A Christmas Secret

     Many,many years ago, about Christmas time in the Quinn household, my father discovered a strange object in the back of the closet where he hung his coat and hat. It  was sort of question-mark shaped, had a big bow on it, and was about five feet tall. He was puzzled..

    When he asked what it was, my sister Amy and I told him it was a secret and it was his Christmas present. It wasn't really, but he was always asking us what we were getting him as a gift so we thought we would have a great laugh. The object in question was actually a "shepherd's hook" that we had made for Amy's Little Bo Peep Halloween costume. It was made from an old broom stick, a coat hanger, newspaper, wrapping paper, and ribbon.

  So, as the holiday progressed he was constantly asking for hints as to what it was. On the day he opened the "present" and when he got down to the stick and hanger, he could not figure out what it was...so we told him it was a "chicken catcher'...the curved hook of the hanger slid up and down the stick for distance.

  We got such a laugh out of it that it became a tradition to give my Dad some weird funny gift for Christmas each year. The next year one of us found an object that to this day I don't know what it was, but made a great gift. It was made of cast iron, shaped like a half of a hollowed out pear, and had a screw assembly through it. His demand for hints made us really puzzle for answers. We thought perhaps it was some kind of nut cracker. But no one ever was able to figure it out....neither did my father who we thought knew everything.

  One gift was really imaginative. We got him three bottles of Old Spice...each had two tiny handles on them as part of the design, so of course, the hint was...'It has six handles".  We all laughed while he tried to find the answer to that one.

   Christmas at the Quinnery was always fun!

Woodsdale Kids have Kids who have Kids...show us your best shot.

                                Woodsdale Kids have Kids and Grandkids

Yes, this is a  real pic of  Heritage Port in Wheeling with both bridges shown and the gazebo,and always the river. Not sure who took this pic, but it is sooooooooooooo romantic all in the pastels of sunset

Wouldn't it be wonderful to see the families of old neighbors on here? Christmas photos with the old gang and the new additions?. A brief summary of where you live  now and whether you enjoy it.

You can send those pic to Howdy or me be sure to say who is who for each pic. I'll be happy to post them. Howdy's address is the one at the top of the blog, mine is katequinn5@frontier.com.

It is getting harder and harder for me to continue to write articles for the block, especially when I get no feedback or comments. I did learn that yes indeed Woodsdale had a 9th grade at one time.....there are so many interesting stories I could tell you about Gulliver my goat, wild parties in New Zealand, how I got to be an honorary Maori, but none of those have any thing to do with Woodsdale. We have wracked our brains trying to get people to share memories of Woodsdale and yet I have still ended up being the main writer...that was not my intent when I started. Perhaps Ill have better lucy getting all of you to tell me where you were when you heard JFK was dead?

In any case,you only get out of something what you are willing to put into it.So have a go, at least post a few pics.

Thanks and hope the season leaves you with warm memories,

Kate

Woodsdale Kids Go on Strike

STUDENTS ON STRIKE AT WOODSDALE!

   According to Carl Basham , in 1965 his 9th grade year at Woodsdale Junior High the students went on strike. Carl stated that the walk-out was over a dress code regulation. He alsosaid that the students went out to the playground and Mr. Dan Hyle, the principal at the time, came out, pointed at one girl, told her to go inside and the rest followed.
   I cannot find anyone else who remembers the incident and I do not ever remember Woodsdale having 9th grade classes, but that does not make it any the less true. If you remember this incident please comment below.
  Carl also said that the music books he was provided at Woodsdale were two years behind those he had used in Ohio.
  He remembers Gib Lamb and Max Lebow as his close friends and stated that he was told Woodsdalewas settled by the Jewish Community...according to Carl the evidence for this was the fact that the neighborhood had both a temple and synagogue. Sorry, Carl, untrue...Woodsdale was part of Archibald Wood's estate.
  Does anyone remember Woodsdale having 9th grade classes? Please let me know.

How things have changed!

   This is a photo of the Riverboat
Festival now at Heritage Port, you know, where that ugly monstosity called the Wharf Parking Garage used to sit. Wheeling now has a festival every weekend in summer! And in the background both our 1849 Suspension Bridge and the Ft. Henry Bridge.
     Who would have thought our close-knit, sacred homeland of Woodsdale would need a Neighborhood Watch or Woodsdale United to fight greedy land grabbers from destroying Stratford Hill?
    Who would have thought the house I grew up in on Poplar would be used as a movie set in the new film (available on DVD) called "The Pledge". Seeing the attic where I used to sleep gave me chills, but the view from the street at night was so beautiful, I almost cried.
    Who would have thoughts the citizens of Wheeling would pool together and win a national contest for a dog park? That $25,000 will be used toward the effort and thousands will benefit.
  Who would have thought that it was FIFTY years ago I graduated from high school and that next year I hope to see some pretty special people at the reunion? I never would have predicted back then that I would spend the next 32 years away from Wheeling. Now, here I am having been back for twenty years and considered an expert on local history....now, THAT'S amazing.
   Oh, if only we had had a crystal ball back then to look into the future, I doubt that anyone would have believed the changes!

PICNIC CANCELED

   Due to a lack of RSVP's and my many request for organizational help, the annual picnic is canceled. I contacted several people to help organize and got no response. We have had only 10 responses to the email invites.
  I was recently in a very serious car accident and am unable to do all the running around that it takes to get this event off the ground.
  If you have suggestions on how to make the picnic better, please let me know...the food is always fantastic, and renewing old friendships is delightful, but it takes some effort. I will book the shelter  for next year only if I hear from members that they will help, and intend to come/ Perhaps we should only have the picnic every three or four years. Let me know what you think.

Catherine "Cathie" Calvert Post

I came upon your blog, and would like to contribute--Woodsdale was one of the most important parts of a very peripatetic childhood. We had come to live with our grandparents--my father was a career army officer, and had been sent to the Korean war, and my mother decided to bring my sister and me "home" to her parents at Linsly. We've got long roots there--I have a daguerreotype of my great-great grandfather from the 1840's, marked "Wheeling, Virginia." 


My grandparents were teachers, house-parents, and a mass of other things at the school over their 30-plus years. They lived in Merriman Hall when it was unreconstructed, still a gracious Victorian house with sweeping porches and lofty ceilings and a mysterious turret which, I was sure, a little girl long ago had used as her hideaway--I wanted to climb to find out, but never had the gumption. The house made wonderful background to endless hours playing Hospital, or School, or banister sliding, or, for me, reading my way through bookshelves of Victorian children's books left behind by the Storers.

 

Calvert Family in front of Merriman Hall (Cathie is standing next to her Father)

We, however, lived in a one bedroom apartment over a Linsly outbuilding, still close enough to walk in the evening with my grandparents as they cared for their rose beds, and for my grandmother to appear on Sunday mornings, before we all went downtown to church, with a large platter of just-made pancakes. It was bliss--lots of room to play imaginary Indians, with our campus friends--Edsie Rhine, Susie Lockhart-- making pemmican out of mashed berries, and teepees out of low hanging trees, and, if we weren't caught (as we were strictly forbidden to) detaching a tiny bit of birch bark and writing a message on it. There were only two frightening aspects of paradise--the swinging bridge was the first. My grandfather had built it to bridge the creek that led from one side to the academic building on the other. It was frightening enough when someone would deliberately go to the middle, and give it a good sway, but when we crossed the  bridge when he had removed planks for repair, which meant a long drop if you tripped....well, that was hair raising. But nothing frightened us like the "crick" and the quicksand.

 

The floods were interesting, if dramatic. But quicksand--the only strong words and threat of a paddling my sweet grandfather ever uttered, were about the quicksand down the hill, and how my mother as a child had been swallowed up to her knees, until her brother rescued her--leaving her Sunday shoes in sand.

The second ominous development was Woodsdale School. I would go with my downstairs neighbor Marcia, who would walk me there as she was in fifth grade when I was in first. It was a long walk down Leatherwood lane, then to the corner where the Jolly Fat Policeman would escort us across. I remember the school as enormous, and having Googled old pictures--indeed it was, a fortress of stone that seemed to frown.

 

I was a shy and timid child, and this was already my third school, with 4 more to come, and I was one of those nose-in-a-book girls who were often silent. We had a Mean Teacher. She hit. She not only hit, she used a ping pong paddle on small children's bums, and screamed at everyone. I huddled in my metal-and-wood desk and stared in horror. Her patience may have been tried because the baby boom was in full swing, and the year began with sixty-four children in the classroom, though that thinned. I shook in my shoes when she hit my best friend Francis in front of the class, for writing in her reader. But what caught my heart, and reverberates to this day, were the orphans. They came from up the hill, and everyone knew who was an orphan.

 

Tommy was small, and very round, and not a little disruptive, and one day the teacher jerked him out of his chair, and onto a square of butcher paper on the floor, then taped his mouth shut with scotch tape, and left him, with his tears flooding past the big 'X" of tape she had plastered there. I can't help but wonder how he grew up, and be grateful schools have evolved since then.

 

I left after the first semester of second grade, off to Philadelphia, Kansas, Virginia, Germany, and grew up to be a writer and editor in New York, and now live in London, as I married a British man. Wheeling was our fixed point in a changing childhood, and Woodsdale its center, and I don't know where I'd be without memories of summer evenings running like hares across the broad green fields with our posse of faculty children, or piling into the car for a trip to Isley's (rainbow sherbet!) or standing on one of the cannons and spinning the wheels, or going downtown for decorous ladies' lunches at Stone and Thomas, where my grandmother and mother stocked up on Bridge Mix (well, they did play bridge!)

 

We continued to visit and spend summers until the early 60's. It was our one reliable place. In fact, the big old Victorian house we have bought now on Shelter Island has much of the feel of that Victorian house I knew so well (except for the basement, where my grandmother kept her canned goods--we knew that was certainly haunted--and we weren't too sure about the attic, either). I often, as a writer, used those memories that lay so engraved on my consciousness.

 

Annual Picnic

The waterfront at Heritage Port in beautiful downtown Wheeling

                               
It's that time of year again when we start planning the Woodsdale Kids Picnic. This year it will be at our favorite Driehorst Shelter at Oglebay  from 2-7 pm on August 31. We are lucky that that is the same weekend that Fort Henry Days will take place at Site One in Oglebay. If you have never seen this incredible re-enactment of the siege of Fort Henry,  you are really missing out.

Betty Zane's famous run for gunpowder is re-enacted, there are knowledgeable specialists in Revolutionary War costumes, warfare, cooking, and fabulous vendors. This is a great opportunity to learn some local history. Bring your families and enjoy this unique peek at history then come on down to the picnic.

   As for the picnic, we are lucky enough this year to have representatives from Woodsdale United who will explain what developers intend to do to our old stomping grounds Stratford Hill...90 acres of mountaintop removal in the heart of Woodsdale. Their presentation will be at 5 pm.

  So bring something to BBQ, a dish to share, drinks, memories, smiles and laughter, and come celebrate the unique world that we called home, Woodsdale.

  I could use some help organizing, etc so if you live in Wheeling and can help call me please (Kate) at 304-242-4894. See you there!

Graduation Hits

The month of June is considered the traditional “Graduation” month.

 Do you remember the #1 song around the country when you graduated from Jr. Hi, High School, or College?
 Here is a list to jog your memory.

June	Song	Artist
1955	Cherry Pink & Apple Blossom White	Perez Prado
1956	The Wayward Wind	Gogi Grant
1957	Love Letters In The Sand	Pat Boone
1958	The Purple People Eater	Sheb Wooley
1959	Battle of New Orleans	Johnny Horton
1960	Cathy's Clown	Everly Brothers
1961	Moody River	Pat Boone
1962	I Can't Stop Loving You	Ray Charles
1963	Sukiyaki	Kyu Sakamoto
1964	Chapel of Love	Dixie Cups
1965	Back In My Arms Again	Supremes
1966	Paint it Black	Rolling Stones
1967	Respect	Aretha Franklin
1968	Mrs. Robinson	Simon & Garfunkel
1969	Get Back	Beatles
1970	Long and Winding Road	Beatles
1971	Want Ads	Honey Cone
1972	The Candy Man	Sammy Davis, Jr.
1973	My Love	Paul McCartney
1974	Billy Don't Be A Hero	Bo Donald
1975	Sister Golden Hair	America

 

Pictures! Pictures! Pictures!

Let's remember our childhood summers! Please send me pictures from your scrap book showing all the fun things you did in the summer. No need to write an essay. Simply let me know where and when the picture was taken and identify yourself and others in the picture. Send to me at woodsdalekids@comcast.net.  (Preferably send a jpeg, but other formats should work.) I will handle the rest.

Below is a picture from the summer of 1960 of a combined Boy Scout Troop from Wheeling attending the 50th Boy Scout Jamboree in Colorado Springs, Colorado. As I remember, the majority of scouts pictured here were the older members of troops from Vance and St. Michael's churches.

Did You Know?

• If you point and click on the pictures in the stories you will be able to view the full picture.
• To leave a comment just click the "Title" of the story. TRY IT!!

FUN FACT: April 2013 Visitors

Here is the summary of international visitors to our Blog during April 2013:

Germany (65); Russia (31); Turkey (19); France (4); Spain (2); United Kingdom (2); Czech Republic (1); Latvia (1)

We would enjoy hearing from our international visitors, especially regarding their reasons for following the Woodsdale Kid’s Blog. Replies to: woodsdalekids@comcast.net

 

Easter Parade!

Revised: This is a picture of the Woodsdale kindergarten class of 1951 decked out in their “hand-crafted” hats and bonnets. I am told by Kate Quinn, the "Expert" in Woodsdale matters of history, the occasion for this picture was an Easter Parade.  It was no doubt a special occasion considering we all are dressed in our finest attire. Considering my position compared to the rest of the boys, I can now see why I was destined to become a catcher on the Pike Cubs. (4th from the left) Thanks Kate!

(Note: Click on the photo" to get a closer look)

 

Upside down and backwards on I 25

The Commander and Lord Kadizzle have been married since the time of the dinosaurs. Kadizzle has always felt like he was upside down when he communicated with The Commander. On a nice sunny day 15 miles south of Pueblo Kadizzle was upside down talking to the Commander.

Metal from the the right rear trailer tire on the trailer in front of us spewed across the highway. As luck would have it one piece of metal blew out our right rear tire, and another piece probably triggered the emergency brakes on the trailer. The combination of locked wheels on the Earth module and a blown tire flipped the Earth module on it's side.

As Kadizzle tried to steer the truck he had no idea the trailer was on it's side doing the steering. Kadizzle tried to stay in front of the trailer, but it was hopeless. The trailer steered the truck at about 65 miles an hour into the median strip. Things were not good and the Kadizzles were mostly along for the ride at this point. The last thing The Commander recalled was going in the ditch. Kadizzle recalls coming up out of the ditch headed into oncoming traffic. That was the last recollection of the occupants until they found themselves upside down.

The mechanism that attaches the truck to the trailer is designed to transfer weight from the trailer to the truck. However, it also can apply torque to the truck. The truck could resist the torque from the trailer until it started to come out of the ditch. At this point the slope of the ditch made it easy for the trailer to overturn the truck. When the computer, who was a hero in this mess, sensed the truck rolling over it set off the side airbags. The computer showed it's genius by not setting off the front air bags. They were not needed because of the rate of deceleration. Airbags exploding in front of us was the last thing we needed. The side air bags did their job, but they also did one thing that did not occur to Kadizzle until later. The air bag explosion stunned Kadizzle and The Commander. The air bags acted like the flash bang grenades swat teams use to stun the bad guys. That is why neither occupant remember the best part of the ride, rolling over and spinning around. Although the truck and trailer were originally headed north on I-25 the whole apparatus ended up facing south upside down.

This is the point where the crew found themselves hanging upside down in the cab of the pickup. Kadizzle inquired if The Commander was ok, and the report was good. Kadizzle let The Commander know he was OK. The prospect of getting out did not immediately look good. Kadizzle was very concerned about the fuel onboard the overturned vehicle. In the bed of the pickup there was a seven gallon gas can Kadizzle had just filled. The motorcycle upside down in the back held about three gallons of gas. The trailer had two large propane tanks full of propane. If there was a fire, it would be a good one when you added another twenty gallons of gasoline from the truck itself. With this in mind Kadizzle shouted to The Commander to “Get out, get out as fast as you can”. The Commander is a small woman and quickly crawled out the broken window on her side. Kadizzle looked at the small opening and wondered if his massive belly was going to make it through the escape hatch. Fortunately we were quickly outside and stunned that we were totally unhurt.

As cars stopped people assumed we were trapped under the truck. Several people asked us if there were people in there. They were surprised when we said we were. When Kadizzle gained his senses he called 911 and asked the highway patrol to see if they could find the truck that caused the incident. By the time they checked the truck was not to be found. It took several hours to clear the wreck and we had to come back to the junk yard the next day to get our personal items. The moral of the story is wear your seatbelts, and when you drive ask yourself “Is this a good speed to have a wreck?” You will never wish you were going faster once you try the roll over. Over all the judges gave us an eight. We got four points for doing a 180 with the truck and trailer, and four points for doing 180 degrees from North to South. Our form was good and our final alignment with the highway was great. The only way we could have scored hirer would have to done a complete 360. Few have ever achieved this feat and walked away.

Woodsdale Field of Dreams

Each year the first week of April brings not only the promise of spring, but also opening day for major league baseball, the national past-time of our childhood.

Baseball was my favorite sport growing up in Woodsdale. My first memories of the game involved sitting on our front porch with my Great Aunt Ann listening to Bob Prince describe all the action of the Pittsburgh Pirates. I can remember watching the 3rd and 4^th graders playing baseball on the Woodsdale playground during recess and after school. When school was out for summer, the game moved to St. John’s Episcopal Church on Heiskell Avenue.

This baseball diamond was our “field of dreams”. St. John’s was a short bike ride for everybody in the neighborhood. The Dad’s of the neighborhood had marked out a baseball diamond with a pitcher’s mound. To top things off, they even built a backstop behind home plate.We cut out cardboard squares for bases, but more often than not, our T-shirts served as a handy substitute.   The entrance fee was a baseball glove and a baseball. No matter when you got to the field, there was always a game going on.

The game was called “Work-up”.  The object was to play each of the field positions to earn the right to bat. Players started out in right field and “worked” through the positions; right field to center field to left field to 3^rd base, and so on until you got to the batter’s box. You continued to bat until you struck out, flied out, or were put out at a base. When you were called out, you returned to right field, and once again had to “work” your way back to the batter’s box.  If we didn’t have enough players to fill out the positions, we simply declared that if you hit the ball into an area without a player, you were out. Although it was rare, if we had a line of kids waiting to rotate in, four foul balls qualified as an out, and you went to the end of the waiting line to await your turn to get back in the rotation. We all learned how to play baseball playing “work-up” on St. John’s field during those warm summer days in Woodsdale.

By the time we reached the age of 10, most of us had out grown St. John’s field. However, by then, we had developed the skills necessary to take the next step…..try out for the Pike Cubs.

But that’s another story.

Rainbow Over Stratford Hill

Fun Facts!

During the month of March, the Woodsdale Kids Blog was visited by people living in Germany, Russia, Latvia, France, Israel, Sweden, Turkey, United Kingdom, & Lebanon.

Woodsdale United

  A group of concerned residents of Woodsdale have a facebook page called Woodsdale United. It will keep you up on the actions of the City Council and Planning Commission regarding the zone change from residential to commercial on Stratford Hill. The owner is a greedy, get-rich guy who doesn't really care about the effects on the adjoining properties. He refuses to disclose his plans for the hill but has already started timbering and then plans to quarry limestone down 200ft so virtually the top of the hill will be removed.

A disgrace!

   Stratford Hill, the scene of some of our best childhood memories is being timbered! Runoff will soon affect those residents along Edgwood Street. Kevin Coyne, the developer who is trying to get a zoning change intends to QUARRY the hill. In other words...mountaintop removal.
  If you are interested in this, join Woodsdale United on Facebook for updates.

Woodsdale Kids Picnic

   Sorry folks,  but the Woodsdale Kids picnic this year will be August 31 instead of the 10th due to circumstances beyond our control. Hope you will join us for this incredible reunion. Last year was wonderful with lots of new-old faces appearing. This year I will not be doing the slide show, but may just let it run in the background so you can see the old photos. Please feel free to bring friends and family, a dish to share, old pictures, and good stories.

Stratford Hill Saved.....for now

Thanks to vigilant residents of Woodsdale, a developer who intended to take the top off of Stratford Hill was halted. There was standing room only at the Planning Commission who voted 6-1 NOT to allow the zone change which would allow the devastation. Kevin Coyne, the developer refused to disclose what his plans were and presented no environmental impact studies or other evidence that he had done his homework or even CARED what effects this would have on the many residents along Edgwood street. Deforestation causes run-off problems that could have been immense in this case.
  As residents architects, foresters, and an attorney all spoke to the Commisssion against this change in zoning while 125 Woodsdalers watched. There was cheering and applause when the results were announced.
   Well done residents of Woodsdale. Please don't let the hill ever be destroyed...it holds so many memories and serves as a backdrop to our idyllic neighborhood.

Stratford Hill May Disappear!

    
The Wheeling City Council votes today on whether to change the zoning of Stratford Hill from residential to commercial. If commercial development is allowed, they intend to take the whole top off the hill. No environmental impact studies have been done on this. If denuded, the hill will cause major run-off into the houses on Edgwood Strett as far up as Lorraine Terrace.
  Thank goodness, the people of Woodsdale intend to go to this meeting an protest. I'll keep you informed.

Magazine Features Woodsdale Kids

Goldenseal's March issue has an article about Woodsdale Kids with photos. Copies can be had by subscription. This is a fine magazine that features stories from all over West Virginia. It is produced by the WV Dept of Culture and history and you can subscribe for $20 per year at:

                                Goldenseal
                                The Culture Center
                                1900 Kanawha Blvd. East
                                 Charleston, WV 25305-9959        E-mail:chgoldenseal@wv.gov

               yes, they do take Visa and Master Charge.

 Our folk heritage is unique and deserves to be preserved. If you are a homesick West Virginian, you will find your fill of stories here.

Hootenany

     I recently resurrected an old newspaper "Society" page from 1962 which featured members of a group who got together on Friday nights at different houses to play folk music which was just becoming generally known to the public thanks to the Kingston Trio, the Limelighters, and Bob Dylan.
   The pictures were taken at the home of Pat and Fritz Temple of Warwood and included local kids like Scott Smith, Keith Maillard, myself, Maxanne and David McMillan, Jay Stein, John Bedwenick, Eric Hutchison and of course Kit, Ellen , and Anne Temple. Some were college kids home for the holidays and some were high schoolers. Several played guitar or banjo. Everyone who attended had to bring and teach a "new" folk song to the group. The parents provided the food and usually joined in the fun. This group brought together kids from Warwood, Oglebay, Elm Grove, the Island, Woodsdale, and other parts of town.
  The college guys would bring records they had found at the cities where their colleges were located. This is where I first heard of Joan Baez , Woody Guthrie, and Bob Dylan (whose voice I felt at the time left a lot to be desired).
   I remember these idyllic days well and was amazed to learn that many of the group had become professors or writers or both (like Keith Maillard). The sense of camaraderie and friendship was wonderful and the parents were proud to host these groups. As one father quoted in the article stated, "Well, at least they are not out stealing hubcaps!".
  My love of folk music has continued to this day and I have taught guitar for 35 years. I still love listening to it and talking about it with my expert friend Stuart Rubenstein in California. There was a  nightclub in Los Angeles when I lived there in 1965 called the Troubador that featured the greatest in folk music...Miriam Makeba, Hoyt Axton, and others....I recall seeing Linda Ronstadt there with her group The Stone Ponies.
   At a memorial service for Pat Temple who died at 92 this week, I was re-united with her son Kit and daughter Anne and showed them the article. Pat was a teacher at Warwood High, a notable photographer, a world traveler and bird watcher, and served the community by volunteering her time at the Nature Center (now the Schrader Center).
   It was wonderful to talk about the fun we had at these Hootenanies and how strange it was that it brought together kids from all over town.

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.