A block east of our home on Van Norman was a family that in my finals years of living in Cudahy became a great place to hang out. There was always exciting things to keep us entertained.
As I write these blog posts it's interesting to note how many of the families were large. I mean we probably won the award for most teenagers in one home, but very few of my friends were only children or had less than 2 siblings.
Good Catholics one and all.
I also didn't realize how many families lived in a single story ranch, like I do today. The homes in Cudahy could house 20 people comfortably. The yards may not have been large, but there were parks and schoolyards for that - and the dump.
The St. Francis dump was not all that far from our home and really close to the Black Bear soda depot. Although I was no stranger to the dump or the valuable items people threw away (I mean, just because the Pabst Bear was losing its stuffing was no reason for it to have a fate of the dump).
I was introduced to the treasure that the dump held by my friends Kelly and Kevin. All the kids in their family had names that started with 'K'. Being a parent now I can only imagine their mom chugging through all the names until she yelled the correct one.
We were at the dump one day trying to find materials to make slingshots out of when Kelly pointed out that someone had thrown away a soda bottle. She had noticed it glittering in the sunshine. We started to look around and found another, and another. It wasn't too long before we had found enough to go to Black Bear and trade them in for cash.
Money we in turn went to Ola's and bought - yup - soda. Treasure hunting is thirsty business!
We headed back to the Goad ranch. I called it that because of the split rail fence that went around the yard. truly, if I didn't know better I would have guessed it was a home that had belonged to a rancher in Cudahy, well before all the other homes were built.
Sitting around the yard on various tree stumps, rocks and lawn furniture we fashioned our Sling shots. Then after grabbing a hand full of willow branches and swinging on them "Tarzan" style, we began our war. The ammunition of choice was the orange berries that hung off the American mountain ash trees in the yard. Our sling shots were not all that accurate, but when you connected you knew it! Not only from the red mark it left on your bare arm, but also the orange splat on your clothes.
I'm sure our parents loved trying to get those stains out and wondered were they came from, but as far as my mom was concerned she didn't care as long as I wasn't hanging out around our house.
At one point - it could have been that day or a different one, we ended up finding an honest to goodness BB gun. We took turns shooting it at each other. I still have the pellet whole on my knee from one that connected with me.
Well wouldn't you know it, we ended up hitting an innocent bystander who ran home and had his parents call the police.
It's a good thing laws and police were different back then. Yes, the police did come to the house, and yes the Goad's mom had to go through the enter list of K names to find the guilty party, and yes we did have to surrender the BB gun - but we lived to see another day without too much punishment.
So back to the dump we went. This time we were in search of wheels. We had decided to build a go-kart to go down the hill on Allerton Avenue. Yes - that hill - the same one that almost did me in on my bicycle. Still hadn't learned my lesson.
We lucked out and found some roller skates and buggy wheels. We also scored a seat and a few boards that could be the start of the frame.
Kelly had some more old wood in the ranch's garage and we spent the better part of the weekend pounding and sawing until we had a pretty decent ride.
We added the wheels, securing them with about 2 million nails. Now we needed to paint the kart. Plain wood is never good enough when you are making a top notch go-kart.
I ran home and found some blue paint on my fathers workbench in the basement. I also found some spray paint that came close to the same color.
Back in the race-car pit we all went to work turning our kart blue. Nope - no brushes, had to use our hands (just like in the record). I'm not sure what ended up with more paint on it, the go-kart or the builders.
I somehow managed to get a big splat of it in my hair. Nowadays that would be trendy but back in 1970's Cudahy it wasn't. Especially when you had church the next day. I would cut it out of my hair later that night before anyone saw it. Funny how no one in the family asked me about the lack of hair on the back of my head. I guess in a family that big some things get missed.
Sunday after church the paint was dried and we headed up Allerton hill to test drive our kart. It dawns on me now that none of us cared that we only had a rope to steer it with, or that cars may be driving up the hill. Brakes? Who needs them? When you're a kid those trivial things don't matter.
Kevin was the first driver. A couple of us lined up behind him and gave it a push.
Down the hill it went and we ran after it as sort of human bumpers. He made it safely to the end of the block then headed with the kart back up the hill. We each took turns and one by one drove the kart to the bottom of the hill until one of the roller skates gave in. Even two million nails weren't strong enough.
We each picked up a side, talking and laughing of each other's trip down the hill as we carried it back to it's origin.
The dump.
Looking around we knew we would return to our own treasure island many times in the days and months ahead.
The area has been covered over and is now part of the St. Francis park system. I know it wasn't a safe playground, but I feel sorry for the kids that will never know the joy of going on a treasure hunt in their own back yard.
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