When I was young, my family lived on Olive Street in Kansas City. Milk was delivered in glass bottles onto the porch. Our mothers bought vegetables out of the back of a pickup truck parked on the corner, from an Italian with a Panama hat and a moustache.
Summer evenings all of us kids on the block played outside together, on the sidewalk and even in the street. Kick the Can, Red Rover, cowboys and Indians, Inch me and Pinch me were our pursuits -- my brother, Bob, and Buck and Jake Smith, Rita Bunting, Al Wendell, Roland Pease, Bill Dosier, Sid Gold, Martha Schuster and Mary Kleinbach.
Sid we called “Perch Breath,” because his family was poor and ate fish that his uncle caught in the city park’s lake. Roland was nicknamed (behind his back) “Bumpy” because he was always leaning into you hard, trying to pick a fight. He smelled funny too. Bill was “Willy Scared Silly” because he wouldn’t stay overnight with us at the abandoned Schuster house, an abode of spooky noises.
Mostly we had fun together, except for our run-ins with the Gruesome Two.