Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The Neighborhood


Raiders of the Last Tart

Catholic Memorial Field covered three quarters of the block below our house.  Archdiocesan schools played football and, later in high school, I ran track there.  The northern quarter served as a parking lot for Langendorf Bakery, a few blocks away.   The company parked their trucks on the level section, leaving the adjacent hillside wild with trees and shrub.

Curious neighborhood kids, we soon discovered they left their trucks unguarded, unlocked and complete with donuts, cinnamon rolls and banana cream shortcakes.Weekends arrived.  We slunk in small bands through the bush.  Slid open the doors to heaven.  Attacked in small packs like ravenous wolves before vanishing.

Boat Races

Mrs. Matsudaira enjoyed her backyard coi pond.  She connected two ovals and bridged the intersecting passage between the smaller and deeper basins with a small log.  The fish bartered between the water grass and lilypads that filled them.

Vincent, her son, and I carved hydroplanes from plywood.  Powered them with small paddles and rubberbands.  We painted and numbered them like the ones that raced Lake Washington.   We matched ours in his mother’s pond where the course was straight.

In those halcyon days, dad parked on the bluff overlooking Mt. Baker Park.  With Manongs Eddie and Pablo, we clambored down the gardened hillside to watch Slo-mo-shuns, Gales, Wahoo and Maverick loop ‘round the course.

When we were older, Vincent and I crafted wooden models.   Fitted our hydros with two-stroke engines.  I painted mine maroon and gold.  We biked to Stan Sayers Pits where a large pond was built for competition.  Tethered to a pole, they circled until empty of gas.

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