Recollections in High Contrast: Donald Cooper Gets His

Snow brings back memories. When we see the way snow makes the world around us resemble a high contrast black and white photograph, we can't help but connect to when we saw that distinctive look before. It's a look we don't see every year in Richmond, Virginia. 

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.

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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.

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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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