We Had Our “Gold” Moments!

           We didn’t have to wait four years between our Winter Olympic Games. If it snowed a little and got cold, we were in business! We didn’t have to worry about those annoying time trials, re-icing machines, invasive steroid checks, who got to walk in with the flag or where we were going to put the delegation from Kyrgyzstan. We didn’t have to schedule around tv time-outs or questionable calls from Russian judges.

           If we lived through our “Olympic Games” we declared ourselves the winner!

           Ice Chunking was a great event. We’d take a steel rebar and break off pieces of ice that had frozen over Mr. Archie Moore’s pond. We’d then throw them as far across the glazed over pond as we could. If yours went the furthest, you won. This game took a minimum of rules. We didn’t need any electric timed measuring devices. Or a gaggle of impartial judges. Or giant scoreboards. If two chunks were fairly close to the same distance one of the older boys declared a winner. If it seemed right, you went back to the bank and someone else threw. If it didn’t seem like a good decision, we moved into another game. This one was called Ice Boxing. And you fought until someone was bleeding or one of the contestants fell through the hole chopped in the ice by the rebar.

           Bobsledding was another favorite. The big hill over on Forrest Avenue down from Ricky Hale’s house was the best venue we had. Any kind of cold spell and some form of precipitation would ice that thing over in a heartbeat. The rules were about the same as in Ice Chunking. We’d put Ricky, John Ingram, Yogi or Squeaky on the sled and give’em a shove. One of the first things you learned in life is there are no brakes on those Flexible Western Flyer sleds. You’d soar down Forrest, sail across Main Street and slam full force into the curb. The sudden stop of the sled would hurl you headlong across the lawn that had the small mimosa trees and the high hedge up by the front steps. Buddy Wiggleton would be down there with a measuring tape and a score card. He also judged the landing by yelling out “six” or “eight point two” as the contestant slammed to earth!

           Yogi made it all the way to the second hedge one cold, frosty morning. That leap is the one we measured all the others by for years to come. It was an all time Olympic record! And I think Yogi, after he came to and got the bleeding stopped, was right proud of it.

           After the single sprints, we’d all squeeze together for a group run. About half way down someone would mention that since all of us were riding the sled, no one was down at the bottom on Main, watching out for cars. We just had to pray Mr. Joe Chadwick wasn’t going home for lunch in his big heating oil truck.

           Dodging vehicles at forty-six miles an hour added a whole new dimension to the games.

           The barefoot run started over on West Cherry in front of Bobby Brewer’s house. We had to catch the snow just right for this one. A light snow and you were just slipping and sliding. Six or seven inches and you couldn’t get no where. But two, maybe three inches was perfect! Again the rules were blatantly simple. We all lined up across the street, the oldest guy counted to three, and we took off toward Bethel College. The prize didn’t always go to the fastest runner or the tallest contestant like you might think. There was a technique to high stepping barefooted through the snow. And if you guessed right on which side of the road the snow might be a little less thick, you, naturally, had a leg up on the competition. It was about as much fun as you could have in an Olympic Winter Game……until you realized you were way over by the college…..and your shoes were waaaay baaaack at Brewer’s house!

1.            The Snow Ball Fights were interesting. You might not think of them as an Olympic contest but you’d be surprised. Each entrant would build a whole arsenal of snowballs. Packing a rock in the center gave them more weight, let you throw a smaller, tighter ball thus increasing velocity and accuracy…..and caused more swelling on contact! It took strength, patience and skill to run between houses and over hill and dell with an arm load of those things, ready to duck or fire at a moments notice. It brought out the best in all the athletics. And the winner was easy to determine. He was the one with the fewest welts!               
2.            The most challenging event was Automobile Hood Skiing. We didn’t call any parents down to stand beside the road as observers on this one. We’d get an old car hood. A ’55 or ’56 Chevrolet worked best. We flipped it upside down, tied one end of a heavy duty forty foot rope through the hole where the hood ornament formerly roosted, looped the other around the ball hitch on Mr. Luther Purvis’s old truck and aawwwaaaaaay we went!          

           Nicky Joe, who for some unfathomable reason Mr. Luther trusted with his pick-up, would take that first curve down in front of Aunt Jessie’s house on two wheels and that sled became a missile! I’ve seen bodies strewn from George Sexton’s house all the way out to Max Manley’s! By the time Nick hit high gear that hood was flying across the road, both side ditches, snow covered corn fields, front side walks and terrain where angels feared to tread! If you were still hanging on….it was the ride of a lifetime! The winner didn’t get no crowns, medals or flowers. There was no podium and no National Anthem. But he did get to walk away on his own two feet.

           And, as most any of the old gang will tell you, that’s a pretty good victory!

              Respectfully,

                   Kes