Many Years Ago - August 14, 2014

As published in the White River Current - Thursday - August 14, 2014

  

Many years ago, Dean, Billy Charles and I, along with some other young boys who were searching for an adventure, would spend a large part of our summers playing on the bluffs that border the White River on the west side of town.  One great adventure that we repeated many times was to descend from the top of the bluff to the railroad track 200 feet below via the Billy Goat Trail.  Once we reached the tracks at the bottom, we would turn around and climb back to the top where, after a short rest, we would repeat the cycle, over and over until we got bored.  The BG Trail began at a point on the bluff in front of Mrs. Wright’s house where we could gain access to a narrow ledge.  Crawling along the ledge, on our hands and knees to keep from bumping our heads on the overhang above, we would eventually come to an opening where there was a huge boulder that sort of slanted downward.  Easing onto the boulder, feeling for hand and toe holds, we slowly made our way to a point about half way down the bluff.  From there, it was fairly easy the rest of the way to the bottom.  Sounds very exciting, doesn’t it?  Add this to my list of “Done it, but wouldn’t do it again for a million dollars” items.  Along with things like climbing to the top of the city water tower (one time was enough for me).  Or crawling through the narrow drainage tunnel that starts out in front of the Riverview Hotel, goes down the hill, under the train depot, under the railroad tracks and finally exits above the river.  Believe it or not, I did this several times but never again.  I never thought much about the beauty of the bluffs, the mountains and the river valley when I was a boy.  Much later, Anita and I partnered with Steve to build a cabin on the upper bluff, an area where I had spent many hours of my childhood about sixty-five years earlier.  My idea of camping out may be different from yours.  Our “cabin” has three bedrooms, two baths (one with a separate shower and whirlpool tub), a full kitchen and laundry, a TV and a covered porch on the river side that has a terrific view of the mountains and river valley.  It was Steve who came up with a name that might describe this scenic location.  He chose a biblical name, Nain (Nein in the Hebrew language), which can be translated as “Place of Beauty.”  I have, as you well know from previous columns, always been fascinated with words and names.  There was once a performer who was billed as a comedian that appeared on several late night shows several seasons ago.  He resembled a young Groucho Marx (complete with the long cigar) and had a monologue that went something like this:  “My name is Raymond J. Johnson, Jr., but you can call me Ray, or you can call me Jay, or you can call me RJ, or you can call me RJJ…..” and on and on.  You can catch his act on You-Tube if you are mildly interested in determining if he was funny or not.  Now, you can call me Reed or you can call me Mack, but  when I was growing up, everyone called me Reed Mack, mostly to identify me apart from my cousin, William Reed, who used only his middle name most of the time.  We both got our Reed names from our maternal grandmother, Rosa Reed.  Years ago we called our older residents Uncle or Aunt, even if no relation.  You can even call me “doctor,” not to be confused with our physicians or dentists.  I have a certificate from my alma mater that signifies that I am a Doctor of Pharmacy (PD).  Sara is also a Doctor of Pharmacy (Pharm. D).  Tom, my pastor, is a Doctor of Divinity.  I call Connie “doctor” because she is a Doctor of Laws (LL. D.).  Ed, David and others have earned Doctor of Philosophy degrees (Ph. D).  You can call all these persons doctor.  

I was in an area store recently and, before getting through the check-out, was called “sweetheart,” “darling,” “ honey” and other endearing names that are reserved only for Anita.  You can’t call me those names.  Now, I know it’s difficult for you girls to refrain from grabbing me and giving me a big hug, and that’s OK, but please back off on the names.  Quickly I want to comment on the wonderful weather we enjoyed in the month of July.  Very unseasonable.  Is Global Warming real or is it a sham?  You can call me “not convinced.”  Right now you can call me “outta here.”  See you in two weeks for another discussion,  Bye for now.