Growing Up Rich In Forest Park

How shall I write about the town I grew up in and my childhood? Shall I dramatize, shall I glamorize or supersize? I think I'll just be plain and simple, because those are the only two ways I know how to write. I'm not a historian, well it would take the whole internet to tell of the things I'm not. You'll figure that out anyway. I grew up starting at zero up until almost nine years old on Capital Ave in Atlanta, just a stone's throw from Turner Field. I know this because in the early sixties a lot of stones were thrown down there. Let's say we moved out from there in August of 1962, because we did! We moved from that confined, protective environment to the freedom and safety of Forest Park Georgia. You see, in my old neighborhood, I had to stay in my own yard and at night we locked down and laid low. We moved to a brand new neighborhood, Ridgewood Subdivision. I'd never before heard of a subdivision and now I was living in one. We moved from a big 2-story asbestos siding house to a 1000 square foot brick ranch, number 5036 out of 9007 such houses built in the 50's and 60's in Forest Park. There were no rich houses and poor houses in Forest Park, just 1000 square foot brick ranches. They started building these houses at the end of World WarII for all of the soldiers coming home and implementing the baby boom. The playing field was totally level. Of course if your dad worked for the Ford or Chevrolet plant or Delta or Eastern (the airlines part is assumed) then you had a slightly favorable status, but still lived in the 1000 square foot brick house. The houses on our street came in only two plans, carport on the left, or mirror image carport on the right. Everyone was new in our neighborhood so we went around excitedly inquiring whether each new family had any kids, especially boys. One new family had five kids, four of them boys. Yes! They were the basis of all sports in our neighborhood. All of the boys played in the street. For baseball, the water meters were first and third base and the manhole cover in the middle of the street was second base. We used a piece of granite to draw home plate. For football, the curbs were the side boundary and the telephone poles were the two goals. Basketball was played in the back yards. We played spud in the street, with a basketball. Everyone formed a circle in the middle of the street and someone bounced the basketball as hard as he could and called out someone's name and everyone else ran while that person got the ball and hollered freeze. Then everyone had to stop. He would then roll or throw the ball at someone. If it hit them or they caught it they had to holler freeze etc. If they missed, they were awarded a spud. Three spuds and you had to lean over and put your hands against the telephone poll, while everyone else stood behind a line and threw the basketball at your business end as hard as they could. We all went to J E Edmunds Elementary School on Simpson Rd. You could get there by cutting across someones yard to the dirt road, Elam Church Rd or you could walk up to Watts Rd and catch the nearly new, Chevrolet bus, number 56. Elam Church Rd was called that because around the corner on Watts Rd there was an old one room church, Elam Church. It was full of leaves, newspapers and liquor bottles and had a pot belly stove. We had great plans to camp out in there, but like many others, were never carried out. That would have been great!. Needless to say they had not held forth that church in a while. There was also Elam Cemetery on Elam Church Rd. Rarely someone new would be buried there, but many graves were simply marked with a big rock or stone at each end. Some had a slab of concrete for the sides and top and stood about 18 inches tall. There would be small trees growing out of them, so we tried to peek in. You could always go there at night and toss rocks into the air to make the bats dive. You could do the same under the street lights, but the graveyard was more cool. On Saturdays, you could ride your bike to Clayton Plaza and later to Grant City South. I always checked out the model cars at Jacob's Drug Store, Woolworths and Grants. I'd go in Buddy's Sporting goods and look at the baseball equipment and then Western Auto to see the radios and electric guitars. Once in a blue moon I'd go on a bike trip and ride until I got lost and then find my way back. We also liked to visit the creek that ran thru the Army Depot. We picked it up behind the property which was also behind a newer subdivision. The creek had these huge slippery rocks to walk over (part of Stone Mountain) and it had suds in it that gave it a chemical or detergent smell. We thought the new houses were letting their washing machines drain into the creek. I read many years later, that the Army Depot had been cited for dumping chemicals into that creek. I lost my hair because of it. It also kept me from making good grades in school or meeting girls. It's my all purpose excuse for everything that went wrong. Once we saw the hood of a 1954 Ford lodged into the creekbed. I convinced my buddy that the whole car was under there. Who knows, he might have been right.
We also liked to make secret formulas using bleach, gasoline, gourd innards and anything from the garden, basement or utility room we could find. It's a wonder we didn't kill ourselves or blow up something. We built several huts during our childhoods. One was an underground hut. We built (dug) it the backyard that adjoined the cemetery. It looked like another grave being dug. His mother made us undig it. The last one we built was just to sleep in. It was low to the ground, made of small tree limbs and had a fireplace in one end in case it got cold. Of, course the fireplace was also made of tree limbs, which ended up being combustible, as was the rest of the hut. That night we went for a walk around the neighborhood, just getting into general mischief. I won't say doing what because some of those people may still be living. We ended up walking about a mile away up to Forest Park Junior High where I had obtained a position as student. After I explained all of the responsibilities and hazards associated with being a grown-up, we walked over to Main St to purchase cokes from the machine at the Gulf Station. We walked around with these in total innocence, even though it was after midnight, until we saw a police car. My young friend suggested running, but I being in possession of a cool head, realized that would look suspicious and being that we had done nothing wrong in the last 43 minutes thought it best to walk on by as though nothing was wrong, which is what I actually believed. They picked us up and began to interrogate us. They said had we run, they would have been obligated to shoot, since we were near adult sized, especially me. It seems we had committed a string of crimes we were not aware of, including buying cokes from the machine and not leaving a deposit for the bottles (even though the station was closed). and being alive and walking around after curfew. Now I knew what curfew was but did not realize my quiet little town had one. They took us on down to the station and were about to issue our striped uniforms when they realized my friends dad was none other than a volunteer cop. So they called him at 1:30 a.m. and he came to get us. I would not get in trouble again for many months, but many months passed and I did again get in trouble while operating in the capacity of a Junior High Student. It seems I bought a fire cracker from an associate. It turns out the officials found out and rounded up the whole fire cracker gang. We seemed to be just inches away from juvenile detention. I was sent for by personal messenger, rather than the intercom, I suppose to keep the rumors down and retain the element of surprise. I sold the hot item to an underling in order to be rid of it. I was required to go find my associate. He had discovered to my honest surprise, that the firecracker was devoid of gunpowder, a dud. Nevertheless there was plenty of fire-power in the assistant principal's paddle and my britches stayed warm all winter.
I rode my bike thru rain, sleet and snow to as many football games as I could at the old Kiwanis field. That would be my junk bike that I bought for $3 and fixed up. I had a nice chrome 3 speed spider bike with the flaming bananna seat. Something I would continue to do all through high school, except it was to Tara Stadium in my Blue Wonder! . I begged my parents to buy me a school jacket. It was too cool. Wine with gold leather sleeves and my name embroidered on it. This was not the cartoon looking Panther on the back. This was the cool one! I promised my folks I would not grow too much and would wear it the next 4 1/2 years thru high school and I did it proudly!
High School was cool! Not the classes and the schoolwork or most of the teachers. But going to a school with a great band, super basketball team and best of all the legitimate football teams in the state. Valdosta didn't count because they had plowhorses in uniform on their team.
I worked at several places and finally settled at Grants, working the snack bar with some of my best friends. It was fun because lots of kids worked there and lots of people came in. the snack bar was in front so we saw everyone. There was the motorcycle dude who visited often. He was too cool. The professional student with the handlebar mustache who smoked his pipe, read the paper and made a 10 cent cup of coffee last all day. Then there were the army guys. It was the last stop before Vietnam. They were always in there looking for girls and eating donuts. We had to announce the donut sales over the public address system. Jimmy and I would do impersonations of Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne and Ed Sullivan or whoever we could, when we were sure the store manager was gone for they day. It went like this: (Ed Sullivan) Good evening Grant Schoppers! We have a really big shew for you tonite! We're featuring etc. We may have been inspired by our principal Mr. Kirkland who made the same announcement at the end of everyday for about 6 years that I know of. It goes, "Teachers, please have your students lower and adjust the blinds before leaving today". Once we had a walkout at school to protest the fact that the teachers had a lounge to smoke in, but the students weren't allowed. But the day everyone looked forward to most, was Senior Day. We looked forward to that for years. When the day came I had not shaved for a week, for which the college professionals at Grants gave me grief about. I dressed head to toe in black including a black cowboy hat and a homemade holster that strapped to my leg. I got quite a few stares and whispers of awe. I walked around saying things like "Make my day" or "Feelin' lucky punk? Well do ya?" I got lots of strange looks because the Dirty Harry movies weren't out yet. They would steal real estate signs and put them all over the front lawn as if to sell the school. Of course this one guy brings a hearse and casket. That's hard to top. My first car was my dad's 1963 4 door Chevy II. I had it painted Grotto Blue. I put 14 inch slotted disc's on the back and 13's on the front and installed a cassette player. not the standard mini-8 track. Not the same league as the GTO's, Mustangs, Corvette, Cyclones, Super Bee, Roadrunners. Oh well,it was one of a kind.
Well, I eventually graduated (class of '71) from that place and married a Forest Park Girl (class of '74) and stayed in Forest Park and Morrow for the next 30 years! I will always have fond memories of those times because Forest Park was my "Camelot"