Jumping From The Republican River Bridge

Most of us started at a young age, I know I did. Long, hot, summer afternoons at the swim pool were great in early June, but energetic, thrill-seeking boys are easily bored. The rush of the high diving board could only take you so far, the taste for adventure would quickly creep into the pit of your stomach, begging to be slaked. It usually just took one of us to get the ball rolling, "Let's go swimming at the river." We were off. We jumped on our trusty 20 inch two-wheelers, Huffy's if Cliff Caldwell was your man, Hiawatha's if you were a Nate Guy, well, guy, and south to the river we pedaled. The jump wasn't the adventure, it was the landing. The hole you had to hit wasn't very big, about the size of a car tire, and you had to avoid some huge chunks of submerged concrete left from the previous bridge. Now, we didn't just pedal up climb over the rail and leap. We worked our way into it. Jumping off the rocks at water level we would swim around, play in the current, make our way to the middle of the river, where it was always shallow on the sand bar there. Finally someone would mention jumping, and one or two of us would run back up the road, and all the way down the bridge until we were above the river. Over the railing and down to the big steel girders. Sometimes jumping off the bridge was a two man job. One in the water, marking the landing spot. One on the bridge doing the jumping. The guy in the water would start upstream a ways and then come down through the current with his hands above his head. The spot where that guys hands disappeared, that was the landing spot. I know there were kids who wouldn't jump, but I don't recall who they were. I know I jumped. Many times. One day I came home from spending the day at the lake. My mom broke the news to me, "Rick Hansen got killed jumping from the river bridge." I don't remember her next sentence. Knowing my my mom a fair guess would be, "I don't want to ever hear of you jumping off that bridge again." We did. We slowed down for a while. Rick's death caused a heightened awareness of the dangers involved. Many of us were forbidden by our parents to even swim in the river, and a few who were not already scared of jumping, were now a little spooked. I kept jumping. We even had an encounter with the Sheriff. The summer after Rick drown someone reported to the sheriff some kids were jumping off the bridge. He showed up lights flashing and proceeded to give us an ass chewing, told us he didn't ever want to hear of us jumping off that bridge again, and sent us on our way. We left, but we came back. Again and again we came back. I wonder if anyone still jumps off that bridge?

Nicknames

It seemed like everyone had a nickname in Red Cloud. I couldn't think of a better thing to write a poem about.


Nicknames galore in my hometown
from old men down to young tykes
there was Tater Istas and Peachy Pear
Boodle, Brick Stokes, Cricket Reicks.

Big Ed Wiggins old Red Spencer
and Stub Gleason could produce a grin
The Copley brothers Scoop and Speck
and the McCormicks Fats and Skin.

Spider and Puck, Hippie and Hoss
The Feltons Fats, Fattles, and Ace
The Pierces Gooch, Pizzer, Bag, and Sac
Hambones, Horse Dick, and Horse Face.

Coon Pickle had a name unique and obscure
Chongo, Marrow, and Thorley
Big Small, Bubba, Drunt, and Peads
some gained by fun others a little more sorely.

Some guys in town I've known my whole life
and never used their parent-given name
So Chico, Gome, Snicker, and Huck
to me you're always the same.

I Am Back

I took some time off from blogging over the last few months. I wish I could tell you I published a book, or even wrote one, but neither is true. I have been rewriting, revising, rewriting, revising on a book I thought I finished a long time ago, but I think I will never be done with it. There will be several new posts coming at you in the next few days, weeks, and months so read and enjoy.

Bill Crawford Had Applesauce and Blood Running Out of His Nose

Like you have heard me say before, I always do the writing assignments I give my students. It gives them an example of what their final product should look like, and more importantly they see me as a writer. Poetry can be a killer for 8th graders, the boys especially. Today we wrote Cascade Poems. These poems follow a simple order. There are four three-line verses. The first line of the first verse is also the last line of the second verse. The second line of the first verse is the last line of thet hird verse. The third line of the first verse is the last line of the last verse. Simple, hug. So, today after reading an article about safety issues with hot dogs, and the alarming number of kids who choke on them (now think about some of the comments you get from 8th graders when talking about choking on hot dogs) we wrote some cascade poetry about lunch. They could write about what they eat, what they do during lunch, a favorite lunch, a memorable lunch, etc. etc. Here is one of my Efforts.


It was the grossest thing I’d ever seen
Bill Crawford had applesauce and blood running out of his nose
I have not eaten applesauce since that day

My mom said sit down and eat, your lunch is ready
Bill shoveled in the applesauce so fast it ran out his nose
It was the grossest thing I’d ever seen.

That is sick I cried and ran to the bathroom
I puked and puked as I thought about it
Bill Crawford had applesauce and blood running out of his nose.

I recovered enough to return to the kitchen
Bill was still sitting there drinking milk with blood on his chin
I have not eaten applesauce since that day.

Hansel and Gretel

In class we started a fun new unit. We are putting kids in situations where they have to look at both sides of an issue, pick one side, and defend it. Hansel and Gretel was a great opening for this unit. The kids had to pick either Gretel's side or the witch's side and defend it in a five paragraph essay. As always I wrote along with the kids. So...Here it is.

At what point is enough enough? Home ownership and taking pride in your property is an ideal we all feel strongly about. If property owners are not allowed to protect their homes in any manner they see fit we will at some point be living in total chaos. In the story Hansel and Gretel the Witch was perfectly justified in keeping the little miscreants captive.
Hansel and Gretel were openly and willingly trespassing on the witch’s property. It is true they were lost and starving, but they did not even knock on the door. They didn’t look around and ask for help, they immediately began vandalizing the witch’s house. The witch was only doing what she felt she needed to do to protect her property.
The witch provided food and shelter willingly to the children. When she caught them vandalizing her house she did not yell or scream at them, she took them inside and fed them and gave them a soft bed to sleep in. Gretel herself said Hansel was given all the food he could eat. This hardly seems to be wrong.
The witch allowed the children to work off their damages. She could have very easily called the sherrif, taken the kids to court or turned them away. She allowed Gretel to work, to help pay for the damages. The witch was old after all, she could not do the work herself.
I am the last person to advocate child abuse. Locking kids up and keeping them against their will should never be acceptable. The witch was doing none of these. She was an old lady whose house was vandalized. She was providing shelter to some lost and lonely kids. That was hardly a reason to get shoved violently into an open fire.

A Boy Named Osama-A Man Named Adolph

Sometimes people are just ignorant. Sad to say that means all people, including me. My wife told me about a lady she works with. Not a close friend, just a colleague. This somewhat fastidious woman, and concerned mother, was upset her child had to read a story about a boy named Osama in school. Definitely a tough name to have in this day and age, and your heart has to go out to the kid. I did a little research and tried to find out what I could. The child is an Islamic kid attending school in New York. The constant harassment he received over his name left him severely traumatized and led to a botched (if you could ever call an unsuccessful suicide attempt a failure) suicide attempt and a transfer to a school for traumatized students. I guess it figures students would be pretty cruel to a kid named Osama. After all kids are by nature quick to jump all over strange names, and man can they be hateful. Osama, however, wasn’t bullied by other students, far from it. In his own words he described his classmates as being very supportive. No, Osama was bullied by teachers. Teachers, just like me. He was told he would never pass no matter what he did, he put up with comments like, “Oh Osama you’re here, and I thought you were hiding in a cave somewhere. The school principal went so far as to tell Osama, a Nigerian-born Muslim, he would be better off in an Islamic school. This went on for over two years and led to the eventual suicide attempt. In his new school Osama prefers to be called Sam, but will revert back to his given name when he reaches 18.
Where do my stupidity and a man named Adolph figure into this? As unpopular as the name Osama has to be for people carrying that moniker through life in this day and age, Adolph was equally hated in the post-war years. You know which war I’m talking about, the last one we won. As a child my neighbor across 4th avenue from us was named Adolph Lucas. Mr. Lucas I’m sure was a nice man. He never missed mass, always shoveled his walks, and his wife Mary was quick to share a freshly baked cookie. None of this mattered to Don and I. We were shitty to Adolph Lucas. We would see him get home from his job with the county roads department, park his pickup in his driveway, and make his slow purposeful stroll up the sidewalk to his front porch. Don and I would hide behind the bushes and yell terrible things at Mr. Lucas. You can imagine, especially if you know Don, what we yelled. The name Hitler or worse yet Heil Hitler, Nazi and a number of other equally insulting barbs were constantly hurled. Think about how cruel this must have seemed to Adolph Lucas. Imagine what he must have been thinking as he took communion and there stood Don and I as alter boys in our cassocks, doing the work of the Lord. My guess is he wasn’t mad, he didn’t consider suicide, and he wasn’t looking to sue anyone. My guess is he felt sorry for us.

I See This Kid

I See This Kid

I see this kid in front of the building
Pants way too baggy
The crotch at his knees.
A cap
Bill pointing straight to the side
Laughing, holding a skateboard
Waiting for the bell to ring.

I see this kid in the hallway
Her hair is pink, and orange, and maybe green
Big buckles, chains, adorn her
Baggy pants
Laughing and walking
With a friend

I see this kid in class
Polo shirt, shorts, flip flops
A hemp choker around his neck
Writing a poem, doing his work

Who are these kids?
What will they become?
My guess is..
Parents, teachers
And
Maybe engineers.