2017 - The following was written in 2000. I'm sure there are many disturbing and not very politically correct things here.
Sex, Gays, Meanies, and Tromping Around Forest Park
Forest Park is a huge city park on the southern border of Springfield, not too far from Mountainview St. It was a constant hangout for me, John, and my friends. Its attractions were (and are) many. There was an ice skating rink, a pool, shuffleboard (for the old geezers), a zoo, a rose garden, ponds, streams, woods, a playground, baseball fields. You name it and it was there.
Entry to the park was free when I was a kid and the park was a always filled with every sort of human you could think of. The central part of the park had a giant field with a road encircling it. The road was always filled with parked cars and circling around the field took much longer than its mile circumference should have taken. People had picnics in the trees to the north of the field and watched the many baseball and softball games which were perpetually being played. There was a small stadium of sorts on the northwest corner of the field which, although still standing today, was rickety looking even back then. The geezers played their shuffleboard to the west, across the street from the field. They guarded the shuffleboard alleys with many a crotchety leer and if you were under 60 you probably weren’t supposed to be there. The zoo stretched from the west side, just south of the shuffleboard, and across the south side of the field on the outside perimeter of the road. The zoo consisted of sorry looking birds, bears, game, monkeys, big cats, etc. The monkey house to the southwest of the field housed crazed monkeys and the lions. It stunk and consisted of the 1930s type pens made of concrete. Ah, the good old days. The open part of the zoo was south of the field and held the game animals, buffalo, llamas, etc. This was reasonably wide open and the animals could go into the valley below to get away from people. On the southeast side of the field was the petting zoo. Back then, they didn’t care if you got knocked over by goats and such. I remember feeding the sheep and goats as being a terrorizing event. The spectrum of Springfield people hung out in this main part of the park. Plenty of families having fun as families do but also plenty of scum.
I remember once riding my bike down the road in the park and seeing a group of guys drinking, hooting, and whistling at a couple of good looking girls. I apparently had a disgusted look on my face because one of the guys shouted out to me that I’d be doing the same in a couple of years. I must say that, although I greatly appreciate the female form, I was never that blantently piggish towards the ladies.
The park’s more isolated places were a good place to find my friends and me. We made forts in the woods and hiked on trails not often hiked. As there were other kids lurking in the woods, we were often wary because there would inevitably be bullies looking to interrupt your fun. I vaguely remember Joey and me being chased out of the park once by particularly territorial punks.
Another great hangout was the pond area, what we called the “duck ponds” because of the multitude of aviary life forms. Little known to others, apparently to us, was the gold to be found in the duck ponds. For what harbored ducks for others hid another kind of treasure for us. We caught frogs and toads. There was nothing like the challenge of seeing if you could sneak up on them and catch them (with your hand, of course) without stepping too far into the mud. Mud is probably a kind word because it was more like muck and, although mud was a good thing to play in, muck was somehow dirty. Anyway, we had lots of fun doing that. It is one of the most vivid memories of my childhood which always brings a smile to my face. John was never as good at the chase and was always getting frustrated. But, back then, John got frustrated with everything. One thing that makes me scratch my head today, though, is why we kept catching these creatures even though we KNEW they’d give you warts. None of ever did so I guess this was the reinforcing element to the continuation of our sport. Generally we would let them go, I think, but I do remember bringing home one particularly large frog specimen. I was proud of my bounty from the hunt and proceeded to hold him in a shoebox for a day or two in my bedroom (what to feed a frog??). It was apparent to even my simple brain that he was not a happy camper so I brought him back to the park and released him back into the wild. Just call me Marlin Perkins. One time, we saw what looked to us like a giant frog, perhaps a one footer, cruising across the pond near the amphitheater. We were sure it was a frog but we really couldn’t get close enough to tell. Probably it was a fish dragging something across the top of the water or a duck blinded by a lillypad. But I’m just as inclined to say that it was the Lochness monster, great mysteries being that mysterious. [2017-I have since realized it was probably as muskrat, having recently seen one there]
The park was a great place to feed the ducks. They were always hungry (I don’t know how they could be) and we would throw them pieces of bread which they would then proceed to fight over. I can’t say that I remember what was the exciting thing about it. Was it that we enjoyed their fighting or did we get personal satisfaction out of feeding a lower life form? Who knows but it is still fun to do today. My dad would often bring us there and my fondest memories of him are tied to that place. There is a photograph which I think my mom has of me at the park with a bag of very orange popcorn in my hand. I am perhaps 8 or so and skinny as heck. It is from one of the many visits to the duck ponds with my Dad and I can even remember posing for the shot. That is how vivid and important that place is to me. Michelle and I and Isabelle recently visited the duck ponds and it felt very right for us to be there, sharing a new memory and mingling it with an old one.
We were pretty knowledgeable about our surroundings in that park and we were certain not to go into the unfamiliar territory for we knew that that was where the fags [2017-the term we used back then], rapists and overall bad guys hung out. Of course we didn’t really have a clue but rumors and such get around and we were smart enough to not take chances. Being guys, we weren’t particularly afraid of rapists, but certainly we didn’t want to cross paths with the gun toting bad guys who might whisk you away never to be seen again. As for homosexuals, well, back then they were considered bad guys and you just didn’t want to know what went on. You had an idea but you chose not to think about it too much. All you knew was that it was bad. In later times I was riding on a bike in the formerly off limits area of my childhood when I cruised by a car where one guy was, uh….pleasuring another. It is good to know that all rumors are not necessarily untrue but why did it have to be that one? Yuck. Just because I don’t hate gay people the way I once did doesn’t mean I need to see the activity…especially in a public park. I can only imagine the trauma had I seen that when I was a kid. Heck, I might have hit them with a stick! An interesting example of my tolerance of public sex acts, however, came when we were hiking on a road which bordered a forested slope near one of the more isolated ponds. We were walking along and we noticed two people down near the water’s edge and one was on top of the other moving his hips rhythmically up and down while a dog sat nearby (not sure what the dog was for). I, being the least educated, asked what they were doing and Joey introduced me to the word “humping”. We all started hooting and shouting “whew, whew” at the top of our little lungs. Needless to say, the motion stopped and a very pissed off looking man started hollering back up the hill at us. His dog started off after us and we went RUNNING. This little bit of public display was OK because it was educational for us. I owe that couple a debt of gratitude for humping, the word and the act, has enriched my life so.
Forest Park was a great place to go sliding, especially if you wanted to kiss a tree. I’m not sure why but I always seemed to end up crashing into a tree or a rock or another sledder. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that we tended to sled in narrow, tree-bordered slopes. I like to have control but sledding never seemed to me to be a sport where you had much control, no matter how fancy your sled. Ours were not particularly fancy so we had that added disadvantage. We pretty much stuck to the old sled with runners and the toboggan (there’s that swear word again). The sleds worked OK, I guess, but you tended to slice people in half if you ran over them and you got kinda tired of that after a while and they were impossible to stop short of riding UP a hill. The toboggan. Ugh. Let us talk about this unsteerable object of doom and forget, for the time being, their nasty habit of shedding slivers to your bum. You were destined to get mangled no matter where you sat on the thing. For those of you who do not know what I am talking about, picture about 8 three inch wide and 7 foot long boards laid side to side and held together by a few crossing boards. Then picture taking one of the ends and bending it into an arc which points to the back. It looks like a cane in profile. The front rider would tuck his feet under the formed arch and the remainder of the riders, 3 other idiots, would pack in behind each other like Tupperware. There is no obvious way to steer the thing. Supposedly you can steer it by leaning to one side or the other but I’m not a believer. Anyway, you would hurtle down the slope and inevitably need to turn because you were about to become one with a tree. All 4 idiots would lean and the toboggan would refuse to turn. You would have a split second to decide just how you were going to save yourself. If you were smart, you would abandon ship but this was only easily done for the guy in the back because the others’ legs were caught by the person in back of them. The back guy could at least tumble off backwards with his legs thrust up into the air and take a chance at rolling in a ball to safety. The next guy from the back would tend to roll off to the side, taking the person in front of him on an ill-fated trip because that person couldn’t get his legs clear of the guy in front. The one in front was always doomed because his feet were trapped under the arch. Plus, he had at least two other idiots dangling off of his back just ready to slam him from behind. Upon impact, for impact always occurred, the guy in the front would be thrown forward and his shins would make contact with the top of the arch as his head imbedded in the bark of the tree. If he was lucky, his ankles would somehow not break but luck was not to be had for the most part. Add to this the fact that two other idiots ended up slamming into his back or wrapping around to the side of the tree and….well, it’s just a hell of a mess. That’s my take on the toboggan. They should be outlawed.
Entry to the park was free when I was a kid and the park was a always filled with every sort of human you could think of. The central part of the park had a giant field with a road encircling it. The road was always filled with parked cars and circling around the field took much longer than its mile circumference should have taken. People had picnics in the trees to the north of the field and watched the many baseball and softball games which were perpetually being played. There was a small stadium of sorts on the northwest corner of the field which, although still standing today, was rickety looking even back then. The geezers played their shuffleboard to the west, across the street from the field. They guarded the shuffleboard alleys with many a crotchety leer and if you were under 60 you probably weren’t supposed to be there. The zoo stretched from the west side, just south of the shuffleboard, and across the south side of the field on the outside perimeter of the road. The zoo consisted of sorry looking birds, bears, game, monkeys, big cats, etc. The monkey house to the southwest of the field housed crazed monkeys and the lions. It stunk and consisted of the 1930s type pens made of concrete. Ah, the good old days. The open part of the zoo was south of the field and held the game animals, buffalo, llamas, etc. This was reasonably wide open and the animals could go into the valley below to get away from people. On the southeast side of the field was the petting zoo. Back then, they didn’t care if you got knocked over by goats and such. I remember feeding the sheep and goats as being a terrorizing event. The spectrum of Springfield people hung out in this main part of the park. Plenty of families having fun as families do but also plenty of scum.
I remember once riding my bike down the road in the park and seeing a group of guys drinking, hooting, and whistling at a couple of good looking girls. I apparently had a disgusted look on my face because one of the guys shouted out to me that I’d be doing the same in a couple of years. I must say that, although I greatly appreciate the female form, I was never that blantently piggish towards the ladies.
The park’s more isolated places were a good place to find my friends and me. We made forts in the woods and hiked on trails not often hiked. As there were other kids lurking in the woods, we were often wary because there would inevitably be bullies looking to interrupt your fun. I vaguely remember Joey and me being chased out of the park once by particularly territorial punks.
Another great hangout was the pond area, what we called the “duck ponds” because of the multitude of aviary life forms. Little known to others, apparently to us, was the gold to be found in the duck ponds. For what harbored ducks for others hid another kind of treasure for us. We caught frogs and toads. There was nothing like the challenge of seeing if you could sneak up on them and catch them (with your hand, of course) without stepping too far into the mud. Mud is probably a kind word because it was more like muck and, although mud was a good thing to play in, muck was somehow dirty. Anyway, we had lots of fun doing that. It is one of the most vivid memories of my childhood which always brings a smile to my face. John was never as good at the chase and was always getting frustrated. But, back then, John got frustrated with everything. One thing that makes me scratch my head today, though, is why we kept catching these creatures even though we KNEW they’d give you warts. None of ever did so I guess this was the reinforcing element to the continuation of our sport. Generally we would let them go, I think, but I do remember bringing home one particularly large frog specimen. I was proud of my bounty from the hunt and proceeded to hold him in a shoebox for a day or two in my bedroom (what to feed a frog??). It was apparent to even my simple brain that he was not a happy camper so I brought him back to the park and released him back into the wild. Just call me Marlin Perkins. One time, we saw what looked to us like a giant frog, perhaps a one footer, cruising across the pond near the amphitheater. We were sure it was a frog but we really couldn’t get close enough to tell. Probably it was a fish dragging something across the top of the water or a duck blinded by a lillypad. But I’m just as inclined to say that it was the Lochness monster, great mysteries being that mysterious. [2017-I have since realized it was probably as muskrat, having recently seen one there]
The park was a great place to feed the ducks. They were always hungry (I don’t know how they could be) and we would throw them pieces of bread which they would then proceed to fight over. I can’t say that I remember what was the exciting thing about it. Was it that we enjoyed their fighting or did we get personal satisfaction out of feeding a lower life form? Who knows but it is still fun to do today. My dad would often bring us there and my fondest memories of him are tied to that place. There is a photograph which I think my mom has of me at the park with a bag of very orange popcorn in my hand. I am perhaps 8 or so and skinny as heck. It is from one of the many visits to the duck ponds with my Dad and I can even remember posing for the shot. That is how vivid and important that place is to me. Michelle and I and Isabelle recently visited the duck ponds and it felt very right for us to be there, sharing a new memory and mingling it with an old one.
We were pretty knowledgeable about our surroundings in that park and we were certain not to go into the unfamiliar territory for we knew that that was where the fags [2017-the term we used back then], rapists and overall bad guys hung out. Of course we didn’t really have a clue but rumors and such get around and we were smart enough to not take chances. Being guys, we weren’t particularly afraid of rapists, but certainly we didn’t want to cross paths with the gun toting bad guys who might whisk you away never to be seen again. As for homosexuals, well, back then they were considered bad guys and you just didn’t want to know what went on. You had an idea but you chose not to think about it too much. All you knew was that it was bad. In later times I was riding on a bike in the formerly off limits area of my childhood when I cruised by a car where one guy was, uh….pleasuring another. It is good to know that all rumors are not necessarily untrue but why did it have to be that one? Yuck. Just because I don’t hate gay people the way I once did doesn’t mean I need to see the activity…especially in a public park. I can only imagine the trauma had I seen that when I was a kid. Heck, I might have hit them with a stick! An interesting example of my tolerance of public sex acts, however, came when we were hiking on a road which bordered a forested slope near one of the more isolated ponds. We were walking along and we noticed two people down near the water’s edge and one was on top of the other moving his hips rhythmically up and down while a dog sat nearby (not sure what the dog was for). I, being the least educated, asked what they were doing and Joey introduced me to the word “humping”. We all started hooting and shouting “whew, whew” at the top of our little lungs. Needless to say, the motion stopped and a very pissed off looking man started hollering back up the hill at us. His dog started off after us and we went RUNNING. This little bit of public display was OK because it was educational for us. I owe that couple a debt of gratitude for humping, the word and the act, has enriched my life so.
Forest Park was a great place to go sliding, especially if you wanted to kiss a tree. I’m not sure why but I always seemed to end up crashing into a tree or a rock or another sledder. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that we tended to sled in narrow, tree-bordered slopes. I like to have control but sledding never seemed to me to be a sport where you had much control, no matter how fancy your sled. Ours were not particularly fancy so we had that added disadvantage. We pretty much stuck to the old sled with runners and the toboggan (there’s that swear word again). The sleds worked OK, I guess, but you tended to slice people in half if you ran over them and you got kinda tired of that after a while and they were impossible to stop short of riding UP a hill. The toboggan. Ugh. Let us talk about this unsteerable object of doom and forget, for the time being, their nasty habit of shedding slivers to your bum. You were destined to get mangled no matter where you sat on the thing. For those of you who do not know what I am talking about, picture about 8 three inch wide and 7 foot long boards laid side to side and held together by a few crossing boards. Then picture taking one of the ends and bending it into an arc which points to the back. It looks like a cane in profile. The front rider would tuck his feet under the formed arch and the remainder of the riders, 3 other idiots, would pack in behind each other like Tupperware. There is no obvious way to steer the thing. Supposedly you can steer it by leaning to one side or the other but I’m not a believer. Anyway, you would hurtle down the slope and inevitably need to turn because you were about to become one with a tree. All 4 idiots would lean and the toboggan would refuse to turn. You would have a split second to decide just how you were going to save yourself. If you were smart, you would abandon ship but this was only easily done for the guy in the back because the others’ legs were caught by the person in back of them. The back guy could at least tumble off backwards with his legs thrust up into the air and take a chance at rolling in a ball to safety. The next guy from the back would tend to roll off to the side, taking the person in front of him on an ill-fated trip because that person couldn’t get his legs clear of the guy in front. The one in front was always doomed because his feet were trapped under the arch. Plus, he had at least two other idiots dangling off of his back just ready to slam him from behind. Upon impact, for impact always occurred, the guy in the front would be thrown forward and his shins would make contact with the top of the arch as his head imbedded in the bark of the tree. If he was lucky, his ankles would somehow not break but luck was not to be had for the most part. Add to this the fact that two other idiots ended up slamming into his back or wrapping around to the side of the tree and….well, it’s just a hell of a mess. That’s my take on the toboggan. They should be outlawed.