Sledding! (Dangerously)

The winter of 76-77 was a humdinger. We returned to school after the Christmas break and it started snowing... And snowing... And snowing. Then... Sleet. Freezing rain. More sleet and freezing rain. Until we had almost a foot-and-a-half of snow and ice on the ground.

And then it got cold...

On January 11th, 1977, West Plains set a record low of 19 below zero. Needless to say, the snow and ice didn't melt, the road and streets stayed ice packed and we were out of school for three weeks!

We had moved to town from the Farley Place in the spring of 76 so this was our first of two winters, living on Third Street. Dad had bought Wayne Spear's moving business so we were kept pretty busy, moving people that didn't want to move themselves in the nasty weather. But when Dad didn't have work for us to do, we rambled all over the west side of West Plains.

Now when I say "we", it's not like I had a mouse in my back pocket. "We" was meself, my brother Ralph and the boy that lived next door east, Bobby Moran.

In our wanderings up and down the streets and back alleys of the "west side", one day we discovered the perfect sledding hill.

On the west side of Peoples Park, between Halstead Street and Utah Street, there was an alley.(I didn't realize it until I went to take some pictures, but it is actually a short portion of Cass Avenue, with a street sign to prove it!) Only the city trash truck, propane gas trucks and an occasional resident used it, so we didn't have to worry about a lot of traffic... On the alley.

We would start at the top of the hill, at Utah Street. By the time we reached Halstead, when we had reached Mach 4 speed and 80 Gee's... There was NO stopping for traffic! After a couple of close calls with a car or two, we got smarter (or less dumber, depending on how you look at it...) and posted a "lookout" at Halstead Street to warn the sledder that a car was "coming". Actually it was magnificent display of arm flapping, hand waving, leg kicking and other bodily gyrations and contortions, while screaming at the top of your voice - "CAR COMING! CAR COMING!"

The sledder would then have to make a difficult, split-second decision. Which is going to hurt worse? Turning the sled into the trees, vines and bushes on the one side of the alley? Or hitting the garage or the wooden yard fence on the other side of the alley? OR...the "Nuclear Option" -  Just keep it straight and hit the unsuspecting vehicle passing by on Halstead  Street!

Even if there was no traffic coming, there were decisions to be made once you hit the bottom of the hill at the street - some with potentially serious consequences..

If you just went straight... you would cross the street at supersonic speed, fly through the air off the hill, down into the park, slide over a very steep bank behind the Howell County Volunteers building.... And right into the side of a 1000 gallon, steel propane tank... However, if you would steer slightly to the left, you would miss the bank and the tank and come to a nice smooth stop on the little street beside the park pavilion. BUT, if you over-steered to the left... You would run smack into a big ole elm tree!

If you were a dare-devil (or were just a few lettuce leaves short of a taco) you could steer HARD to the left, fly through the air, off the street into the park and miss (hopefully) the elm tree to the left side, and slide all the way down to the creek that went by the pavilion. HOWEVER... If you steered TOO hard to the left, you might just dead center the electric pole...

Decisions, Decisions!

We played hour after hour, day after day in the alley, until most of the kids in the neighborhood were sledding down our "ski slope". But good times don't last forever, and one afternoon, our sledding fun came to a screeching halt.

Mike Rader's house faced Broadway but he parked behind the house, which was on "our" alley. And since it was right behind their house, Mike's daughters joined in on the sledding fun. On their last trip down the alley, they decided to go "piggy-back". One laid down on the sled and steered and the other one laid on top of her and hung on like a burr in a mule's tail.

When they got to Halstead Street, they took the straight-slightly left option, and sailed off into the park... But with the additional, top-heavy weight, the sled didn't turn as quick as it should and they were headed right for the bank and the propane tank! The young girl on the bottom, steering, gave a hard jerk to the left with the handle... And when she did, her sister riding on top, rolled off...

...Down the slope, down the bank... And smacked her head right into the end of the steel propane tank!!

When we all got to her, there was blood and she was crying but not in hysterics. We bundled her up and since Ralph was the oldest (a junior in High School) he carried her up the hill to the Rader's house.

When Mrs. Rader came to the door, we were all standing there, with Ralph holding her daughter, bleeding and crying. It was just natural for her to get a tad excited. So we gave a short explanation, gathered up our sleds and headed home.

I'm not sure the exact severity of the wound, but I do know that measures were taken to prevent it from happening again.

That evening, when Mike came home and found out about his daughter's accident, he un-slicked our sledding slope. He took wood ashes and spread them all over the area of the alley, right behind his house! This was right in the middle of the slope and the ashes melted a big bare spot! Sledding Over!

This week, while the snow was on the ground, I went and took some pictures of the "alley". As I stood and looked up and down the white, narrow track; I was reminded of Good Times, A Scary Time and the fun that we had... Sledding!(Dangerously)

Standing in Halstead Street, looking up the alley toward Utah Street.

The view from your sled, if you were going straight. You can see the elm tree, across the road and slightly left.

Another view of the elm tree with the electric pole to the left. The block wall was not there in 77 and there was no curbing on Halstead Street.

Another view straight on and the big elm tree. Where the trees are farther down was where the propane tank was.

Looking west, up the alley. Big ole elm tree again!

Standing in Halstead Street, looking south. There was no curbing in 77.

The Launching Pad! Standing in Utah Street, looking east down the alley.  The back of Mike Rader's house is where the black, oblong object is on the left, about 200' down.

"On Frozen Pond"

My brother Ralph and I - "On Frozen Pond"

In 1981, a film debuted starring Katherine Hepburn, Henry Fonda and Jane Fonda. It won a Golden Globe Award, an Academy Award and was nominated for eight Oscars. The film was Henry Fonda's final film and was titled "On Golden Pond". Having never seen the film (and probably not likely to), I cannot give it a rating or attest to its quality.

This little yarn however, is not about a big screen movie with over-paid actors.  It's about two brothers on an Ozark hill farm, that spent a winter's afternoon playing and sliding...

"On Frozen Pond"

We moved from the farmhouse at County Line to the Conklin House at Junction Hill in the late fall of 1968. It was a ranch style house with a garage, a single level barn, a chicken house and an outdoor johnny. (which was only used when you couldn't make it to the house!) There was a fenced in "play yard", a large garden spot (complete with rocks), a six-acre pasture, a couple of stands of timber...

And there was a pond.

How do you describe an Ozark farm pond? And really catch the ugliness? the smallness? the mudiness? the unsanitariness? And winsomeness and charm of a place a young lad can wile away the hours, in any season of the year?

Our pond was in the hollow, down the steep hill below the chicken house. The dirt had been dug out down to red clay mud and then piled across the hollow to form a dam for the water. After a few rains, (if it was gonna "hold" water) a small, shallow pool of dirty clay-colored water would form in the pond.

If the pond would continue to "hold", it would get larger and deeper, the mud would settle and the water would get clearer. Somehow, fish would begin to grow in the pond, in addition to frogs, turtles, snakes and other charming creatures.

In the winter time (at least the winters before Al Gore invented Global Warming) the pond would freeze over at least once during the season. This would happen after a few days of below-freezing weather and usually some snowfall. But even after you KNEW that the pond was frozen enough to slide on, you didn't dare get out on it!

There was a ritual to testing the ice for "slideability."

After we had tested the edges of the ice for thickness by stomping, and sliding a little around the edges; we had to get Dad's stamp of approval. Dad didn't take to well to pestering and whining so just had to ask once... and then remind him every thirty minutes or so!

Dad would eventually make the trek down the hill to "check out" the ice.He would stand on the edge of the ice and stomp... and then listen. He would walk out on the ice and listen to the popping and cracking the ice made under his weight. After a few minutes of this, he would deem the ice thick enough (or not thick enough.) I really haven't figured out his method of testing but we never ended up in the drink!

Since we didn't have skates, my brother Ralph and I did the next best thing.

By trial and error, we had found out which pair of our shoes were the best for sliding on snow and ice. They had to be slick enough to slide smoothly over the somewhat rough, snow-covered pond ice. But not so infernally slick that you couldn't even stand up in'um! - Somewhere between leather soled dress shoes and Converse tenner-shoes.

And we slid... We raced each other. We chased each other. We had contests to see who could slide the farthest and fastest. We tried to turn in circles while sliding. We tried turning mid-slide and sliding backward. It was a glorious hour or so of cold, icy, improvised fun!

Eventually though, our hands got cold, our ears were froze, our clothes were wet and cold; so we headed up the hill to the house.

I feel somewhat sorry for the kids of today. With all the video games, online-gaming sites, cellphone apps and the other knick-knacks that modern technology has provided to them; I hardly think they size up to a wintry afternoon spent "On Frozen Pond".