The older I get, the more my head is packed with wonderful memories of my childhood. From age 4 until 6 (1950 to 1952), I lived on Highway 30 in Ames, Iowa. My whole world drove past me on that 3,000-mile road. I owned about 40 yards of it.
My greatest memory was of caravans of Army vehicles driving by in a never-ending row of drab, olive jeeps and flatbed trucks packed with young boys who had become soldiers. I would rush in the house, get two of my little American flags and stand on the curb, flanked by two smudge pots, to wave and cheer on the soldiers. Many smiled, shouted and waved back at me. How cool was that!
Right behind my old house was a huge coal field, and behind that were the railroad tracks. My dad warned me and my older brother, Eddie, to stay clear of the coal and the tracks. “It’s a dangerous place.” That was like an open invitation to explore the forbidden when my folks went to bridge club.
One early evening, a hobo riding in a boxcar waved at me. I waved back at him, wondering where he might be headed as the train trundled along. I dreamed of being him. Free as a bird. How cool was that!
Five years ago, I drove by my old house in Ames. The house had become a Jimmy John’s. However, Highway 30 was still hopping, as were the railroad tracks behind the coal yard. My mind floated back to the boy soldiers and the waving hobo. How cool was that!
Where does your memory take you?
Dewey Birdsall