The Good Old Days

When I was ten years old, I lived for a short time with my uncle and his family on the edge of town. Very close by was a very lonely road leading to another section of the town. The road led

to the Olcott Park where children could play and watch the caged animals.

There were no buildings on this gravel road named for President Hoover except some shacks built by poverty stricken, alcoholic men. We called it "Hoover Camp".

I remember walking alone on Hoover Road when a car (probably a ModelT) came along and the

driver offered me a ride home. I had been told by my mother not to talk to strangers, so I refused to get in his car. "I know your father." he said.

"Well, then he was not actually a stranger, was he?" my little mind reasoned. So I got in his car and he dropped me off at my uncle's house. That was it!!

But sometime later there was a terrible happening at the Hoover Camp. Two of the men got

some wood alcohol and drank it. They must have gone raving mad! One man put his head

down on the chopping stump and the other man chopped off his head with an axe.

Well, Hoover Road is now civilized with many commercial buildings and those terrible

Depression days are over. We hope.