Dirt Clods

Mom also worked for dad but wasn’t paid.  I never could understand that.  She worked in the front office once in awhile doing a lot of typing and such.  I think she did pay role also.  I didn’t see much of her but as I said, I was only there in the summer time.  Dad had a den in the basement, which he did a lot of work in and she was always in typing or shuffling papers around.

During all the time in Holland Park I didn’t see Julie to much except in the evenings after school and even then not to much.  What’s with that?  I do remember getting into a big fight with her in her room on day though.  I don't remember what it was about but I do remember that I had just about enough and punched her in the stomach.  Man was I going to be trouble unless I thought fast.  Julie was on her knees trying to breathe so I quickly fell to the floor grabbed my stomach and started crying.  When mom came in, she saw me crying on the floor, tears flowing everywhere.  I was pathetic.  Of course, she had to ask Julie what she had done.  Not being able to speak, mom grounded her, and; after several minutes of yelling; sent me to my room to recuperate?  Man was I good.  Mom still doesn’t know about that one.

Did I mention that I was in Cub scouts about this time?  You know “Do your best” was the motto of this organization.  I even remember the promise...I, Jamie Koch (the name my mom always called me) promise to do my best, to do my duty, to God and my country, to help other people and to obey the law of the pack.......and to pop your big sister one in the gut when she annoys you.  The last lines a freebie.  I was also a Webelo Scout and can you believe it, I was and may still be the youngest Eagle Scout in Colorado at age 13.

One Easter after church Julie and I had just finished the Easter basket search and were just settling in for lunch when dad suggested that we look under the couch.  He thought he heard something scratching earlier.  We immediately ran for the couch.  Underneath were two small rabbits and two small colored chickens.  Cool.  I’m not sure, what happened right after that period of time but we did end up with a large chicken coop and rabbit hutch in the backyard up against the house.  We had rabbit poop and eggs everywhere.  Sometime later that all disappeared to make way for an above ground pool.  We had that for a couple of summers and it to go elsewhere.  It did leave a rather nice round pit that had lots of sand in it though.  This was a much better place to play with cars.  The Gully-washer was history.  When you have sand, you have it all.

By this time I had been in school for a few years and had made a few friends.  There was always somebody at our place ready to play.  I think they just liked me because of my cool toys and dirt bike.  I had several friends on my block but my best friend Eric lived down on Horne St. around the corner and down the way.  I always rode my bike down there to play after school for awhile until time to come home for supper.  Eric had asthma big time so he always had to carry his inhaler everywhere he went.  He was allergic to literally everything except the sun.  The sun allergy was left up to Andrea…..A redheaded freckle face girl down the block from me.  She had a big sister that was Julie’s age and was just as goofy looking as Andrea.  She had “bumps” though so that was cool.  My friends and I spent a lot of time playing over there. Andrea lived right next door to two sisters that were my age who were ugly and weird.  There just isn’t any other way to describe them.  I can’t even remember their names.

Jimmy was the crybaby of the neighborhood.  Everyone used to pick on him all the time.  When he got mad he would turn red, clench his fists, start to froth at the mouth, grunt a little, and then just shake and start to cry.  We knew it was all over when he fell to the ground and quivered.  His big sister Faith started the “Gothic” movement before it became “Gothic”.  She wore nothing but black clothes with black lipstick and eye shadow.  She had long straight jet-black hair too.  The whole family made wonderful impressions on everybody.  I remember one Halloween after somebody who was trick or treating before us egged their house.  Just as we were coming down the street Jimmy’s dad came out in his underwear screaming obscenities waving a shotgun.  He let on fire off and cleared the whole street.  “How’s that for treat” he was screaming!  “How’s that for trick” the parents were mumbling as the police hauled him off.  We didn’t see too much of the family after that.  Except for Jimmy, they stayed to themselves inside the house.  I heard later that Jimmy had joined the Marines or the Army right after high school.

            During this time, I found out that I was a pretty good aim when it came to throwing rocks.

Eric and I had been playing out in the field with our bikes.  We had made a gnarly ramp out of dirt at the bottom of a rather large hill.  We would take our stingray bikes with the banana seat tilted back for optimum performance, bike to the top of the hill and then as fast as we could, fly down the hill, hit the ramp, sail through the air at least 200 million feet above the dirt floor, let go of the bike while pushing away, crash to the ground, roll, spin, kick, flip, crumple, all the while getting cuts and bruises in really cool places, pick up our bikes, re-adjust the handlebars, fix the seat, get on, and do it all over again.  What a kick!  These guys on t.v. with their Motocross dirt bike jump championship stuff have nothing on us.  We started the whole thing WAY back when.

            Anyway, while we were having fun maiming ourselves, three brothers who lived on the next block over from me had wandered into the field.  They were watching us from behind a large mountain of dirt that had a big pole on the top.  After several minutes, Eric and I started to see and hear rocks coming down around us along with large puffs of dirt that would shoot up like smoke clouds...oh yes, the famed “Dirt Clods” of death.  Not only would these clods hurt if they hit, but they would also leave you scrambling for cover from the dirt cloud.  Dirt, dust, in my eyes...must get cover...need ammo captain!

            After several minutes of the barrage from the enemy, we decided to return fire.  We dropped our trusty bikes in the dirt and started throwing.  I must tell you that at this time, Eric and I were out numbered and out classed.  There were three of them remember and they had cover behind the hill.  They had clear shots at us and all we could do is watch the rain of clods come from behind the enemy encampment.  Why if I remember right, Eric and I could even hear the whistle of bullets as they flew by our heads, yeah, that’s it, and barb wire spools had suddenly sprung up the depths of the earth to block our every move.  Darkness was falling and in the distance the glow of fires, burning in the abandoned French farmhouses could be seen.  The smell of smoke lay heavy in the air.  Eric and I had been cut off from our men behind enemy lines.  We crawled for hours through the darkness taking shelter whenever possible.  Now and then we would take aim and throw a clod grenade in front of us to clear a safe passageway.  Most of our grenades would unfortunately hit a large burned out French bakery, or was it a commoner’s shop...how about a dirt hill.  To our surprise, the grenades would merely bounce off and not explode.  Through the maze of wire and rock, we crawled.  The crumpled bodies of soldiers lay before us.  One enemy soldier had a nasty cut above his right eye.  He was alive! No, wait...That’s Stevey, one of the brothers.

            Stevey had obviously taken a perfectly aimed rock shot in this area.  But who was to blame?

Unfortunately, everybody pointed their fingers at me...even Eric.  How could that be?  I must have been one heck of a good shot.  I did have a good technique though.  Eric would just throw straight on when one of the guys would pop out from behind the hill.  I however would use the arch approach.  I would throw high and let the rock fall behind the hill.  I knew I wouldn’t be able to hit anything unless somebody stepped away from the protection of the hill like a dork to look for a good rock to throw...Oops, dorky Stevey.

            Well, after the screaming and crying had settled down, the three brothers went home to go tattle on me.  Eric went home just because, and I, I ran AWAY from home.  Yes, I was young, I had a bike, I was a rebel, and I knew I was going to get into trouble for defending myself...and America.  I was running on all the instinct that a ten-year-old kid could have.... OK, I had nothing.  I ran South to freedom and my new home...the Gully Washer.  No, to creepy at night...plenty of water though.  I ran north...the school playground.  No, to obvious.  I ran west.  Ah ha! This could be it! No.  I could make it over the foothills behind the subdivision but I would be trapped by the Freeway.  I went east.  I ran for what seemed an eternity and two halves....OK I made it one block over from my house.  The search for me must have started immediately because I no more than turned the corner when I saw the Rambler coming up the other way.  No escape, It was mom and dad.