February 2004                                                The Megaphone                                                     Page 3

Trackside Stories

by R. Beeman '54

How many times do you retrace the footsteps you took as a child in your mind? I do quite frequently and with great pleasure. Remembering each step as if it were only a day or so past. One trip in particular comes to mind.

The easiest way to get to town from where I lived on South H Street and 24th was to go west on H Street to 22nd Street. Of course you had to stop at Wright's Grocery (later it was McPhearson's) and have 2 fresh chocolate donuts (delivered fresh each morning) and a coke in a 6 ounce bottle -- all for a small fortune of 10 cents. Later on it would be 15 cents as the cost of the donuts went to a nickel each.

Then you would take the shortcut around the north side of the grocery to the old Pennsylvania R.R. tracks. There was a well worn path on the west side of the tracks that most of the kids used, but
personally I liked to walk the tracks. Taking the ties two at a time one could make the trip to town much faster if you were in a hurry. But most of the time we were not.

Proceeding towards town along the tracks you would first pass the Heekin Can building. Sometimes you could find discarded can lids here and they made great mini-Frisbee's. Then on up the tracks was the Old Shovel Works (at least that's what all the kids called it). It was a veritable playground for an adventurous youth. There was an old locomotive (a steam engine) that one could climb in and over and lot of empty steel tanks for one thing or another. You could climb into some of them to explore, but you had to be on the lookout for Chinny Van Buskirk who was said to frequent the Shovel Works and liked to chase kids. And then there were the hobo's and tramps that rode the box cars and often used the Shovel Works as a rest stop. You had to watch out for them also.

Going on up the tracks you would pass Fettig's Canning Factory and if it were summer and the tomatoes were being processed, you could go over to the trough or conveyor where the tomatoes were washed and wait until a nice big red juicy looking one came through and pluck it out. I always kept a small packet of salt wrapped in wax paper or aluminum foil for just such an occasion. After consuming the tomato I would be thirsty, so I would go across the tracks to the old Ice Plant where they had a water fountain that had the coldest and best tasting water in town. After drinking as much of the cold refreshing water I could hold, I would proceed with my belly gurgling only slightly when I walked.

Then just ahead was the crossing of the Pennsy and the Nickel Plate tracks. My journey almost over, on the left side of the tracks just south of the Pennsylvania Depot was a small cluster of trees where tramps and hobos often stopped. I would hurry by so that I would not be grabbed. Then I would be on the ramp for the Pennsy Depot. From this point you could smell the aroma of Hamburger's with onions being prepared on the grill at William's sandwich shop, later Edgell's, then Gallatin's and now Hanch's. It was at this point I would leave the tracks, going around the corner at Zip's Barber shop and down 16th Street past the Shamrock Billiards and Smiley's drug store. I would cross the street to the Viewpoint store where you could buy school supplies but I usually bought mine at Sam Aurelius's. From here it was just a hop and a skip to the Elwood Theatre, the final destination and where for 12 cents you could get a ticket to the latest episode of Hoppy or Gene or Roy and a nickel would get you a Milky Way bar and for another nickel you could get a bag of popcorn -- all for the total sum of 22 cents. If the show was particularly good we would sit through it twice and no one seemed to care.

Going home down the tracks after dark is another story in itself and I will tell it another time. The tracks hold many stories and many good memories for me. It's too bad that they're no longer here. Some kids will miss out on a wonderful time in their lives.

Goodbye from trackside.

Submitted by . . .

R. Beeman '54
Out in Old Witch Hollow

Down by  the Old Mill Pond

Part 1

by R. Beeman '54

I have kept this secret for over 50 years, so I think the statute of limitations has expired for any type of prosecution that might be forthcoming.

One hot summer night in the summer of '53, I and several other friends or cohorts in crime decided that we had found the perfect solution to catching all the fish we could possibly ever want. The plan was simple, since the largest body of water in the old Mill was located near the creek just south of the bridge on So. J Street. All we had to do was dig a trench from the Mill Pond to the Creek, then we would put a large piece of wire netting across the trench where it emptied into the Creek thereby catching all the fish that would no doubt come pouring forth with the deluge of water.

So we started digging energetically with great enthusiasm, hoping to get the task at hand completed in one day. But as with all great endeavors, it would require some time to complete. It seems that the distance between the pond and the creek had grown somewhat larger the longer we worked. So with darkness approaching, we reluctantly put our tools away until we could return on another day.

The next day we returned and labored all day until darkness forced us to stop once again. I have never seen a group of young men work so hard and not get paid for it. But we were sure our efforts were going to be rewarded with the great bounty of giant catfish that we knew resided in that murky body of water. The fact that we had never caught one more than ten inches long did not deter us one little bit. We all discovered that the blisters on our hands were turning into calluses and so on we worked for yet another day.

Upon returning the next day, we discovered that the water from the pond was starting to seep into the trench We found an old steel door that had come from one of the old buildings that had stood on the old Mill property many years past and we used it as a barrier at the mouth of the trench. Thus with the flow of the water subdued, we toiled on. 

Finally after three days of working the time had arrived to remove the barrier and let the water flow. We positioned ourselves two on each side of the door barrier, pushing and pulling alternately to loosen the door from the muck that imprisoned it. Finally with one last great concentrated effort, the door was free. The water flowed slowly at first, washing the small rocks and debris that were left in the bottom of the trench steadily washing the sides and etching it's way into the bottom. The slow moving water soon became a fast moving torrent, gouging out the dirt around a boulder the size of large washtub and sending that huge rock tumbling down the trench and into the middle of the creek taking with it the wire net that was to trap the fish. The water poured steadily and we wondered how long would the water flow? Hours, days, weeks? Would the increased flow of water into the creek cause it to rise sufficiently to wash out any bridges downstream? 

We were suddenly aware that our endeavor might have serious consequences. So we took a vow never to tell anyone what we had done and we all hurried to our homes where it was safe and comfortable, and no one would ever know. There is more to this story but it will have to wait for
another time.
                    

Submitted by . . .

R. Beeman '54
Out in Old Witch Hollow