That look helps us remember
when a happy puppy first encountered snow. Likewise, we remember snowball fights
and the raised-glass revelry in crowded Fan District bars. And, we remember
particular people we associate with yesteryear's snowy landscapes.
In
the winter of 1958-59 I had just turned 11. My dog, Buster, was probably six or
seven months old when he saw his first snow. He was a white mutt; he looked like he was part Spitz but somewhat bigger.
Watching Buster rooting in the snow,
barking at it, rolling in it, was too funny. He seemed to absolutely
love the smell, the taste and the feel of snow.
*
Maybe the best snowball shot I ever
made was in the early '80s on West Grace Street. Rebby Sharp and I were
across the street from the Biograph Theatre, ducked down behind some
parked cars. It was after dark but I can't say how late it was. A snowfall was underway and it was sticking. Rebby and I were battling
some friends, who were hunkered down behind parked cars in front of Don's Hot Nuts, next door to the
Biograph, the cinema I managed in those days.
Rebby and her band, the
Orthotonics, used to practice sometimes in the theater's large
auditorium during off-hours. Some fans of Rebby's music and art might not know
it, but she was a fairly decent athlete; she pitched for the Biograph's women's softball team had a good throwing arm.
When
some snowballs thumped off of Donald Cooper's peculiar, bright green
candy business storefront, he came out on his porch to command the snowball
fighters to stop and scram. As everyone associated with the Biograph knew Cooper
(depicted in my illustration) to be an utter pest and the worst next-door neighbor in the world, Rebby and I had no
need for a plan ... by instinct we knew what to do.
Rebby threw first. My throw left a
split second later. Both were superbly well put shots. When Cooper
extended his hand to block Rebby's accurate incoming snowball, it shattered to
shower him. Then, my righteous throw -- a frozen rope! -- hit him square in the face ... boom!
Cooper wisely quit his surly stance and retired for the night.
*
The
best rides in the snow I remember were at Libby Hill Park. In the
late-'70s and early-'80s I spent a lot of time up there. Played
Frisbee-golf in that park quite a bit back then. And, there were a few heavy snows
in that same time period, which drew thrill-riders to what was then called
the Slide of Death.
Rather than sleds, we rode inflated inner tubes from the top of a
series of hills in the radically sloped park down to Main Street below, next to Poe's Pub. When the
snow was right those tubes went airborne at least a couple of times; the
fast ride could be quite exhilarating.
There was a particular time
that stands out. Dennison Macdonald, then a highly visible neighborhood denizen (he died in 1984), had hosed down
the first 20 yards, or so, of the run, so it would freeze in the frigid air and make the track
as slick and quick as greased lightning.
Eventually,
that night, the run to the bottom got so fast you
had to be drunk to be foolish enough to take the risk of riding. Which wasn't a problem for
those of us in the group standing in the snow, grouped around a fire-barrel and passing a bottle of Bushmills
around between rides.
At that time Chuck Wrenn lived across the
street from the launching point of the old Slide of Death. Not long ago he and I got to reminiscing about that same night. The
sight of Duck Baker threatening to ride a big shaggy dog down the chute was still hilarious. For whatever
reason, the silly dog happily went along with the gag each time Duck hoisted
him up and pretended ... well, I guess you had to be there.
Please note, Duck never really rode the dog down the hill. And, I don't think the dog was drunk. Anyway, for Chuck and me, conjuring up that comic scene, once again, had us laughing almost as hard as it did originally.
Of course, to fully appreciate Slide of Death stories you probably should be standing around a fire barrel in snow up to mid-calf ... drinking Irish whiskey. If you like, substituting Jameson is perfectly acceptable.
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