REVISITING THE PARK | Dreaming away again in Madison Park-ville
The intersection at 41st Avenue and East Lynn Street — with the manhole covers as bases — was the place to play till dark and beyond, with only one streetlight. Seldom did we need to yell, “Car!” but we always got a friendly wave.
For most, the baseball game ended swiftly when parental voices bellowed, “Time for dinner!”
Riding bikes — with playing cards attached to the spokes by clothespins — made a satisfying car sound. That and roller-skating, playing Kick the Can or dodgeball games added to our boisterous revelry.
Today, the youths are happy indoors, immersed in online games or using their high-tech wisdom to embarrass Mom and Dad on the use of their Smartphones. It’s quite the step up from the “Dick Tracy” walkie-talkie wristwatches from 70 years ago.
Diving in
I think the neighborhood changed for us when the Kirkland ferry was rumored to make its last run. Children citywide would come to the little dock and spend the day diving for coins thrown by ferry passengers.
Parents applied iodine and baby oil and supplied the eats, but we had to endure one whole hour of torture, waiting for the threat of cramps and drowning to subside. Finally, it was time to sneak north of the swimming area to the dark cavern under the car-loading dock.
Hearts pounded as we grabbed the greasy cables above. The ferry grew closer to the landing, and the huge propeller reversed, pushing out a huge wall of water. Hollering in unison, we surfed halfway to the swim raft. Parents did not need to know.
The little beach on the north side of the Edgewater Apartments was the only beach with white, warm sand to roll in after a long swim in the shallow water. That beach was closed, too. We would miss the “blue meanies” in coveralls (groundskeepers) who regularly chased us off the property but never caught the fleet-footed youths of the late ‘40s!
On the last day at McGilvra School, we ran down the sidewalk and over the three steps along the Madison beach house at full speed and belly-flopped, barely touching the soft, sandy bottom.
There wasn’t a thing on the bottom of the lake as far as the eye could see — lifeguards manicured the area each morning. Not a can, bottle cap or diaper to be found.
Most of us have a tough time these days just walking over the huge rocks to find deep enough water to swim in, but the rocks are there to prevent erosion from the heavy boat traffic.
The cement platform on the south side of the beach house was great after a long swim. Shivering, we would race to secure a spot on the hot concrete and lay face down. The warmth gave us pause to relive the all-too-short summer vacation. The platform is still there, but the sunshine doesn’t reach it for the shade of the tall trees.
The saddest for me was to see Grandmother’s refreshment stand close. The tantalizing aromas of hot dogs and hamburgers frying will be only a memory since the licensing rules changed.
Hitting the road
Our playgrounds were disappearing, but knowing we were too young for a driver’s license, to join the military or get into X-rated movies, we could still stand on tiptoes and, in our best adult, deep voice, say, “One, please!”
With popcorn and cold Cokes, we saw Jane Russell in “The Outlaw.” It paled in comparison to what’s broadcast on TV today.
One of our best adventures involved three of us and three sleeping bags in a 14-foot boat, without a center seat, with barely enough room left for food and drink.
Under the cover of darkness, we left the shores of Edgewater and headed east to the westside of Meydenbauer Bay to check out the old wood ships that were anchored, due to the lack of fuel. We snuck aboard and slept on the decks, but only after making sure there were no creatures lurking and no ghosts.
One time, we made it all the way to Lake Sammamish via the slough with our craft. A cow filling the entire width of the waterway was our only deterrent. The longer it stayed, the more we laughed. Embarrassed, the heifer finally sauntered off.
We were at that age where if we had a friend with a car he was our new best friend. We did get to the races at Aurora Speedway, and not that much farther away was Playland, where, on a dare, I rode the roller coaster with no hands.
A car without parental factors was a newfound freedom. We caravanned with friends to the Sunset drive-in movie. We all had permission from parents, except for the drive-in part.
Another time gone by
Summers as a kid were coming into an end. Voices changed, whiskers appeared here and there — then, girls! That was better than baseball, by far.
The park was different for us, and now succeeding generations of youths are embarking on their own versions of summer fun. But nothing can compare to the adventures we had during that idyllic time in Madison Park.
RICHARD CARL LEHMAN is a longtime Madison Park resident. To comment on this column, write to MPTimes@nwlink.com.