Free-Range Summers

I wrote the followoing article for a local family magazine several years ago. That magazine was short-lived, so I'm recycling the article: Free-Range Summers in the 1950s

In the 1950s when I was young, the term “free-range kids” wasn’t used, but that’s indeed what we were in my Williamson Road neighborhood. We played outside, we explored our neighborhood, and we entertained ourselves—especially in summer.

 

“No more pencils, no more books! No more teacher’s dirty looks!” my friends and I chanted in early June as we walked home from Huff Lane School on the last day. We’d be free of educational obligations for three whole months.

 

We didn’t go cold turkey (a term that hadn’t been thought of in those days). For a week in June, we usually attended Bible School—which was a little like school but without homework or tests. Although I wasn’t a member of Grace Methodist Church, my friend Martha was, so I went with her. I don't remember any parental involvement—we kids walked a few blocks to the corner of Floraland and Williamson where the church was, showed up, and were admitted to a class in an old house that used to be behind the church. After a morning of singing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” “Jesus Loves Me,” and other songs that everyone knew, we worked on craft projects, and had a snack—usually cookies and Kool-Aid. We were back home in time for lunch.

 

Sometimes we’d ride our bikes to Huff Lane School to play unsupervised on the playground. Usually we’d take a piece of wax paper to slick up the slide so we’d go down really fast. We’d swing as high as we dared, and then we’d climb on the monkey bars—which some called a jungle gym—without anyone to tell us how high we could climb or how long we could hang by our knees. During the school year, girls weren’t allowed to climb high because we wore dresses and boys might see our underpants. But wearing our shorts in summer allowed us to climb as high as we wanted. From the top, we could get a good view of the Huff Farm next door. I don’t remember anyone ever falling onto the asphalt below.

 

Our bikes gave us the freedom to explore, too. When we were six or seven, we usually ventured no more than two or three blocks from home. Most folks in that area knew who we were or where we belonged, so we could always stop for help if needed. Since few women went to work, housewives would be home to no doubt keep a watchful eye on us as we passed by. I don’t remember ever needing help, though. 

At eight or nine, we’d go farther. If we had a dime, we could ride the shady back streets to Hardies—a combination gas station/convenience store—on Williamson Road for a Coke or an ice cream bar. If we had any empty soft-drink bottles, we could turn them in for a refund. I think it was 2¢ a bottle. 

 

By the time we were ten, we’d ride to Evans Drug Store near the intersection of Hershberger Road and Williamson. Of course, Hershberger didn’t have nearly the traffic it does today, so it was easy to cross, and what would become Crossroads Mall was then a cow pasture. Evans Drug Store was my main source for comic books when I was ten, and a few years later my source for movie magazines. When I was twelve, I bought my first Revlon lipstick there.

 

We didn’t always ride bikes. On Saturdays we’d walk a mile along Williamson Road to the Lee Theater for the Kiddie Show which cost a quarter. The main movie was usually a western, but there was also a serial (usually Tarzan), and a couple of cartoons. I don’t remember any parents attending with their kids.

 

If we didn’t go to the Kiddie Show, we’d spend an entire Saturday morning watching TV because the shows were geared to kids. There were cartoons, but I’ve forgotten which ones. I remember Sky Kingwas a western with an airplane, and Furywas kind of a modern western about a boy and his horse. I loved horses, so I rarely missed a western. Rinky Dink and Youwas an interactive show, in which viewers could attach a plastic cover to the TV screen and use special crayons to draw objects to help Rinky Dink achieve his goal. A voice-over would tell us what crayon to use and what to draw: “Use the black crayon to draw a bridge so Rinky can cross the river.” Mr. Wizard introduced us to science experiments and told us what to eat for breakfast: “Fruit, cereal, milk, bread, and butter.” Prior to Mr. Wizard, we’d always eaten eggs and bacon or sausage for breakfast, but now we demanded the cereal that sponsored the show.  

 

We played outside games during the summer—tag, hide and seek, croquet, badminton. Hide and seek was especially fun in the dark. Since everyone had a cap gun, we might play cowboys and Indians, which wasn’t politically incorrect in those days. None of us had ever met a real Native American, but we were familiar with cowboys from all the Westerns on TV. Just about everybody watched Gunsmoke, Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers,Gene Autry, Lone Ranger, Have Gun Will Travel, and others. I don’t remember any organized sports. If we needed a team to play a game, we formed teams with whoever was playing outside at the time. We kept cool by soaking in a wading pool in the backyard. When it was too hot to play in the sun, we might lounge on an old quilt and read comics book in the shade or stay inside and read books.

 

Parents almost never supervised our outdoor recreation. Once in a while, a parent might take a carload of kids to Lakeside or Tinkerbell swimming pool, but in the neighborhood we were pretty much on our own. I don’t remember any fights breaking out, and arguments were usually settled quickly—a little name-calling and maybe a few thrown rocks was the extent of it.

 

Once a week or so, we might accompany our mothers on their shopping trips. This involved a bus ride to downtown, so we’d have to dress up—no shorts and sneakers! My mama would always buy some canned goods from the A&P at the edge of the market, fresh meat from one of the butchers in the market building, and some fresh vegetables from the outside vendors. When she had two shopping bags full, it was time to catch the bus for home. Once in a while, we might first take in a western movie at the Rialto Theater near the market or shop in the dime stores a block or two up Campbell Avenue.

 

On some Sundays, Mama and I would ride the bus to Grandma’s house in Rugby, where my cousins and I played outside while the grown-ups stayed inside and talked. Grandma’s big front yard was perfect for games that involved running or required us to spread out. We played Red Light-Green Light, Mother May I, Old Gramma Hippy-Toe, and London Bridge Is Falling Down. We sometimes explored the Watts farm next door, taking care to keep our distance from the resident bull. Sometimes we’d go down the hill past Grandma’s big garden to Lick Run Creek where we might wade or look for minnows. Sometimes we’d just sit on the bridge and watch the water as it flowed toward 10th Street. Once when I was five, I leaned a little too far over and fell in. My nine-year-old cousin reached down and pulled me out. By the time we climbed the hill back to Grandma’s house, I was halfway dry.

 

Looking back, I’m glad we didn’t have computers, tablets, and video games that would’ve kept us inside and isolated. I’m glad that instead of virtual reality, we had real reality—playing games with real people, running across real fields, riding bikes to real places, and even falling into real creeks. The 1950s was a great time to be a free-range kid.

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