The Park

You just got this feeling that a bad element had taken up residence. Eyes were watching from the woods. Much like the witch's house that Hansel and Gretel were drawn to, the Park seemed to be waiting. Lurking? Luring?


As a child I remember walking home from school every day, and somewhere around the half way point, having to make a decision: Whether to take the long way around or to risk the short-cut through a wooded path which led to The Park.

We called it 'The Park', though I remember feeling great ambivalence. Disappointment, as it was hardly what I had envisioned as a true park setting. In fact, the 'Park', was to me, not much more than a cruel joke. An afterthought. A mockery.

It was set in a sandy area, somewhat isolated, surrounded by scrub Pines, with one dirt road in, and a narrow path on the other side. 'The development' we later came to know as Ramtown, had thrown up basketball and tennis courts, a couple of swing sets and a slide. Of course we called it 'The Park'. Out of view from the main road, not well lit or patrolled, the Park seemed doomed from the beginning. No one seemed to take ownership of it and as much as I wanted to feel comfortable on those swings, my visits were short. I was always looking around, preparing an escape, just in case. Without parental supervision, we were vulnerable.

I suppose I owe a great deal of my fear to the many warnings I used to get from my mother, who always told us to come straight home after school. She needed to know where her children were, and you could go back there after you got home but it was never strongly encouraged. She'd rather have us in the yard or with kids on the block, than at the park. Something was wrong with that place and she knew it. Still. Those swings would lure me and as long as there were other kids around, I felt relatively safe...but never truly secure.

One day I walked over to the plastic horse shaped swings and found that someone had taken the time to pour acid on it. So sad. An ugly hole right through the body of this poor horse. And there were other indications of evil doers lurking about. Graffiti on the backboards. Filth. Over the years the park was completely destroyed by vandals, "rotten kids", as my dad called them. The teens of the 60s and 70s, 80s... really didn't have a decent supervised place to hang out. Some used to hang out at the 'Parish Center' which was nice, but most of the kids were were congregating on street corners, some actually sitting in the streets, which always aggravated my folks.

By the time I was 9 or 10, my mom had arranged for me to have piano lessons from her friend, Jan B, whose house was conveniently located along the side of the path. I could stop on my way home from school and then take the long way since it was unlikely anyone would venture through alone. I remember around that time, My mom telling me that if I was ever in trouble, an example, being chased by a bad man, that I should run straight to Mrs. Butler's house.

I was relieved that we had a place of refuge and because of that began to feel less preoccupied with potentially bad situations. For some reason, maybe because I was older, I began to feel less concerned about people being IN the woods, and sometimes would venture into the denser areas to find a quiet place near a stream to just relax alone. I became familiar with a few trails and enjoyed exploring the 'pristine' territory, as if no one had ever been there. I was still nervous about the park itself but found solace in the woods for some reason. Weird kid.

So around that same time, I was starting to fall in with/for a couple of the boys in school, though I could NEVER admit it. I had become known for the speed in which I could outrun these boys and it seemed that we would be walking home from school, not together, of course, but for some reason, I would stop at the swings and we would somehow meet up there and these boys would get to chasing me. I would scramble through the paths which wound all around the perimeter of the park. I could never be caught, but eventually would tire and run out of the park and on to home. I remember one such instance, running out of the park and as I ran, looking down at my bright red pleather crinkle side-zip boots, and seeing I had torn one on the side. My favorite boots! I remember I was wearing red white and blue flowered jeans. This must have been 1969. The summer of love.

One day, I was with my 6 year old sister Laura. We decided to cut through the park. She wanted to play with some friends on the swings and slide, while I sat on a swing and kept an eye on her. Meanwhile the boys showed up. Before long, I was working up a sweat out-running the 3 of them. Eddie, John and Kenny. Kenny lived next door to us. I just didn't trust him much. I was in the deep of the woods and started to sense that they were gaining on me. I remember stumbling on a root and losing time. Remembering my mother's advice, that I if I was ever being chased by a bad man, to run to Mrs. Butler's house.

I cut through this one path that led straight to her backyard. Somewhere in my mind, as I ran, I reasoned that these were not bad men but playful boys, and that I ought not have to made a huge deal out of this. Perhaps I could just run into her shed. So I did. She was out back sweeping the porch and did not see me take cover. The 3 boys came running out into her backyard and approached the shed. I could hear them just outside the door and felt my heart racing as the sweat was pouring off my overheating temples. I hear Mrs. Butler yell out for the boys to beat it. Scram. I pictured my piano teacher raising her broom.

Then silence, followed by the swish of her broom on the porch. There I was in darkness. I remember thinking that I would have to get out of there and it seemed like forever that she was sweeping that porch. Finally, I could wait no longer. I decided that on the count of three I would bust out and run around the side of the shed. I counted slowly to myself and then followed my plan. I remember hearing Mrs. B screaming, " Hey, what are you doing in there. Who are you!? Get back here!"

I ran all the way. Upon my arrival, mom asked " Where is your sister?" I had left Laura on the slide at the park! I freaked out. My 6 year old sister at the park. I thought for sure the creeps would take her and I told my mother I was going back to get her. " Never mind. I am going over to Jan's. You come with me and get Laura."

I ran down to my room and changed my clothes and washed the sweat from my face. Back at the Butlers, I ran into the park to get Laura. She was fine. I remember going back into Jan's house and hearing the story of the kid in the shed. The whole time I wondered if she knew it was me. I decided not to say anything.

This year I ran into her daughter at church on Christmas Eve. It felt good to get it out in the open. We laughed about it. She told me she'd tell her mother.

Eventually tragedy struck. A 13 year old lost his life in a minibike collision and there were other incidents which I shall not write about which were less than favorable to the Ramtown's reputation. I have not been there in many years, though I know that the Park is now home to the Ramtown First Aid. I should really take a walk down there and check it out. See if still creeps me out. There is a much nicer park now off of Lakewood-Allenwood Rd. Sometimes it takes a few generations to get it right. They meant well.