New Bicycle

It was Harry's 14th or 15th birthday. We had done about all we could with our K-Mart Special bicycles, so for his birthday his parents got him a new ten-speed bike. We were both so excited. Now our thoughts shifted from bike stunts to speed.

After the party he and I took it out for its maiden flight. I was still on my K-Mart special, but I was able to keep up with him. We rode all the way down Main Street to the south end of town. And this is what we were doing:

We were riding side-by-side, one of us was on the sidewalk, the other on the road. When we came to a driveway, we would cross over and switch places. So now the one that had been on the sidewalk was on the road and vice versa. So we kept switching, trying to go faster and faster. We got to the end of Main Street and turned around. We headed home doing the same thing.

In the picture above (taken in 2008), imagine Harry riding his bike near full speed on the sidewalk coming from the right. And now imagine the smooth sidewalk that meets the road not there, but instead a deep ditch. I was riding on the road next to Harry and watched as his front tire hit that ditch at full speed. The bike stopped and he flew over the handlebars. I can't remember if it was his elbow or knee that got scraped up. But we went to a nearby house and thr lady cleaned up his wounds.

Imagine what was going through our families' minds when they saw us returning from the bike ride with Harry bandaged up and riding my bike and me pushing Harry's bike in a wheelie position (because the front wheel was bent and wouldn't roll). I can't remember if they were more concerned that his new bike was trashed or that he got hurt.

The bike was repaired and passed its initiation. But it had a long road still ahead.

Bird Hunting

The day was April 3, 1988. Harry and I were riding around with a friend on the back roads near our town. Harry was driving his mom's white Ford Crown Victoria, our friend was in the passenger seat, and I was sitting in the center of the bench seat in the back.

We were driving along the road in the picture above. It has since been repaved, but at the time the road had some large potholes in it. We weren't just joyriding, we were out sniping enemy birds. We were armed with .22's in a heavily fortified mobile unit.

As the car slowly crawled along the road, we watched for birds sitting on fences or on the ground. When one of us would spot a bird the car would stop, the person with the best shot would poke his gun barrel out the window, and the bird usually ended up on the ground with the last thoughts of "Maybe I should have flown away."

After many successful hits, we were headed back to town. In the excitement of the last shot (of which I hadn't been the shooter) I forgot my gun was still loaded. As the car rolled along the country road one of the tires hit a large pothole, I was bounced in my seat, and the gun sitting across my lap fired. We had all the windows rolled down, so the blast wasn't as loud as it could have been. But the bullet went through the passenger side door to my right, shattering the glass that was down inside the door.

Harry stopped the car, we checked that we are all still alive, then we headed home. There was no hiding this one. The small bullet hole in the interior of the back passenger door and the outward dent on the outside of the door where the bullet hadn't quite made it all the way through the door meant we couldn't even fabricate a story to hide the truth. We cleaned the broken glass out of the back seat and I kept this bag of it as a memento of stupidity (see picture above).

Sometimes teenagers just don't think!

Paper and Fire

When Harry and I were around thirteen we grabbed some notebook paper and some matches and sat at their back door (on the right side of the house in the picture below).

What could we do with paper and matches? Something mischievous to be sure. The first thing we did was make paper airplanes, we were experts at that from making them at school. After we found a design that would fly a considerable distance, we made several of them and set them on fire and threw them in the yard. Their flight distance decreased while engulfed in flames.

After the airplanes it was time to chill. So we sat back on the steps to the basement, rolled up a few cigarettes using the notebook paper, and proceeded to smoke like our grandpa. But one puff on those college-ruled stogies and we were finished! If you've never smoked notebook paper... don't. I think the tops of my lungs are still charred from the short experience.

And that's a couple of things teens can do with paper and fire.

The Spirit Bird

The house where we grew up was a very special house. For if you sat real still and quiet in the dark and had been a good boy or girl, you just might hear the faint whistle of the Spirit Bird, sent from Heaven itself! So that's what Harry and I told my younger sister, Jill, when we were young.

I remember sitting in the living room in the dark and telling her to be quiet and listen for the Spirit Bird. I told her I had read about the Spirit Bird in the Bible and it only visited special kids. And Harry backed me up by claiming he had read the same passages. So while I was whispering about the Bird, Harry would sneak across the room and start whistling like a bird.

"There it is!" I would say. "Can you hear it?"

"Yes!" Jill would reply with excitement. She must have thought she was really special if the Spirit Bird was visiting her.

And on very rare occasions one might catch a glimpse of it. That's when one of us would have a flashlight and give a quick flash in the direction Jill wasn't looking so she only caught a glimpse of it out of her peripheral vision. A bird that glowed in the dark, how magical!

I remember doing this on a few different occasions, it wasn't just a one-time joke.

And Jill, if you are reading this, I hate to tell you the Spirit Bird isn't real.

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Or is it???

Boxcars

There is a place on the west side of town where Harry and I used to ride our bikes and spend hours playing around. To get to that part of town you have to cross a set of railroad tracks.

There is only one set of tracks there now, but in the picture above you can see where there used to be another set on the right. On that siding, long train consists, usually boxcars, were left for weeks or months at a time. I can remember visiting the trains a couple of times. We were always worried we would surprise, or be surprised, by a hobo or bum.

On one occasion we took a friend and a tape recorder with us. We recorded ourselves for at least an hour just running and playing around the boxcars. It was fun when a train came on the main line. We would jump into one of the stationary cars and watch the speeding train fly by.

There was another time when it was just Harry and me on a very cold day. We were climbing up into the boxcars to get out of the wind and cold. And we had a means of making fire with us. So we found a bunch of trash and built a fire inside one of the boxcars to keep ourselves warm. I remember looking back as we left for home, there was still smoke coming out of the door.

But now those tracks are gone and our days of playing in boxcars are long gone.

Messing with Trains

We lived a block from the railroad tracks. So we flattened many pennies in our day. But we eventually moved on to bigger things...

Lying not too far from the tracks were some old track parts, spikes, and old ties. One day when we were in our early to mid teens we found a wooden railroad tie still at its full length, so we decided to set it across both rails of the tracks to see what happened when a train hit it. We set it in place and waited... and waited... and then we heard the train whistle several miles down the track. Showtime!

The picture above shows the approximate location of this story. We ran a short distance and hide behind some bushes within site of the tracks (on the right side of the picture). The tension was building. The suspense was killing me. We gave no thought to the fact that this was extremely dangerous, we just wanted to see the timber explode. And we were not disappointed.

Just before the train hit it I lowered my head and closed my eyes. I heard the explosion of wood and soon small pieces of wood were raining down around us. The tie really had exploded into hundreds (or thousands) of pieces. After the train was gone we assessed the damage. There were a few pieces left of the timber, but most of it had been turned into toothpicks.

Mad Dog

Today's story turns the danger level way down. There are no bikes, guns, or monsters involved. But it does involve Harry and me being left home alone again.

This was probably about the same time as our Young Houdinis stunt when we were twelve or thirteen. I was spending the week with Harry in St. Louis and both of his parents were at work. We wandered into the kitchen looking for something to do. We were thirsty. The pantry and refrigerator were both full of liquids and condiments. So we got out a cup and started collecting ingredients.

This may not be such a rare thing to do, but I can still remember the awful smell and chunky texture of the drink we made. I obviously can't remember everything we mixed, but I know we started with liquids like juice, chocolate milk, soda, lemonade, and whatever else they had in the house at the time. Then we started adding seasonings such as salt, pepper, chili powder, and whatever they had in their spice rack. And then we added additional flavors such as mustard, Worcestershire sauce, and whatever else we could find.

I'm not sure who named it Mad Dog or why, but the name has stuck with us all these years. To describe the look of the drink would turn a billy goat's stomach. But we did each take a drink of our concoction.

This is not an actual picture of our drink, but it sure looks like it (ours had more things floating in it though). Would you take a drink of something that looked like that?

And this wasn't the only time we did it. We tortured ourselves a couple more times in the next several years with other versions of our Mad Dog drink.

Happy New Year

It was almost midnight on December 31, 1984. For some strange reason Harry and I were at his house alone (our families were probably together somewhere). We were both thirteen and looking for something special to do for the new year. I'm sure it didn't take us too long to come up with this idea.

He had a bean bag. It was the kind that had a zipper and inside were thousands of very small Styrofoam balls. He also had a ski mask. And that is all we needed to make this a memorable holiday.

As midnight drew near, Harry donned the ski mask. The countdown on TV began. We unzipped the bean bag. He assumed the kneeling position. And at the stroke of midnight he held his breath and submerged his head in the small sea of Styrofoam balls. What we hadn't taken into consideration was static electricity. When he finally pulled his head out of the bag, there were Styrofoam balls everywhere. The mask now looked white.

But we were only half done, I still had to take my turn. This time we headed outside to the small front porch. I suppose there are weirder things to see on New Years, but anyone driving by that night would have to wonder why I was outside in the cold sticking my head in a bean bag. And I have one piece of advice for those who decide to try this: when your head is inside the bag, DO NOT INHALE.

Neither the cold nor the mess mattered, for 1985 had arrived!!!

This is the house (as of June of 2008) where we rang in 1985.