It was the summer of 1966, and my family and I had just moved to Tarrant County.
We lived in North Richland Hills, a short distance from the Fort Worth Christian Academy on South College Circle. It was a brand-new home with something we had never had before, a fireplace! The story of firewood-cutting adventures could be an entire column by itself!We had befriended a couple of exchange students who would come over every other weekend. They were quiet and reserved, and Dad decided to break the ice by getting them to help cut and haul a cord of wood. I don't remember ever seeing them again.Just across the street in a two-story house lived two brothers. My "running buddies" and I soon found a pond and after careful examination, discovered crawdads.If you have never tried this type of fishing, it is really pretty simple. You take a string, tie a piece of bacon on the end, and drop it in the water. When you feel a tug on the line, you slowly pull it up until you see your catch. Reaching behind the head, you grab the critter, carefully avoiding the pinchers.For some unknown reason, we never seemed to have any bacon at the house. All I could find was a piece of bologna. Now friends let me tell you, trying to tie bologna on a string is right up there with winning the lottery. No matter how hard you try, it will not work.Digging through the garage, I found a minnow net, and after careful surgery with scissors, a basket for bologna emerged. I think my Dad is still looking for that net.About a mile or so from the house was Davis Boulevard. Back then it was a two-lane road with very little traffic, except on weekends when racers would delight crowds with "wheelies" at the Green Valley drag strip.My friends and I could hear the roar of the engines from our houses, but we had never been there. Solution? Bike trip.It was a pretty long ride to get to our destination, but we made it and somehow managed to sneak in. The roar of our simulated bicycle engines that we screamed at the top of our lungs surely was heard back in the neighborhood as we tore down the track. Scared of being caught on the property, we made it our one and only ride. Land-speed record holder Art Arfons and his Green Monster would not have had a chance against us.There were plenty of open fields in the area and we spent many a day re-creating the battles of World War II. Using a dry tree branch for a gun and a dirt clod for a grenade, we launched unrelenting attacks before which all enemies of the U.S. fell. Warriors with sticks held high headed home knowing that the world was safer because of our heroic deeds.After defeating our enemies, we would walk down the roads around the house looking for treasure -- soda bottles!Only those of us with graying hair remember you could get money for empty glass soda bottles. Small Coke bottles were around 3 cents each, larger ones were a nickel, and Nehi grape and orange were 7 cents, if my memory is correct. Coke also made a giant glass bottle similar to today's liter that would fetch a quarter.The money that we made would yield just enough fireworks to blow things up around the crawdad pond.We moved after only six months of living in our new house, and I never saw my friends again. I hope their memories are as special as mine.Ken Barris of Edgecliff Village is a member of the 2012 Star-Telegram Community Columnist Panel. Kenneth.Barris@att.netHave more to add? News tip? Tell us
