The summer of 1985

I spent the summer of 1985 in Elkhart. In was unmercifully hot that year. My mother lived in what was once and old grocery store on Sherman street which had long since been converted into two spacious apartments.... One up and one down. Mother occupied the upper apartment. There wasn't any air conditioning and many of the windows were painted shut. I had been to Elkhart many times already in my fifteen years and each time the unique feel of the city left its mark in my mind.

Sherman street was a narrow one way street lined with old houses so close you could touch two at once, broken down cars and massive oaks which seemed to erupt from the sidewalks leaving a series of ramps along both sides of the street... a kid with bikes dream. I took full advantage of the situation until my bike was stolen off the porch. For a while after I bought it I carried it up the stairs each night... But there were a lot of stairs and I wasn't the strongest kid in the world so I bought a bike lock at G.L. Perrys and fastened it to the iron railing.... it lasted one night. I mourned the loss for a few days but the lure of kickball in the vacant lot across the street was more than enough to help me forget my troubles.

There were lots of us kids running around the neighborhood. Some of us rougher than others and we rarely got along for more than an hour at a time but it was a great time to be a kid. Our parents didn't worry about us the way I worry about mine... at least thats how it seems to me now. We ran wild all day until well after dark. Maybe it was our socioeconomic status... or maybe it was just a simpler world... It was poor and dirty and chaotic in a way but I enjoyed the feel of that place.

We were poor... very poor and food was often scarce. Some sort of needy kids program gave out free lunches at the park alongside Lincoln street. My brother and I were not supposed to leave the apartment during the day while mother was at work but we knew when she would be home and besides it was so very hot inside the apartment. We usually made outside in time to get the sack lunch at the park and then find something to do until five o'clock. I remember one day my brother was sick and didn't feel like going outside so I told him I would bring back a lunch sack for him. But when I got to the park and told the lady who was handing them out that I needed one for my brother she told me no... that kids had to be present to get a lunch... I told her he was sick but again she said no... I remember thinking how unfair it was and the thought of not being able to take a lunch to my little brother was too much. I waited until she handed mine to me and picked up another for the next kid... I snatched it out of her hand and ran as fast I could. Of course she didn't chase me but I didn't stop running until I slammed the door at the top of our stairs.

When I think about that time in my life I am flooded with images and sounds... open windows with box fans pushing hot air around... music coming from bedroom windows... distant arguments... the smell of the river... the scent of marijuana and tobacco... Someone trying to break dance in the street...

I didn't know everyone in every house but I knew most of them. No one really bothered anyone else. Occasionally a mother might get involved in some childhood drama but for the most part we all coexisted uneventfully. But there was one thing that got the whole street involved in doing the same thing at the same time... Sherman street was a one way street with very little through traffic but once in a while a car would come down the Bower street bridge and attempt to travel Sherman street... the wrong way. People would open their doors and shout.. step off the porches.. even walk into the street.. all shouting the same thing “WRONG WAY”. The unfortunate soul would usually turn around after the first onslaught of verbal assaults.. Sometimes they would run the full gauntlet but by the time they reached the other end of the street the exchanges bordered on riotous. I thought about that over the years... and now as an adult I realize how many things must have seemed beyond control to the adults living there. And that was one thing they could try to control... right then and there. And I think that they were proud of their street... and that was the rule of their street and they all followed it and they expected everyone else to do the same.