Friday, May 20, 2005
The boy with the steel plate in his head.
Our neighborhood was a mixed bag of boys and girls when I was growing up in the 50s and early 60s. There was the Doughtery boy in pre-seminary catholic high school hiding out inside his house all summer long because he could barely walk and chew gum at the same time. He was hopeless at the rough and tumble games we all played and he feared our confident ridicule.
There were the Albright kids with the steel plate in the boy's head and the horrendous burn scar on his sister's leg. There was Janis the only child, spoiled beyond reason. There was the two Greenwood girls, the Barry girl, little Stebie Hall and the two Thorpe boys. There was the Admiral Kingman's with their son Danny King and there were the Warners with their four boys.
And way up the street in the new section build beyond our dead-end street was Sabra Weber. But that is another story for another day.
The Albright kids each had a story. When I was 6ish or 7ish around 1951 or 1952, it was spring time and I was locked in the house with chicken pox. There was a neighborhood block event. This event was told over and over for years to come among the kids in the dusky light as we sat on sun warmed cement porch steps saying "Do you remember when....?"
The Albright boy's name escapes me now, but The Event revolved around the annual fort that was build out of the dirt in the empty lot beyond the dead end barrier at the end of our street. There was a large abandoned field and then there was the two-way highway that later became I-580 going between Oakland and Hayward. A highway in those days meant roads where cars travelled at 50 mph.
This field was an offically "safe" playground for the kids on our block. We played baseball on the flat part near the dead-end barrier. We did grass sledding with wide pieces of cardboard boxes in the tall grass on the steep embankments on the highway side of this field.
As we got a little older and became the proud owners of two-wheeled bicycles, we performed roller coaster-like stunts riding our bikes down the paths our sledding had cut in the embankment.
Well, anyway, I was locked in the house and missed all the excitement of The Event. But this is the story I was told about what happened.
The older two Warner boys, the boy next door to them whose name totally escapes me and who I am going to call Richard for now, the Thorpe boys (Bobby and Gary?) and the little Albright boy were up in the field. The annual fort had been build, taking up the full-time activity of the older boys for several days of this spring break.
Building the fort meant that you dug a 4-foot trench and then surrounded three sides of it with high walls of cardboard. The walls were just high enough to stand up and see over, but gave good cover if you squatted down behind them. We kids had an almost unlimited access to large cardboard boxes. They were available from the dumpsters behind the appliance store that the Japanese family owned in the strip mall up on East 14th Street.
After several days of building, it was time to use the fort. Two sides would be chosen and one group would hide-out in the fort and the other group would try to attack them and get possession of the fort. Tactics included throwing dirt clods at the group in the fort until they caved in and showed the white flag.
At first, the older boys opted to be in the fort and let the younger group attack them. However, that was no fun. The younger group did not move around to the side to pitch their 'bombs' or throw their clods hard enough to have them break apart loudly and satisfyingly against the cardboard walls. So the groups switched positions and the younger group went into the fort. The clods were flying fast and furiously.
A loud shout of "Stop, stop, stop" was finally listened to and the older boys came rushing around the cardboard walls to find the Albright boy laying on the ground with a bleeding head wound. Bobby Thorpe went running home and got his mother. She took one look at the situation and rushed back home to call for an ambulance. The ambulance came with sirens roaring and lights flashing, all the way up to the dead-end barrier. They got their stretcher through the barrier and up the hill to the fort. They flashed pen lights in the Albright boy's eyes, put a pad on his head to help stop the bleeding, and they loaded him onto the stretcher.
The ambulance pulled away and the boys went and sat on the Thorpes front lawn. They talked for hours trying to figure out who threw the clod that hit the Albright boy. Finally, among themselves they figured out that it was Richard.
Richard had to go home and tell his parents that he was responsible. The police were called and a report was filed. They had to do it for the insurance. The Albrights stayed at the hospital all that afternoon and then when they finally came home at around 7 pm, the neighbors surrounded the parents, looking for news about how the boy was doing.
The news was grave. The boy had been taken to Children's Hospital in Oakland. He had been hit with a clod of dirt that had a stone embedded into it. It had hit his right temple and shattered his skull. There was surgery to pull out all the small shards of bone in the wound and a steel plate had been inserted and pinned to cover his brain where the missing bone had been.
Several weeks later the boy came home from the hospital. He was not allowed to come outside to play. He had to wear a football helmet while his head was healing.
Richard's family was also effected severely by this event. The mother became very depressed and took to her room. She was not seen for at least 7 years. She just stayed in her room. Richard took care of her. He became very serious and a pretty good cook. He never came out to play anymore. He finished high school and joined the navy. Before he left for the navy, we sat on his back step and talked. We talked about how he felt about what happened. We talked about his mother and how hard she took things. And we talked about Richard's relief about getting out of his house and moving on with this life.
At 13 or 14, boys talked to me, the neighborhood tomboy girl. They talked about their feelings and thoughts. I guess I asked the right questions in the right way and I guess I was a good listener. I was interested in them and how they were feeling about things, so they told me their secrets.
There were the Albright kids with the steel plate in the boy's head and the horrendous burn scar on his sister's leg. There was Janis the only child, spoiled beyond reason. There was the two Greenwood girls, the Barry girl, little Stebie Hall and the two Thorpe boys. There was the Admiral Kingman's with their son Danny King and there were the Warners with their four boys.
And way up the street in the new section build beyond our dead-end street was Sabra Weber. But that is another story for another day.
The Albright kids each had a story. When I was 6ish or 7ish around 1951 or 1952, it was spring time and I was locked in the house with chicken pox. There was a neighborhood block event. This event was told over and over for years to come among the kids in the dusky light as we sat on sun warmed cement porch steps saying "Do you remember when....?"
The Albright boy's name escapes me now, but The Event revolved around the annual fort that was build out of the dirt in the empty lot beyond the dead end barrier at the end of our street. There was a large abandoned field and then there was the two-way highway that later became I-580 going between Oakland and Hayward. A highway in those days meant roads where cars travelled at 50 mph.
This field was an offically "safe" playground for the kids on our block. We played baseball on the flat part near the dead-end barrier. We did grass sledding with wide pieces of cardboard boxes in the tall grass on the steep embankments on the highway side of this field.
As we got a little older and became the proud owners of two-wheeled bicycles, we performed roller coaster-like stunts riding our bikes down the paths our sledding had cut in the embankment.
Well, anyway, I was locked in the house and missed all the excitement of The Event. But this is the story I was told about what happened.
The older two Warner boys, the boy next door to them whose name totally escapes me and who I am going to call Richard for now, the Thorpe boys (Bobby and Gary?) and the little Albright boy were up in the field. The annual fort had been build, taking up the full-time activity of the older boys for several days of this spring break.
Building the fort meant that you dug a 4-foot trench and then surrounded three sides of it with high walls of cardboard. The walls were just high enough to stand up and see over, but gave good cover if you squatted down behind them. We kids had an almost unlimited access to large cardboard boxes. They were available from the dumpsters behind the appliance store that the Japanese family owned in the strip mall up on East 14th Street.
After several days of building, it was time to use the fort. Two sides would be chosen and one group would hide-out in the fort and the other group would try to attack them and get possession of the fort. Tactics included throwing dirt clods at the group in the fort until they caved in and showed the white flag.
At first, the older boys opted to be in the fort and let the younger group attack them. However, that was no fun. The younger group did not move around to the side to pitch their 'bombs' or throw their clods hard enough to have them break apart loudly and satisfyingly against the cardboard walls. So the groups switched positions and the younger group went into the fort. The clods were flying fast and furiously.
A loud shout of "Stop, stop, stop" was finally listened to and the older boys came rushing around the cardboard walls to find the Albright boy laying on the ground with a bleeding head wound. Bobby Thorpe went running home and got his mother. She took one look at the situation and rushed back home to call for an ambulance. The ambulance came with sirens roaring and lights flashing, all the way up to the dead-end barrier. They got their stretcher through the barrier and up the hill to the fort. They flashed pen lights in the Albright boy's eyes, put a pad on his head to help stop the bleeding, and they loaded him onto the stretcher.
The ambulance pulled away and the boys went and sat on the Thorpes front lawn. They talked for hours trying to figure out who threw the clod that hit the Albright boy. Finally, among themselves they figured out that it was Richard.
Richard had to go home and tell his parents that he was responsible. The police were called and a report was filed. They had to do it for the insurance. The Albrights stayed at the hospital all that afternoon and then when they finally came home at around 7 pm, the neighbors surrounded the parents, looking for news about how the boy was doing.
The news was grave. The boy had been taken to Children's Hospital in Oakland. He had been hit with a clod of dirt that had a stone embedded into it. It had hit his right temple and shattered his skull. There was surgery to pull out all the small shards of bone in the wound and a steel plate had been inserted and pinned to cover his brain where the missing bone had been.
Several weeks later the boy came home from the hospital. He was not allowed to come outside to play. He had to wear a football helmet while his head was healing.
Richard's family was also effected severely by this event. The mother became very depressed and took to her room. She was not seen for at least 7 years. She just stayed in her room. Richard took care of her. He became very serious and a pretty good cook. He never came out to play anymore. He finished high school and joined the navy. Before he left for the navy, we sat on his back step and talked. We talked about how he felt about what happened. We talked about his mother and how hard she took things. And we talked about Richard's relief about getting out of his house and moving on with this life.
At 13 or 14, boys talked to me, the neighborhood tomboy girl. They talked about their feelings and thoughts. I guess I asked the right questions in the right way and I guess I was a good listener. I was interested in them and how they were feeling about things, so they told me their secrets.
# posted by Dornar @ 4:13 PM 
