Kids of the 60's
Published in the Delaware County Daily Times - June 2006
It was a long time ago when I was kid. It was different too. It was the 60’s that I spent my childhood growing up in Swarthmorewood, aka “The Wood”.
We had Blackrock Park, Indian Ledge, and the quarry as part of our domain. I guess if Indian Ledge still existed, it would now be Indigenous People Ledge or Native American Ledge. Occasionally we would venture out and invade The Springhaven Golf Course or Swarthmore College. For some reason, they never liked us, so to this day, I don’t like them either.
We played outside, everyday. We played organized and disorganized baseball and football. We swam in the crick. Yeah, that’s right, we called it Crum Crick, as only a dork would call it a “creek”. When we were thirsty, we would drink from the crick or the spring, as bottled water didn’t exist. And if it did only a dork would carry a bottle of water.
We built tree forts. We fell out of trees. We had rope swings that hung from tree branches 30 to 40 feet in the air. Tarzan would not have done the things we did.
In the winter, we skated on the crick. We would grab some tree branches and make hockey sticks out of them and use a rock as a puck. And someone would always wind up going swimming, but that didn’t matter, as there was always a roaring bonfire to dry off by. To get home, if the streets were icy, we would grab onto a bumper of a moving car or truck and slide along. We called that skitching, and if it had been an Olympic event, Swarthmorewood would have brought home the gold.
Summers were the best, as we would get up in the morning and be gone until dinnertime. And no one worried or cared. We didn’t need any adults to make a day of it. Matter of fact, we kind of avoided adults altogether.
We would pool our money, go to the Martel’s Market, get a watermelon, a big bottle of soda and maybe some cake, and we would share it. Yep, we would all drink from the same bottle, making sure to tell the next guy to “watch the backwash”. And if we didn’t have any money we could go to Joe DiMatteo’s Hoagie Shop, order whatever we wanted, and Joe would put it on our tab.
We rode bikes without helmets. We climbed the walls of Indian Ledge and the quarry that towered 50 feet without nets or safety lines. We made up games, like muckle, chink, wall ball, long ball, wire ball, buck-buck, hide-the-belt, flinch, and knuckles. Bruises and blood were normal every day occurrences.
Once a week we would play the board game Risk. I don’t think a game was ever completed without an argument, fistfight and a bloody nose or two. And the next day the combatants would be teammates in a speed ball game.
We rode in cars, in the front seat, without seat belts. The baseball and football teams would be transported to the away games in pickup trucks, with about a dozen kids in the back and a couple hanging off the open tailgate.
When we got into our teens, it was time to venture out. The 109 bus ran from Chester to Upper Darby. The Bazaar of All Nations, Flagg Brothers Shoes, and the Upper Darby Depot were good spots for an adventure or two. And we hardly ever took the bus. While waiting, we would stick out our thumbs and accept a ride from anyone willing to pick us up. We called that “hitchhiking”.
And there was the mosquito man, who drove a truck that spewed noxious gas clouds
throughout the neighborhood. Instead
of running inside and closing all the doors and windows, every neighborhood kid
would come out and run behind the truck for blocks, totally immersed in the
chemically poisonous fumes.
Yes, we were lucky, as most of us survived. It seems that freedom and imaginations of kids being kids always overpowered the forces of doom and evil. Like I said, it was a long time ago.
john@ominski.com
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