Yesterday I drove out to Cherry Creek State Park. I love taking that drive through neighborhoods and back roads. In doing so I go by a number of schools. Quite a few grade schools, a middle school and one high school. All of them had signs celebrating the last day of school. On my return I was given the treat of watching kids pour out of a grade school where joy filled the air. I was transported back to that incredible feeling of freedom. Three months of swimming pools, bike riding, playing until dark, and in my home growing up, one hour of nap time—boo!
I remember clearly singing “School’s out, school’s out, teacher let the mules out. No more pencils, no more books, no more teacher’s dirty looks”. Our family was blessed with the Belmont Club. It was pretty much just a swimming pool and snack bar. I can’t imagine what it was like for the adults who were in charge. There were hundreds of kids who would show up. The baby boom was a real thing. On my block on Alexander Circle there were 38 homes. At one time there were 93 kids living in those homes. Families of four to six were the norm. I can remember two homes who had only one child. There was also one house where three women who were called “The Teachers”, lived. They were good sports about the noise and chaos.
Most every night the street was filled with whiffle ball, games of hide and seek, frisbees, bike races, ramps, and yes, fireworks. (I was in charge of fireworks). Darkness was our clock. Often we would try to stretch that out, but one by one you could hear parents whistle, or call or flash the porch lights. June, July and August—they were filled with the promise of unfettered goofing around.
Then the summer of 1964 came. My dad explained to me that I was going to work all summer long at the family business. I was not given a choice. It was hard work. I got on my bicycle at 6:30 in the morning and rode the five miles to First and Greenwood. I would tell you then that I hated it. In reality, I learned a whole lot and made enough money that when I turned 16, I had enough money to buy a 1963 Chevy Super Sport Impala convertible. I drove it for two years and when I sold it in 1967 I had enough money to pay for my first year of college. If you want details on my misery, you can go back in my blog.
This is Memorial Day weekend. We plan to go to Ft Logan National Cemetery where there is a grave that contains urns of Pat and Bill Pumphrey. I know they are not there, but their memories remain. They made life fun. When I came home from the last day of school my summer would be full of experiences. There was no sitting around watching TV. We were never bored. Whether it was camping trips, drive—in movies or mowing the lawn, life was good.
August would finally roll around and in Pueblo that meant the State Fair. And the truth be known, I couldn’t wait to go back to school for another year.
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 