Extending the outer known limits of Woodsdale

Let's go up on the Hill was always a rallying cry when we were kids in Woodsdale. Somewhere between the ages of 8 and 11 it was always a big adventure to go “ up on the hill”. The hill started where the old Stratford Spring used to be. The goal of going up on the hill was to push the boundary of the known world. Always after a tribe on the hill there would be a discussion with the kids who did not go involving the question “How far did you get?”. Big Rock was an easy hike. Usually we ate lunch at Big Rock and told each other how the chief used to sit on the rock with the Indians down below. I am sure the chief did this and gave great political speeches.

Preparation for going on the hill was involved. In the attics of all the children were left over World War Two relics. Often the hikers would be carrying a bayonet, machete, entrenching tool, and army canteens. Having the actual army belt you could attach this crap to was really great. To make it even all better there was stuff we managed to buy from the Army, Navy Surplus store.

Once on the hill we might be hacking a new trail, or better yet using the machete to cut monkey vines. It was a miracle no one ever got killed on a monkey vine. After you cut the vine lose you swung down the hill like Tarzan. Often the vines ripped out of the tree with relatively disastrous results. Had a vine ripped suddenly while you were twenty or thirty feet in the air the game would have been over.

Somewhere up on the hill was the old cistern for the Stratford Hotel. Making it to the cistern was like getting clear to the top o Mt Everest.

On one great hike which extended too late into the day a crises developed. Mrs. Liebold always feared we would fall into a mine shaft. Somehow we stayed on the hill too long and daylight was waning. Back on Poplar Ave. a stir was beginning among the parents that a search paryt should be put together to find the children on the hill. Just about the time things were coming to a fever we all showed up and got a good lecture.

To this day no one knows where the hill ends. Amazingly the one part of the Earth that has never been fully discovered is within sight of Woodsdale. There could be lost tribes up there, cannibals, or even people from Oglbay. Who knows.

Tribute to Stan Musial

Yesterday was a very sad day for baseball fans everywhere, especially for those of us who grew up listening to baseball games on the radio when we were kids. If my great Aunt Ann were alive today, she, too, would be very, very sad. Stan Musial, the great Hall of Famer of the St. Louis Cardinals passed away at 92. He played his entire career as a Cardinal.

Baseball was the National Pastime when I was a nine year old little-leaguer growing up in Woodsdale. Players like Stan-The-Man were colossal role models. When we played pick-up games, we would pick our favorite players to portray during the game. My favorite was Mickey Mantle, but I would pick Musial if he were still available when I got to choose. (Stan Musial, Babe Ruth, & Ted Williams always went one-two-three.)

One of my most pleasant childhood experiences was spending many wonderful hours with my Aunt Ann sitting on our front porch listening to baseball games. She was a true baseball fan, and shared that enthusiasm with me. She knew all the players and stats. She filled out a score card for every game she listened to. I think I learned how to score a baseball game before I learned my multiplication tables.

Our team was the Pittsburgh Pirates. She loved Bob Prince, the radio voice of the Pirates. His side-kick was simply known as the “Mole”. She definitely “saw” the game through their descriptions on the radio.

Our league nemesis was the St. Louis Cardinals. She cursed Stan Musial many times for his late inning, game winning home runs. Yet, at the end of the game she would usually say something about how lucky she was that Stan Musial played the game during her lifetime. She held Musial in higher regard than even Babe Ruth or Joe DiMaggio. There was only one other player she spoke of in such a reverent manner… Ted Williams.

I wish you all could have known my Aunt Ann…She would have considered us all quite fortunate to be baseball fans during the time of Stan Musial.

Hello From Bob Bertram

Hi to all of you at the Woodsdale Kids Blog, my name is Bob Bertram and I was a Woodsdale Kid from 1950 thru 1955. My brother Bill and I were also Woodsdale Children’s Home Kids on 14 Orchard Road and were more commonly referred to as “ kids from the Children’s Home “.

I think at this point I should give you some background information as to how we ended up in the Children’s Home in the first place. We where born in Steubenville Ohio and at some point my mother and father got a divorce, my father abandoned us and my mother could no longer support us, we also had a little sister, Carol. My mother agreed to place us in the home and my sister in a foster home until she could afford to support the family.

My mother came to visit us every Sunday and would never sign papers to put us up for adoption as other kids had been, I can remember a couple came to the home for adoption purposes and looked at me and said what a cute little boy I was and I’ll tell you I was afraid they where going to come to the home that night and get me, needless to say I didn’t sleep very well for a couple of nights. My mother got a job at the A&P store in Steubenville and brought us home along with my sister in 1955. Life in the Children’s Home is a story in itself, but all in all it was a better life than running the streets of Steubenville when I was in the first grade. The good Lord does watch over his children.

I don’t remember very many kids in my classes but I remember some teachers like Mrs. Johnson, Miss Riley in the 4th grade and Miss Fritz who always reminded us that it was Washington and not Warshington. My brother Bill mentioned a Mrs. Wolf that I don’t remember. I have some class pictures and pictures, along with names of some of the kids from the Children’s home that I will share with you when I join your Blog.

This has brought back a lot of memories from the past and it will take some time to review the Blog archives but I will post some memories of Woodsdale and the Children’s home that I hope won’t bore you.

Bob Bertram

A New Year’s Story

 

One New Year’s Eve when I was a freshman, my friend Randy Smith stayed over at my house. I believe his parents had gone out of town for a Bowl game. Randy’s dad was the sales manager of WTRF-TV and travelled quite a bit.

Randy and I had been to a New Year’s Eve party somewhere. I remember that my sister Helen was home from Duke for the holidays. She was our designated driver. Neither of us had a driver’s license. So, she picked Randy and me up at our party. My Mother and Father had gone to a big soiree at the Pine Room at Oglebay. It was around one a.m., as I remember, when everyone simultaneously arrived at our house. My sister, and Mom and Dad all headed for their bedrooms, and within fifteen minutes or so, I could hear my Dad snoring away raucously.

Randy and I, still pumped from our partying, decided to listen to some music. The stereo was in the dining room which unfortunately was right beneath my parent’s bedroom. So we had to keep the volume really low. I got out my 45’s and opened up the stereo. There on the spindle was an LP by a group I had never heard of, somebody named Doug Clark. Upon further inspection the label said his group was called “The Hot Nuts”. They were from Chapel Hill, NC. OK, my sister had brought home an album from college. Innocently, I placed the needle on the record. The first song was “My Ding-a-ling”. As we listened to the lyrics, it took only a minute to realize that this album was a DIRTY ALBUM!!! Not by today’s standards you must understand, but by 1960 standards, it was considered “dirty”. So Randy and I were glued to the speaker. We fell asleep as we played that album over and over giggling at what we heard.

The record was still turning when my sister came downstairs New Year’s Day morning. I stirred as she turned off the record player. She removed the record and put it back into its sleeve. She said quietly, “This will be our little secret”. I nodded and went back to sleep. I swore Randy to secrecy, and Doug Clark was mentioned no more, until….

I was in my 2nd year at UVA. A group of us decided to go to Durham two days after New Year’s for the opening of the ACC regular basketball season against Duke. We lost the game; however, at UVA our motto was “Never let the game get in the way of a good party.” It was a little after 10 pm, so we headed into Durham to find a place to drown our sorrows. We came upon a place called “The Cave”. As we entered, the band was playing a tune that sounded vaguely familiar. A song I had heard before, but a long time ago. As we settled in at the bar to get a beer, the refrain “My Ding-A Ling” roared from the stage and the people on the dance floor. I looked at the band, and there on the bass drum were the words “Doug Clark and The Hot Nuts. I immediately reflected back to those two boys with their ears pressed to the front of the stereo console blushing and giggling to this forbidden tune. So here I was witnessing the infamous Doug Clark “live”. The songs were all familiar, and much more graphic. I was not surprised. In no time I was singing along with the crowd at the top of my voice as if it were important to be heard. I never saw Doug Clark again, until…

While helping my sister Helen clean out the house last spring, I opened a box with some old albums, AND THERE IT WAS! “Doug Clark and the Hot Nuts”. Believe it or not, I felt myself blushing a bit.  I thought, “Now, where is that old record player?

Footnote: Doug Clark died in 2002.