My sister Kate the great historian of Wheeling, West Virginia asked me to write something about growing up in Woodsdale. Woodsdale was the suburb in Wheeling where Lord Kadizzle mastered the art of insanity.
MyLife as a young person in Woodsdale seems as far away as Jupiter. The things that happened in Woodsdale seem like remembering tribal rituals from another planet. Young people on the planet Woodsdale were incessant explorers always seeking the unknown. The unknown was everywhere. The United States has NASA, but Woodsdale had WASA, Woodsdale Aliens Seeking Adventure. The fartherst reach of the galaxy from Poplar Avenue was somewhere in the extreme envirionment of Stratford Hill. WASA idiotornots well equipped with all the left over World War Two material that could be found in atticts in the neighborhood. The young explorers would head to the hill with bayonets, canteens, and machettes strapped to their sides. Big Rock was the first major find outside the terrestial limits of the paved streets. I can remeber sitting on the rock eating what was then space food, penut butter and jelly sandwitches. Sitting on the rock the young explorers talked about how the chief of the Stratford Indians used to sit on the rock with the tribe below him and make great proclimations. Such as "All Indians must be home before Dark".
As we got older we pushed the limit of the known universe clear to the old cistern that was part of the original Stratford Hill Hotel. One night when we were older we actually slept in that cistern and shot mice all night with a BB gun.
Back in the settled part of the universe the idiotornots explored every known nook and crany of the old houses in the neighborhood. Inevitably the small band of boys nested. The nest were under porches. Each of the old houses had a little door somewhere that allowed access under the porch. Who ever built the house must have know that at some point young boys would need a place to smoke cigars, look at Playboy Magazine, and plot to get into trouble. The person who built the porches did not proveid for lighting, so candles were the main source of light. By some miricale we never burnt a house down. Sorry to say that the meeting places were well stocked with cigars and cigarettes provided courtesy of the Drug Store. A certian member of the gang who will not be named had no hesitation to relieve "Doc Hanger" of all the cigars we needed. I remember refering to the old pharmacist as "Doc Hanger" because either Doc or the custormer would always greet one another by saying "How's it hanging?". Judging by the amount of smoking we did it is amazing no one had cancer by age twelve.
I am sure my father must have know what was going on under our back porch. One day I can remember sitting under the porch smoking when the kitchen door opened. My father stepped outside to give a soliliquy. His words were " It sure smells smokey out here, some day I will have to look and see where all that smoke is coming from". We all felt like we had been shot at and missed.
If there was a hole we went in it. If there was a culvert or a tunner we went thru it. If there was a tree we went up it. Climbing on the roof didn't bother us a bit. We ruined a lot of expensive slate roofs. The drop from the gutters on our roof to the ground was about thirty feet. One day sitting near the peak of the roof on our house the piece of slate I was sitting on came loose and like a sled propelled me down to the gutter. With certiantity I thought I was going over. By a mirical I managed to stop myself in the old fashing wide gutter. If it had been a modern home I would be a foot shorter to this day, or have my head peaking out a small hole in my blue jeans.
One of the earliest lessons I learned was with Steven Leibold. Steven and I had heard what fun kids were having breaking windows down at the old skating rink where Elby's is now built. The building was going to be torn down for the interstate so kid seemed to think it was harmless to throw stones thru the windows. Steve and I rode our bikes down to the big old building and started tossing stones. We had hardly broken a window when a pickup truck pulled out from behind the building and came at us at very high speed, seeming with the intention of running us over. The guy was going so fast that he missed us and turned to come back. Somehow we started peddling faster than I knew a bike could go. We headed under the railroad passageway and immediately ducked into the bushes. The truck went screaming by shortly after that. As I young person it left a lasting impression on my of "What could possibly go wrong". Ever there after I always asked myself that question before committing some act that had the potential for exploding. Incedently I have spent my life in the field of Safety Management. This was indeed the creed I have always tried to instill in the simple minded.
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