria after school, Mr Hile, the Principal taught French to anyone who was interested.

Were we not lucky to go to such a neat school?