Author Archives: Streetplay Discussions

Behind Wilson High School…

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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.

For my tenth birthday, in…

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For my tenth birthday, in 1946, my parents surprised me with the best gift of my life, a second-hand bicycle which my older brother had painted bright yellow with red racing stripes. It enabled me to graduate from my well-worn roller skates and to travel beyond the sidewalks. My world had expanded! This priceless bike had no gears or manual brakes, but, with that bike I could join the older kids who would gather at dusk and play hide and go seek …in and out of the alleys that cut through our neighborhood, behind Wilson High in Washington, DC. Open garages were safe spots to hide back then. One summer we made the game a bit more interesting by taking a piece of chalk along and leaving a trail of arrows on sidewalks, trees, and telephone poles… as clues to be followed. An “X” marked the final hiding area, and the game was over when it was too dark to play. A few years later my bike was stolen one night from our garage, and it wasn’t until I bought myself another bike after many years had passed, that I realized once again the joy a bicycle can be….and still is.

His name was Ira Stevens….

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His name was Ira Stevens. He was tall and shy, towering over me, and it was the 50’s. I lived on Montgomery Street and then on East 18th in Flatbush – a Brooklynite. His only problem was that he had a stutter, but I never viewed that as a problem. Perhaps my mother did, and he went off to the Korean war – and I waited for letters from him, which never arrived. Then my mother told me years later that he had written, but she’d destroyed the letter. I think it was the most hurtful thing she ever did to me, if not to him.

We also made phony phone…

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We also made phony phone calls. Unfortunately, We made one too many, stayed on too long, and our phone call was traced! Of course, the calls were made from MY house … Now, when girls call my son pretending to be someone else, I just look at that ole caller ID and tell my son to let those callers know he’s on to them!

In the East End of London,…

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In the East End of London, we called it Conkers too. Conkers were the fruit of the Horse Chestnut tree came out in the fall. We’d throw branches into the trees to get them to drop. They were green prickly things, which when you opened up you’d find a big brown acorn type of nut. You’d skew a hole through the center and tie a knot to create the conker on a string. We’d have battles with our conkers. You’d go to school with them and play in the playground. One guy would hold his conker up and the other guy would whip his over and try to break the oppnent’s. Whoever’s conker lasted was the winner. Everybody had different ways to make their conkers stronger. Some people would soak their’s in vinegar, others would bake them in an oven. If you had a really good one you’d give it a name to reresent each of it’s victories. (this is a sixer – meaning it had defeated 6 other conkers – this is a twelver – it had beaten twelve).

We had a creek at the end…

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We had a creek at the end of our yard, beyond it was farmland. We’d go down and try to follow it and downstream to see where it went. We’d always be building dams trying to stop it or flood some area. When it rained, the creek would come up the yard. Then we’d have a little lake that we could wade in with our boots and our bathing suits.

I remember getting together…

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I remember getting together with my sisters and a couple of our girlfriends from the neighborhood and going down into our basement to play. We’d set up the canned goods that my parents kept down there to play store, stocking, arranging, buying and selling. It was like playing house and setting up our little fantasy world. Nobody came downstairs and it was cooler down there on those hot days in Virginia (right outside of DC).

We hit the phony phone call…

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We hit the phony phone call stage at about age 10. Nothing nasty… just stuff like calling the same number repeatedly, asking for Jane or Mary. Then someone would call and say, “Hi. This is Mary. Were there any messages for me? I gave your number out by mistake.” I guess the big thrill was to see how angry we could make the person. But I was always afraid our calls would be traced.