Jimmy Espy: Back in the day

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July 1, 2006

My weekly duties as a newspaper columnist called, but I made a crucial mistake.

I looked outside.

Vibrant blue skies. Lazy white clouds. A caressing breeze and enough sunshine to light up Bin Laden’s soul ... almost.

I was transported back in time to summer's past, where the memories are sweet as peach cobbler at the Oakwood and some are downright golden.

n Little League baseball. A grand slam stroked off Terry "Rock" Farmer and a two-run bomb off Darry Evans. They were the best pitchers in the league and I took them deep in consecutive games. Unfortunately, my parents were away at a square dancing convention. No problem, I said, there's plenty more power where those two shots came from. But there wasn't. I never hit another home run. Not even close.

n Fishing for carp at Lake Weiss with my Grandmother Lucille, aka Granny Cille. She went to the cabin to make sandwiches, but left her line in the water. Wham. She got a bite and I picked up her Zebco and went to work. Wham! The end of my own 202 bent sharply and I had to snatch it up. I alternated reeling in both lines and managed (barely) to haul in both fish. My grandmother was so proud she had photos made of me holding both of my prizes. It is my favorite picture of me from my Huck Finn years. Skinny and blonde and bursting with health and pride. It sits on a prominent shelf in our home today and my chest still puffs out a little when I glance at those big fish.

n Movies. Late in the summer one of the Rome area drive-ins would host a "dusk 'til dawn horror spectacular." That usually meant five really bad movies for the price of one really bad movie. Five times the dreck for the same price ... what a bargain! A bunch of my high school pals would load up in a couple or three cars and we'd stop at Krystal on the way and load up with "gut bombs" and fries. A perfect evening.

n Sleeping late. There's almost nothing you can do in the day that isn't more fun at night. That philosophy kept me up until 3 a.m. many a summer evening and in bed until noon the next day. Given my druthers I'd still do it that way and I am proud to say my young nephew Matt Allen is carrying on this tradition.

n Comic books. Jackson Drug Store got a new batch in on Tuesdays. Marvels, my brand of choice, mostly came out on the same day of the month. So I'd beg, borrow or ste... beg some more to cobble together $1.03. That's how much four comics cost then. A quarter apiece and three cents sales tax. For a measly buck o’ three I could walk out of that store with the latest adventures of Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, Shang Chi – Master of Kung Fu and Deathlok the Demolisher. Now a typical comic book costs $2.95, so to get the equivalent jolt of four-color thrills a kid today would have to shell out $11.80. That's enough to make Deathlok the Demolisher cry.

n Cruising. A country backroad straightaway with heat beams rising off the asphalt. Excessive speed with all the windows down. Leon Russell screaming his funkified version of "Jumping Jack Flash" on the 8-track with me singing along. They'll put you in jail for doing that now – and rightly so – but at that time to a teenage country boy, 10-feet tall and bulletproof – jamming down the road at warp speed seemed like a birthright. Surely that highway would go on forever.

n Watermelon.

n Homemade ice cream.

n Riding motorcycles on every trail we could find.

n Highly illegal fireworks on the Fourth.

n Swimming in any creek, pond or lake we could find and occasionally scaling the fence at the recreation department and diving in the city pool at night.

n BB gun battles (with goggles on).

n Buddies. Staying over with my best pals and talking about important stuff like movies, motorcycles and that new girl who just moved to town.

n The video arcade. My pal Ritchie Ludy could play Asteroids all night on a single quarter. He'd start a game, build up a huge bonus, and then sell the game to someone else for a profit. I was in awe of his skill.

And I am in awe now of how wonderful those days were. It's not that there wasn't plenty of bad to go with it. But somehow now – looking at it all in the rearview mirror – the unpleasantness has faded away while the friends and family and fun gains more luster every day.

Wouldn't trade it for anything.

Jimmy Espy is executive editor of The Daily Citizen and prone to sentimentality.