Way Back When I Knew Better: Step Two

My earliest recollections are of my childhood on north 34^th Street in Milwaukee. I’d hang out with the kid two doors down from our duplex. In Milwaukee-speak a duplex is a two story flat or apartment with living quarters on each level. Dennis, the aforementioned child, was what my father liked to refer to as a “dickens.” Although, I don’t think he was referring to that English wordsmith who wrote those super-sized books, Dennis would have easily fit in with Fagin’s misfits. Left to our own devices we could find numerous ways to terrify our sisters. We each had one. Stealing their hopscotch markers, surprise hosings, or finding bugs to put on their heads or in their clothes kept us busy without incurring parental interference. Our favorite hangout was in an alley behind a bottling plant a block away from our houses. To this day I’m not certain how a couple of 4 year olds could get away with wandering so far away, but as I stated before those were simpler times. Of course nothing compares to the mythology surrounding the story Dennis told me about one of our neighbor’s father. Since I don’t recall his name I’ll just refer to him as Mr. Walsh. We all knew Mr. Walsh, a man in his thirties or early forties, had been hospitalized. Dennis told me he had died, and then, come back to life. Dennis said it was just like Jesus. Naturally, my Jewish upbringing had not prepared me for such revelations. Having a limitless imagination made me worry about what impact this fragile looking man would have upon my family and me. The thought of his Studebaker just floating up into the sky on our way to kindergarten made it difficult to sit calmly in the back seat. Fortunately, our new house was nearing completion, and although I would miss Dennis, I was glad to be putting distance between the new messiah and me. Please feel free to comment on this reminiscence, or respond with a memory of your own.