Behind Wilson High School in WAshington, DC there used to be a huge field where the neighborhood boys would gather for a game of baseball in the Summers. Mom must have asked my two big brothers to keep an eye on their little sister, because I remember them consenting to “let me play..” by backing up the kid who backed up the catcher. If the baseball made it by all of us, it was sure to roll across Nebraska Ave, into the SEWER! The reovery procedure required the use of a belt from one of the guys. It was guided into the sewey cover holes, and the cover was carefully raised.
Then it was my turn to “play.” Guess who got to be hung upside down into the hole..to pluck the baseball out of the muck. Uck! I can still remember that odor. At least they made me feel like a hero, and I soon found that picking the butterflys off of my mother’s prize zinnias with another “little sister” was much more to my liking.