November 14, 2022 at 3:40 p.m.
Moving On
By By C. Brock Harris-
I sometimes think of times growing up in Hope, tonight especially as Ian asked me at dinner, “Dad, you have any funny stories about when you were little?” I put my crossword puzzle down, looked at him, and thought for a moment or two. I told him the one about my futile attempt to pull a fishtail maneuver that I had watched Abe Carman do in his newer car. My Taurus tires were as bald as Mr. Clean and the result involved pulling corn stalks out of its grill- my Taurus, not Mr. Clean. The way I told it, only slightly exaggerated I might add, had Ian rolling. In fact, I think I wrote about that one a year or two back. That got me thinking about some other shenanigans through the years. I will try to stick to the highlights and not ramble, but one never knows.
Another included Carman and I running around the Moravian cemetery on a snow-day out of school, which is of course a pastime for kids growing up in our surprising little town. We were always respectful of the graves, but when you practice cross-country, play in the creek, and ride bikes up and down the good hills, the only thing better is when a good snow is taken advantage of with a sled and some buddies. That’s what brought us out there. That and the anatomically-correct snowman. We made him with the typical three-part body, one of our hats, a pine cone for nose, walnuts for eyes, stick arms, and well… another stick for the other part. Or, more of a log if I’m being honest. Let’s just say this snowman would still be quite proud of himself outside in the cold. In fact, he was so proud, he reached across the road at the top of the hill. That pine branch was at least a twelve-footer. When an unexpected elderly couple’s vehicle came through the gates at the top of the hill to pay their respects or perhaps merely enjoy the scenery, they didn’t see our snowman. What they had to have seen was that he went over the road and down the drop on the other side. When they drove over him, it kinked the middle part of the snowman’s body and knocked it up and over. It seemed like he felt the pain and reacted as any man would- completely falling apart. The long branch acted like a slap-stick catapult ripped out of him and down he went. We laughed so hard that I am fairly certain we did not breathe for at least three minutes straight. Rodney Carrington has a song about this kind of snowman. You should give it a listen.
Another tale that comes to mind is my first fish, or at least what I remember as my first fish, being caught at Nading’s pond. It’s on the north side of town down that angled road that runs behind the body shop, for all you Hope foreigners. You know you have a quaint little Indiana hometown when you can bike from the southernmost point where you live to the north edge of town in less than fifteen minutes. That day though, my father Tim had his ‘Vette out and drove right out there. Oh yeah, by ‘Vette I’m talking Chevette, the only car Chevy made smaller than those Shriners in the parade that make you pull your feet back when they fly by. The snowman mentioned a couple of paragraphs back would most definitely not have fit in it, at least with the hatch close that it. When we took that Chevette out there, the angle of the pond (when you’re six-years-old mind you) was one that always made me a little bit skittish. Thought we might have fallen in one day, or at least not have made it back up the hill.
We parked under the biggest and best catalpa tree, good bait too by-the-way, and rigged up to catch whatever we could luck into. Dad was a pretty great fisherman though, his methods adding up to way more than luck. For myself however, my Snoopy pole and a worm would suffice. He kept that Snoopy pole all these years and I got it a year or two before he passed away. It is very special to me. As far as the fish goes, I hooked a crappie that day that felt like Jonah’s whale, weaved around the reeds, and got it out of the water as Dad made his way from around the corner to see the efforts of my labor. I was on a little concrete bridge that was a really good spot. I remember Dad being genuinely impressed. Made me feel pretty damn good. The reel of my Snoopy pole happily will decorate the wall in our new basement when I get those things back out and I will fondly think of that story every time I see it.
Most people will also be able to appreciate Ashbrook’s Food Mart that was where Tonala Mexican restaurant now resides. You could get the best sweet tea ever made, a quality cold cut, lottery tickets as long as you had I.D., and shoot the bull with Bobby Joe. A favorite little nook of that store that my sister and I frequented was the videotape and video game rental area. You would bring the smashed case of the game or movie that was in some really thick plastic to the back counter, they’d put the actual tape or cartridge in a light brown case, and you’d be set for three to five days depending on how long the rental was. It was heaven.
I can still remember renting books from Karen down the corner when the library was on the northwest just down a ways from Ashbrook’s. It smelled like old books and we loved it. Lindsay and I rented “Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark” so many times that the accompanying tape that went with it had to be reordered. I remember not liking the newer library because it didn’t smell the same.
I can remember getting sick and freaking out when I, mid-ride, decided that the octopus ride at Hope Heritage Days was probably not the best choice. Dad rode with me and did his best to console me. I puked so much that the pea soup scene from “The Exorcist” would have looked like child’s play. Needless to say I didn’t get on to any of the other rides that evening. Following people around the square with a Whoopee cushion during those same Heritage Days when I was older was another good time.
Mrs. Johnson running Little Hoosiers and the pioneer village was always a treat as well. I can remember a time when she asked me to play a (preplanned) prank on the rest of the class by asking me to pull Kristen Harker’s ponytail one day in Simmon’s One-Room Schoolhouse. “In trouble” in the corner, I wore that dunce cap with pride and the wink from Mrs. Johnson helped pass the time too. Those were the days.
Anyone recall being able to get penny candy when Major’s was where Willow Leaves is now? A Pizza King, where Swiss Made is now, was also one of my favorites. Who would imagine we’d get a “rill fancy” Dollar General complete with market. I don’t know how many times Carrie would ask me to stop by the DG on my way home to grab necessary items. Sometimes a bottle of cheap red wine would get me bonus points.
At the HSP, a guy with five bucks in his pocket could eat like a king during a hot summer evening and still have some left for the next night. Rick Land was in charge out there and playing baseball was life. That was before he got a field named after him and was still around. You start to miss people like that when you reflect on the memories of one’s youth and upbringing. Haven’t thought of Rick, Bobby Joe, Mrs. Johnson, or Nading’s pond for quite a while. It’s other little things too, stories forgotten or some to keep just for myself. If I kept going, I’d be like Chopper and you would never be able to get away- another Hope reference that if you don’t get you surely will if you stick around Hope long enough.
