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Confessions of growing up on the South Hill

September 15, 2018
In response to "Just a swingin’" by Mike Ashby

Ah, yes! Memories of growing up on the South Hill. I remember them well. Hopkin's devil swing was the initiation from boyhood into stupidhood. How about sledding on Stone's Hill?

We had a guy's only club in a tree house. Our male sanctity was ruined by Mary Lou King, who not only climbed up and into it, but she was the first to leap from it to the ground. Bike riding on Charlie O'Callaghan's uprooted cement sidewalk on Madison Street and living to tell about it.

How about sliding down the brushy embankment off of Adams Street in large cardboard boxes? Or sneaking down the hill at night and throwing rocks down at the bum's camp by the railroad tracks and not becoming a part of someone's hobo's stew. How about wading around C. D. Simond's water fountain in his "off limits" sunken garden chasing his goldfish?

It finally ended when he salted the pond with thumb tacks.

Or unscrewing the cap and sniffing gas from Davidson's farm fuel barrels on his loading platform. A few brain cells were sacrificed I'm sure. Ah yes! Growing up and surviving life on the South Hill.
Howard Kent
Bonners Ferry

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