Summertime and the Livin’ Was Easy…

Even though I was one of those kids who loved school, I always looked forward to summer and its many surprises. The sights, the sounds, the feel, the smell of summer….Growing up in the neighborhoods of Woodsdale, I think we had a freedom that few kids in other ‘burbs were allowed. Curfews were flexible, and we ran wild through the streets. As part of the Meagle Gang, which I think included the fearsome Mary Wheat with whom I got along, I was involved in some nefarious activites. (H.. you may not have considered yourself the "Don" of the Maple Ave. Mafia, but we all did.) However, from at least first grade until junior high, many of my summer days were structured as I went to Oglebay Day Camp, which I would rate as one of the best camps around, public or private. A full-size Wheeling bus would pick us up outside Woodsdale School on Maple Avenue. Clarke Ridgway and others would join me as we walked, unescorted by adults, from upper Maple to the pick-up point several blocks away. Despite the short ride, we filled the time with rollicking songs like “Green Grow the Rushes, Ho” until we reached the campground in the Park. Part of my memories of those times involve heading to the pool for morning swim lessons. There in the cold, early morning air we would earnestly practice the side stroke or the breast stroke on the slatted wooden benches before hitting the frigid water. In order to progress to various levels of proficiency, you had to pass certain tests. One of the tests was floating on your back. Being a really skinny kid in those days, I would begin to float and within seconds sink like a stone. I discovered that if I occasionally “sculled” with my hands, I could stay buoyant long enough to pass.

Later in the day there were games like basketball or dodge ball and crafts where I created hammered copper pictures, tiled ashtrays, tooled leather items, and glued-together popsicle stick pencil holders. I can’t imagine where those treasures are today. Surely my mother wouldn’t have thrown them away? Trips to the Story Tower were a highlight. The counselors always seemed to tell ghost stories that would scare the willies out of us. Of course, the snake pit was a favorite of mine; at some point I was allowed to climb down into it and someone snapped a picture of me draped in reptiles (training for the Fulton Carnival in case nothing else panned out later in life). We went on frequent nature hikes and sat around a campfire near the beginning of one of the trails.

At the end of the camp day, there was plenty of time and daylight to ride bikes on the sidewalk, play hopscotch, jump rope, play baseball, football, or basketball, and later organize Hide and Seek or Mother May I while our parents sat out on the front porches talking to neighbors on either side or across the street, their conversations often drowned out by the din of the locusts. I can still feel the oppressive heat of some of those nights when, after going to bed, even the weight of a sheet was too much. The large attic fan did little to cool down the bedroom my sister and I shared.

Certain vehicles played a big part in our summertime experiences. Once a week the Bookmobile parked at the end of lower Poplar and ___ (I can’t remember the cross street). A voracious reader, I would check out as many books as allowed. Often, was it daily? the ice cream truck could be heard a block away, and we all hotfooted it home for change. Generally, I bought sky blue popsicles. Vinny would drive through the neighborhood as well with lovely fresh vegetables. Even though he had tomatoes, my dad and Mr. Ridgway seemed to have a competition as to who could grow the biggest, best tomatoes and supply the street with their bountiful crop. Both of them planted their seedlings against the garages in the alley, and both were very successful. Even when we moved to Massachusetts in 1966, my dad would continue to raise tomatoes.

Besides tomatoes, we all loved corn and would go out the creek to a farm and buy what the farmer said was “pig” corn because it was underdeveloped in his opinion. My mother was insistent that the small kernels were sweeter, and to this day, I still look for that type of corn. Although I was not a watermelon lover, some of us did "liberate" those Kroger melons stacked outside the store on National Road. Recently I read on Facebook that there were others who engaged in the same activity. Kroger's must have suffered a loss on watermelon sales.

Summer also meant our annual circus at Larry Curry’s house next door to the Ridgway’s. Today we probably would have auditioned for “America’s Got Talent,” but then we tortured our family and neighbors, forcing them to pay for the privilege of watching us make total fools of ourselves. Of course, for a price, we did provide lemonade so they didn’t succumb to heatstroke during the performances. We set up chairs, curtained off areas, and had a table for selling tickets. I can’t remember the specific “acts,” but I know that Larry’s unusual swing set was involved in one of the numbers which mimicked a trapeze stunt, and there was always the perfunctory magic trick or two. I think we built a human pyramid, and I may have completely embarrassed myself by doing a ballet number.

Perhaps the most anticipated event in our neighborhood was the Strawberry Festival just up the street at St. John’s. The adults probably enjoyed the strawberry shortcake, but I think we kids liked the games. Before and after the festival the ballfield in the church yard was the scene of many hotly contested baseball games. Of course, my sister may not remember that space too fondly since, while acting as catcher, she was hit in the mouth by a baseball bat.

Basketball hoops in the various alleys were frequent sites for games of HORSE, and plastic pools could be seen in the backyards throughout the neighborhood. No slip 'n slides back then but plenty of yard sprinklers through which we would run.

All-in-all, summers in Woodsdale were idyllic.