Treasure

14 Treasure second edit 3/02 9:45 PM

Every kid likes treasure. Who doesn't? Most of us kids dug for it at some time in our lives, with the warning not to dig too far because you'd wind up in China. But one man's junk is another man's treasure. Or, in this case, another kids' treasure.

I was thinking of that as I was getting ready for my daily walk from the senior apartments to the Village. The weather was warm, even for July, and I only had on a tee-shirt. I wore long pants all the time now, though. When we were kids, we only wore long pants. Never shorts. We were always outdoors playing, often through fields and brush, and we didn't want to get our legs scratched up. Kids today probably wear nothing but shorts. They don't play outside.

I walked down the hall, shuffling cane in hand, my camera bumping at my side, and pushed open the front door out of the complex. There was no Richie. I wonder why? He's been giving me a ride to Swayze Acres every day. I hope he's OK. I guess I'll have to fend for myself.

I walked down the road to the complex. Here I would head right into the Village, but I stopped. Such a beautiful day. It would be a shame to waste it on such a day. Could I make it up the long hill up Middletown Road? I've been walking a half mile into the Village every day and then a half mile back. That's one mile. It's a mile to Swayze Acres. I should be able to make that. So I went left instead of right.

I got to Fanucci's gravel pit across the street. I don't like walking on Middletown Road. Never did. But there was still a path just off the road leading up the hill, away from traffic, like when I was a kid. I helped wear that path. I was pretty proud of that, and all these years later, it's still being used. The walking wasn't too bad, but I took my time anyway. Man, Fanucci's is a large operation. Both sides of Middletown Road. The pit on the west side now is the location of Van Schoonhoven Square. It was that big.

I finally made it to the top. I was winded. Where was Richie? I could have used him today. This camera can get heavy. Maybe I shouldn't have given up driving. And my car.

It was a short walk to an old dirt road that lead into Prospect Hill. I took it. Darn kids drive too fast. Best to get off the road. I walked along Weaver Street. These houses are just a little older than the ones in Swayze Acres. I passed Harrison and Jay streets. I soon got to the end of Weaver. The old path was still there, leading through the cemetery to St. Mary's cemetery. Here I bore right, just as I did as a kid. And there, on the right, were two gravestones I admired. They had pictures of the dead people on the stone. I took a photo of it and then took a right at the farthest road in.

I heard young voices. It sounds like it's coming from St. Mary's dump. It was just a short distance, so I decided to check it out. I walked through some grass, a bit high because it is not mowed that often. I got to... well... I don't want to call it a road. It was more like two tracks where trucks drove in to dump. But it served its purpose. I hobbled down, and there they were. Kids. Rummaging through trash.

“Hicksey!” yelled Bob Van. “Look what I found!”

Russ, little me, and Bob Naisse went running over.

“What is it?” as Russ.

“I don't know, but hicksey! It's mine!” exclaimed Bob Van.

“I know what that is,” said little me. “My dad bought one. It's a tape recorder.”

“What do you do with it?” asked hicksey Bob.

“You record stuff with it, you dumb shit,” said little me.

Little me was rude, I think. I only call politicians dumb shits now.

“Like what?” asked Bob.

“Sounds. Geezus H. Keerist. I record songs that come over WPTR and WTRY.”

“How does it work?” asked Bob.

“Well, you put the tape you're going to record on the reel on the left. You feed it through down there,” said little me. “And you hook it to the reel on the right. And then you push the play and record buttons at the same time. To hear what you recorded, you push that rewind button there. The tape goes back to the reel on the left. Then you push play.”

“Cool!” said Bob. “I'm going to go home to see if it works. The top is smashed.”

“OK,” said the rest of the kids.

“Let me take some photos first,” I said. “Smile!” They all grinned. Sigh.

“Hicksey!”

“Hicksey!”

“Hicksey!”

Kids were finding treasure. I walked closer.

“Hey kids!” I said loud enough to be heard.
The kids all turned towards me.
“Hi Mr. Gibson!” said they all.
“What are you finding? Be careful of broken glass,” I said in my parent voice.
“Lots of stuff! I got candles!” said Bob Naisse.
“I got... I don't know what I've got, but I want it,” said little me.
I walked over to see what little me had.
“It's a doorknob,” I answered. “A glass one. And that's a hinge.

“They must go to those doors,” said Russ. “I hickseyed all the doors.”

“What are you going to do with all of those old oak doors,” I asked. But I already knew what they were going to do with them.

“I'm gonna build a tree fort in my back yard!” said Russell.

Before I could answer, Bob Van came back on his bicycle, out of breath.

“Did the tape recorder work?” I asked..

“It sure does!” said Bob. “I did what Dave said and it started playing something about a sale at J.M. Fields. They must have thrown it out because it's busted. But it works. I even recorded my voice. But I wanted to come back to see if I could find more tapes. I hicksey all the tapes!”

“We wouldn't have a use for tapes anyway,” said Russell. “There's some in a box over there. They don't even stick to anything.”

Bob ran over to the box Russell pointed to.

“There's only a few,” said Bob. “But my dad can get me some. He sells 3M stuff, like tape.”

Satisfied with their haul of treasure, Russell announced that looking for more stuff was over. The kids started to walk up the little hill out of the dump.

“Hey, give me a hand with these doors!” said Russell. “They're heavy!”

“I'm carrying too much stuff,” most everyone answered.

“They're oak, Russ,” I said. “I'd help but I can't carry anything and balance with my cane. Don't you think you should ask your mom and dad if you can bring those doors home? Otherwise, you might be bringing them back. Or maybe your dad with just break them up and put them in the burn barrel.”

“How did you know my dad has a burn barrel?” asked Russ. “Were you in my back yard?”

Uh oh. Think fast.

“Doesn't everyone have a burn barrel?” I answered.

“No. Only a few dads.”

“Oh, well, I just figured he had one,” I replied.

Russell grabbed the top corner of a door and dragged it behind him, leaving a furrow in the ground. Well, if the dump workers want to know where the doors went, just follow the furrows.

The rest of the day was spent by kids walking from Russ' house to the dump and back, dragging doors. Then they got smart and got a wagon. Russ pulled, little me pushed. Bob Naisse was playing on his radio station, WVUT. It was illegal, but no one cared.

All worked that day except Bob Van. He hickseyed the tape recorder and he was busy.

I watched for a short time. Richie would never find me here. So I retraced my steps through the cemeteries and Prospect Hill and back to the senior apartments. I walked in the door.

“Hello Mr. Gibson. Out for your walk?”

“Hello Mrs. Sciochetti. Yes. Have a nice evening,” I answered.

And then I went to my apartment and took a nap.