As I was listening to NPR the other day, some guy was reminiscing about Flexible Flyers. That brought back memories and reminded me how things have changed. It seems to me that kids' recreation these days is over-organized, supervised, monitored and evaluated by adults.
At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon, in the days of yore, we organized our own games, formed our own teams, and set up our own inter-grade school rivalries, totally without parental meddling. Our flirtation with electronic gadgetry was turning on the radio and tuning into Superman, Captain Midnight, Tom Mix, and the Lone Ranger. Our imaginations did the rest. How quaint.
In winter, our recreation centered around sledding. These days, I see kids sliding down hills on plastic mats and tubes, but that's not real sledding. I'm thinking about the old wooden sleds with thin steel runners. These sleds had a cross bar in front used for steering the thin flexible red steel runners. When one end of the cross bar was pushed and the other pulled, it would turn the sled. A rope was tied to a hole on each side of the cross bar and used to pull the empty sled back up the hill. Childhood obesity? Wasn't an issue.
The Flexible Flyer was the Cadillac of the sleds. We affectionately called it the "Flexie." It was faster and steered better than other sleds.
You couldn't go sledding on just any winter day - conditions had to be just right. In addition to a suitable hill, the snow had to have a hard surface that would support the narrow runners. At the old North School on the northwest corner of 15th Avenue and 9th Street, we had the best hill of any of Monroe's several grade schools. With the kids tromping on a new snowfall, the snow was soon packed enough that it was good for sledding.
There was only one way to do it right. You placed the rope carefully on the wooden top so that you wouldn't trip on it, and it wouldn't catch under the runners. Then you picked up the sled, holding it at your side, then run as fast as you could for a few yards, slam it down, and flop on top of it. That technique would give you good momentum for a fast ride down the hill.
At the old North School, the momentum would take us past the playground and into the back yards and gardens of the residents on the bottom of the hill along 15th Avenue. I don't recall any of the neighbors complaining about it. Why would they? They weren't raising carrots and spinach in the winter anyway.
We competed to see who could get farthest down the hill and set the record. I recall one winter recess when Kenny Norder and his Flexie got far enough beyond the blazed trail that his Flexie crashed through an opening in some kind of chicken wire enclosure, knocking loose a 2-by-4 at the bottom of that gate.
It was only natural that Kenny set the record. He was the smallest guy in our class, but the most natural athlete. Classmate Wally Marty, grandson of cheese baron and local artist Carl Marty, tells of the time when he and Kenny were walking in front of the Arabut Ludlow Library just across the street from the North School. Kenny told Wally that he could throw a snowball all the way over the tree. Kenny proceeded to demonstrate, heaving a snowball with his powerful left arm. It sailed over the tree and descended across the street just as Hans Masshardt was walking down the school steps, and hit Hans squarely in the mouth.
In tribute to Kenny's powerful left arm and accuracy, Hans was convinced that Kenny did it on purpose. Kenny had a tough time persuading Hans it was just an accident.
Did Wally exaggerate Kenny's achievement - just a little bit? Definitely not. A few years later, the 5-foot-6, 140-pound teenager got a tryout with the Milwaukee Braves. But the Braves were more interested in bigger guys who could hit 300-foot line drive outs than in little guys who hit singles. So sadly, Kenny didn't get a contract. But his roommate at that camp did.
Kenny's roommate at baseball camp? It was Bob Uecker, who was to play six years in the majors, but gain more fame as sportscaster, comedian, and actor than for his less-than-stellar baseball record that he turned into his shtick. Uecker, who set a dubious record for passed balls for a catcher, and with a lifetime batting average of .200, once hit a rare home run off future hall of famer, Sandy Koufax, no less. Uecker claims he figured that would keep Koufax out of the Hall of Fame. But that's another story, and I digress.
Years after Kenny set that record with his Flexie, the old North School, along with Monroe's other public elementary schools, the East, the South, and the Lincoln, met its demise - all replaced by more modern, if less charming structures. The Guerin Chiropractic Clinic now graces the site of the old North School. An apartment complex occupies the hill that was our playground.
I have often wondered who made the last sled run down that hill on which so many of us spent our recess and unsupervised playtime. Surely, the current occupants of that apartment complex along 15th Avenue must mysteriously hear kids' voices in the night, and the distinctive sound of steel runners racing across the crusted snow - perhaps even awaken to apparitions - ghosts of kids returning to the site of their youth for another sledding run, attempting to break Kenny's record.
Records are made and broken every day. But Kenny's record, set on his Flexie on that winter day long ago, will stand forever.
- John Waelti's column appears in the Times every Friday. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon, in the days of yore, we organized our own games, formed our own teams, and set up our own inter-grade school rivalries, totally without parental meddling. Our flirtation with electronic gadgetry was turning on the radio and tuning into Superman, Captain Midnight, Tom Mix, and the Lone Ranger. Our imaginations did the rest. How quaint.
In winter, our recreation centered around sledding. These days, I see kids sliding down hills on plastic mats and tubes, but that's not real sledding. I'm thinking about the old wooden sleds with thin steel runners. These sleds had a cross bar in front used for steering the thin flexible red steel runners. When one end of the cross bar was pushed and the other pulled, it would turn the sled. A rope was tied to a hole on each side of the cross bar and used to pull the empty sled back up the hill. Childhood obesity? Wasn't an issue.
The Flexible Flyer was the Cadillac of the sleds. We affectionately called it the "Flexie." It was faster and steered better than other sleds.
You couldn't go sledding on just any winter day - conditions had to be just right. In addition to a suitable hill, the snow had to have a hard surface that would support the narrow runners. At the old North School on the northwest corner of 15th Avenue and 9th Street, we had the best hill of any of Monroe's several grade schools. With the kids tromping on a new snowfall, the snow was soon packed enough that it was good for sledding.
There was only one way to do it right. You placed the rope carefully on the wooden top so that you wouldn't trip on it, and it wouldn't catch under the runners. Then you picked up the sled, holding it at your side, then run as fast as you could for a few yards, slam it down, and flop on top of it. That technique would give you good momentum for a fast ride down the hill.
At the old North School, the momentum would take us past the playground and into the back yards and gardens of the residents on the bottom of the hill along 15th Avenue. I don't recall any of the neighbors complaining about it. Why would they? They weren't raising carrots and spinach in the winter anyway.
We competed to see who could get farthest down the hill and set the record. I recall one winter recess when Kenny Norder and his Flexie got far enough beyond the blazed trail that his Flexie crashed through an opening in some kind of chicken wire enclosure, knocking loose a 2-by-4 at the bottom of that gate.
It was only natural that Kenny set the record. He was the smallest guy in our class, but the most natural athlete. Classmate Wally Marty, grandson of cheese baron and local artist Carl Marty, tells of the time when he and Kenny were walking in front of the Arabut Ludlow Library just across the street from the North School. Kenny told Wally that he could throw a snowball all the way over the tree. Kenny proceeded to demonstrate, heaving a snowball with his powerful left arm. It sailed over the tree and descended across the street just as Hans Masshardt was walking down the school steps, and hit Hans squarely in the mouth.
In tribute to Kenny's powerful left arm and accuracy, Hans was convinced that Kenny did it on purpose. Kenny had a tough time persuading Hans it was just an accident.
Did Wally exaggerate Kenny's achievement - just a little bit? Definitely not. A few years later, the 5-foot-6, 140-pound teenager got a tryout with the Milwaukee Braves. But the Braves were more interested in bigger guys who could hit 300-foot line drive outs than in little guys who hit singles. So sadly, Kenny didn't get a contract. But his roommate at that camp did.
Kenny's roommate at baseball camp? It was Bob Uecker, who was to play six years in the majors, but gain more fame as sportscaster, comedian, and actor than for his less-than-stellar baseball record that he turned into his shtick. Uecker, who set a dubious record for passed balls for a catcher, and with a lifetime batting average of .200, once hit a rare home run off future hall of famer, Sandy Koufax, no less. Uecker claims he figured that would keep Koufax out of the Hall of Fame. But that's another story, and I digress.
Years after Kenny set that record with his Flexie, the old North School, along with Monroe's other public elementary schools, the East, the South, and the Lincoln, met its demise - all replaced by more modern, if less charming structures. The Guerin Chiropractic Clinic now graces the site of the old North School. An apartment complex occupies the hill that was our playground.
I have often wondered who made the last sled run down that hill on which so many of us spent our recess and unsupervised playtime. Surely, the current occupants of that apartment complex along 15th Avenue must mysteriously hear kids' voices in the night, and the distinctive sound of steel runners racing across the crusted snow - perhaps even awaken to apparitions - ghosts of kids returning to the site of their youth for another sledding run, attempting to break Kenny's record.
Records are made and broken every day. But Kenny's record, set on his Flexie on that winter day long ago, will stand forever.
- John Waelti's column appears in the Times every Friday. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
