My View from 1958

Circa: 1968

Johnson Run Creek provided several years of adventure and entertainment. The creek formed the Southern border of Sleppy Hollow, and I suspect it was a source of water for the Henry Fields Flower Farm and pond (see Part 1). My brother spent a few years trapping the creek. He would trap muskrats and mink, which back in those days furs would bring you a nice sum. He would sell the furs at Handlebar Jack’s located next to the Nishna Valley Café. He asked me to join him in his trapping adventures, but three things prevented this:

1. You had to get up early in the morning and I could never get my ass out of bed. 2. Trapping season was in the cold of winter, and I could not get my ass out of the warm bed. 3.Lazy; this was too much like work

My friend Tim Bartails and I cared so much for the creek that we wrote a letter to the mayor and city council about our concerns regarding all the concrete waste that had been dumped there over the years. I am not claiming I was the catalyst, but a few years later the city did in fact clean up the creek bed and removed a lot of the waste. Was I an environmentalist ahead of my time? A Thornberg of the 1960’s?

I suspect the newspaper my friend Tim and I published created an interest among my friends in regard to the exploration of the reek. Many of my childhood friends like Leonard Hickey, Rick Anderson (his grandparents lived just down the hill from me) Danny Clark, and Steve Emge all wanted to hang out and build dams and catch wild game. Seems like every day of the summer was spent with at least a few hours dedicated to playing in the creek.

I failed to mention a few other details about Tim in the last post. His dad was the minister at the Trinity Lutheran Church in Shenandoah. Having supper at his house was probably my first real experience at saying grace. I had to be on my best behavior when there. In fact, that family really had a heck of an influence on me. Both Tim and I decided for a while that we were going to be ministers. We published a religious newspaper (copied verses from the bible) and distributed it at no cost around the neighborhood.  Tim’s family gave me a copy of the New Testament which I actually read cover to cover……ok pick yourself up off the floor.  It was the children’s abridged version but I devoured it. Every weekend he stayed overnight at my house, or I stayed at his. His mom used to play classical music on the record player (LP) to make us go to sleep.  She even made us pray before bed. He moved away when his father was transferred to another town and church.  I saw him one more time a few years later. I was at the swimming pool and I guess his family was back in town visiting friends. He came by the pool to see me. I remember greeting him but having so little to say.  We both changed so much. I was more interested in girls (or at least looking at them) than in talking to him.  We parted strangers. Kinda sad as we were blood brothers for such a long time. We had so much in common, but time changes everything. I sometimes wonder what became of him. I suspect a minister somewhere, as he had very positive influences.

Anyway, back to the story.  Tim and I announced an upcoming exploration to find the source of the creek. Everything was planned; we had food, our BB guns and plenty of “ammo”, hatchet, pencil, and paper for maps….we were ready.  When the big day arrived, off we went, east up the creek. We finally came to what appeared to be  spring water gushing from the side of the creek bank. It was crystal clear and cold. We thought this was truly at least part of the head waters. We quenched our thirst and moved on. We kept saying that this was such a waste of good water, why is it being dumped in the creek?  We planned to return with buckets to collect the spring water and take it back home. Our parents would be proud!!   Later we would find out (my brother revealed how stupid we were) this was an underground drainage tile (pipe) used to remove excess water from the nearby corn field. The water we thought was pure was probably loaded with pesticides, herbicides various strains of bacteria and who knows what else.  No impact yet so I may have dodged a bullet.

Onward we went. The vegetation was getting thick as we went further upstream. The terrain was very rough. Large trees started to line the banks of the creek. It got darker as we progressed into the abyss. The water flow was also greatly reduced. We were getting tired, and hungry…..and then…..the water just disappeared. We were amazed and disappointed. There was no true source that we could find. It was farm field run off, tiles and worse. The discovery of the decade was a flop.  The only thing left to do was to stretch the truth and come up with some good stories about this adventure.  Now that this discovery was in the books, we needed something else new and exciting.  I can’t remember who came up with the idea, but “let’s shoot Perry Tinnell’s pigs with our BB guns” seemed to be a brilliant idea!  I have to believe only I could come up with this one.

The Pig Roundup

Perry had a run-down farm whose corn files (See Part 1) butted up against our backyard. A few acres, two old, dilapidated farmhouses, a chicken shed and of course a pig pen with small shelters.  Typically, in the fall he would release his pigs into the corn field so they could eat the corn that were dropped during harvest. In anticipation of this invasion of the pigs we built a small fort to protect humanity from this horde of wild animals. From behind the dirt walls, we would take pot shots at the pigs assess and listen to them squeal.

Perry was an older man, he seemed ancient, but I suspect he was in his 60’s with grey hair and whiskers. He always looked like he needed a shave. He typically wore a long sleeve flannel shirt and baggy pants. He drove a Ford tractor, I am going to guess a Model 8N just like the one below. Notice no cab, sunshade, or air conditioning. It was raw. Being exposed to the elements made him look raw and weathered. I had a paper route and delivered the nightly newspaper to him (the Evening Sentinel) so I got to see him face to face on several occasions. His wife was in a wheelchair. As I would later learn she contracted polio as a young woman. It used to scare the shit out of me to have to do my weekly paper route money collection at their house. I was terrified I would get polio. In fact, sometimes I would go weeks without collecting the money for the paper as I was terrified of the disease. Their house had a funny smell which only amplified my fear. Sometimes when I knocked on the door to collect she would roll up and answer. She always asked me to come in but I rarely did. Scared. I was a fool.

In the spring Perry would let his pigs graze in a nearby pasture. This is when we got our next big idea. We were going to chase the hogs and shoot them with our BB guns.  To add to the adventure, my dog Bullet joined the chase. He was a small rat terrier but full of pep and spunk. As a side note, he was later run over by the milkman’s truck. He loved to chase cars and trucks but got a bit too close one too many times. This same milkman ran over three of my dogs. It makes you wonder.

As we ran after the pigs, Bullet would sense a great adventure and he joined in. He would nip at their hind legs.  It seems like this became a daily routine. Pigs were in the pasture; we would grab our BB guns and take off for the chase with Bullet in tow. This went on for a while and to be honest we were lucky we didn’t kill one or two. Not with our guns but chasing them to death in the heat of the day. Where there were pigs, there were the sows as well. Big sows. That did not deter us, we chased them all. The sows sometime would nip back at Bullet but that made it even more exciting. We would have a herd of 10 to 12 pigs dashing from one side of the pasture to another. The great roundup!

The fun was soon to end as either a neighbor or Perry called mom and told her what we were up to. Needless to say, she put an end to the madness knowing a dead sow is going to cost us a lot of money to replace.

My View from Today

I was one lucky kid growing up in a small town. It provided adventure, a safe environment and plenty of friends who shared my imagination. This was all mixed with enough orneriness to keep the adrenaline flowing, but yet not cause any real harm. I don’t go back to Shenandoah much anymore. We moved to Illinois and have grandkids there and Arizona. That is our focus now. When we do go back, I typically take a drive around town; the house I grew up in, the parks I played in, the creek that provided hours and hours of entertainment. These places still pull at my memory. Sleepy Hollow is now a subdivision. Houses, concrete. No more corn fields, no pigs, no Perry, no Bullet. All memories, but they still bring a smile to my face and a warm feeling. These were really good days.