11,319. RUDIMENTS, pt. 504

RUDIMENTS, pt. 504

('dem was some pretty good woods')

Long about 1959 or '60, I

rightly forget, the woods

at the end of Inman Avenue

came down. When you're a

kid no one tells you these

things; they just one day

happen. What later became

Doreen Drive and Mark

Place took a lot away from

us. There were still, and

still are (kiss of death)

woods of a meager sort

on the railroad side of the

street, but this had been

the better side by far.

Until the very end, there

was a pond in there, ice

skating in Winter, trails

hide-outs, fallen trees and

shelters  -  and in all it was

a thick and dense woods,

enough to provide for all

of us a cover and a safe

hide-away. It was gone in

a flash, but a flash, as well,

that seemed to last forever.

I'd guess it was my first, new,

sense of sadness about the

natural world. None of us,

however, had room to talk,

for it had only been a scant

6 years since the very same

thing occurred, and on a

larger scale, for the tracts

of housing we all lived in. I
wondered who had mourned for
that. What we were presented
with, in due time, were some 30 
homes, (just guessing) and 2 
new streets, apparently named
after the dumb developer's kids.
Watching that scene develop was
interesting. In addition, I had 
never seen a house from the
inside out, as these were. It
was interesting by itself just
to be able to see the guts and
the workings of how a house
was put together  - even if we
often undid a lot of it. There was
a certain form of 'imagining
against reality' as I'd think
about the families, kids, and
parents who'd be in these 
places, and how they'd live
and furnish them, as homes.
It could have been argued

all day how this went on

or how it all occurred, but

as kids I guess it was the

last thing on our minds.

-

We'd lost a nice pond,

some logs and things to

sit on, around it, for ice

skating and just hanging

around. Constant young

kids' stuff, bike trails,

little walkways, large

trees, and even our

opossums, which used

to hang on one or two

oak trees near the

roadside. It all went

away but I don't

remember anyone

really 'dwelling' on it.

Things pass, and that's

that. What didn't pass

were the new dwellings!

Those houses, Lord be

praised, and the entire

construction site, became

a new-found paradise as

well. (And they cost me

10 stitches above my

knee). I don't know

how any of those houses

still stand, some of the

abuse we gave them.

Which is how I got

the 10 stitches in my

knee -  prodigiously

destroying the floor

surface of a weekend-

idle house underway,

when the poor, little

floor gave way, sending

me into the basement

where the edge of my

knee area contacted the

edge of the in-place oil

tank (rather raw and rough,

and tore up a mound of

flesh  -  which didn't

bleed! That in itself was

odd to us; so we (my

friend and I, Bill Zellner),

biked back to his house,

where his father took one

look at this mortal leg

wound and put us in

the car to the emergency

room in Amboy. (It had

only been some 3 years

since I was last there  -

train wreck stuff  -  and

I wasn't all that happy

about returning, figuring

55 stitches later and a

wheel chair and a brace,

and a walker later, would

be enough  -  by God's

determination  -  to teach

me a lesson. Never did

occur like that. Nope). We

besmirched those houses,

from glass and doors to

countertops and sinks.

(I sound like a fixtures

salesman at some Home

Depot). Better than all

that  -  they'd erected a

massive mound of dirt

right at the center of this

construction project, which

then became our perfect

bicycle trajectory for

racing along the long

expanse leading to it,

riding it swiftly to the

top, and bicycle-leaping,

for a few seconds, if

done right, into thin air,

having left the ground.
I figured all of this was
kids'-interest stuff only; 
until one day my Aunt Mae
came for a visit and, noticing
our pay and frolic, actually
showed a real interest in the
new homes and construction
project! So we walked her
down the street with us and
she looked around, genuinely
interested in the street  cuttings
and new homes  going up. It 
was pretty cool to see an adult 
who really cared about 
her surroundings.

-

All this, and our play, was  

about something, but I never 

did get to the bottom of it. 

We had fun. Maybe that 

was it. I used to read

Hardy Boys mysteries, 

simple stuff, almost 

easy-readers  -  they

were but boy-scout

level little tales -  never

anything malicious, dark,

brooding or negative. I

guess it was all about

uplift. Boys' dark-sides

were never promoted, 

nor even advanced as 

a subject. Now, all that

uplift stuff has been

transferred over to 

girls' under-clothing, 

so whatever. Shows you

the difference, I guess. 

We had Flash Gordon 

and such, maybe. Harry

Potter was from another

realm and had to wait.

None of those characters

lurked in our woods anyway.

Nor did any adult ever share

our fantasies and adventures.

Wondering if it ever dawned

on them that we might be up

to something, I'd think about

truthfulness and what would

be said to the inevitable, 

'What did you boys do today?'

question. 'Well Mom and Dad, 

we broke 14 panes of glass, 

tore 3 doors off their hinges,

dragged a ladder we found

over to a rooftop and tore 

up a bunch of shingles. It

was fun. And, oh yeah,

we road-raced up and

down those new hills.'

-

Maybe they all had it coming;

there had to be some payback

for what was happening to us.