We really didn't have to stray off the block to have a good time, as there were plenty kids on our street. This was basically a street comprised of WWII and/or Korean War Vets who bought their first house on the GI Bill. We would chalk bases in the street for our handball games. Our version of handball was throwing a pimple ball up in front of yourself and smashing it as hard as you could with your fist. The bases were rarely occupied, as everything was a fly out or home run. To prevent nickel and dime hits, we had first base really far from the plate, so it was a heck of a run to get a single. Funny, when we moved to Olney, nobody had ever played this version of the game. I thought it was international in scope.

Churchville Reservoir...One of Our Hiking Destinations

In the spring and summer there was wiffle ball, handball, stepball, wallball, fastball and probably a few others. The neighborhood adults would get together on a plateau behind Tate's and Piccione's houses and play volleyball, while we kids would drink sodas and watch our parents fall down a lot. That was cool, but what wasn't cool was when we would be playing stickball or something, and one of the adults would grab the bat and say, "Hey, I was really good at this!" AAAAH!! They would take about 40 swings, missing or fouling the ball off, then, dizzy and sweaty, they would mumble something about looking out for their windows, and split. You know, these bastarized games of baseball were teriffic, but there was nothing like playing the game,in uniform, with 2 full teams. I LOVED it! I hated practice. I hated going up to the ballfield with a handful of guys and playing a "game" where anything right of second base is foul. No rightfielder or second baseman. The catcher played for both sides. I'd go along because it was a mortal sin to say no to a ballgame. Only a Communist would do that.

Franklin Field...Home to Penn & the Philadelpha Iggles

The fall and winter were beautiful, marred only by the start of school. We were sorta ready to go back, but we were already thinking of Columbus Day, All Saints Day, Thanksgiving, any snow day, and Christmas; all Catholic school holidays. We played some football, touch, touch tackle, rough touch, but the best was tackle with no equipment. We didnt do much more than hike the ball and all pile up. Nobody got hurt until the adults went and organized us. It's like all the junk piles, raggedy lots, abandoned/crumbling structures, train tracks, train bridges, trees (rotting or otherwise) we played on or in never really injured a single one of us. Then the City of Philadelphia built a playground behind Comly School, and Nazareth Hospital Emergency Room got real busy, real fast.

The old Schwinn bicycles were a mainstay of our early years, but we got a real yearning for "English Racers"...3 speed bikes with hand brakes. Everybody got one, except me. I got a 3 speed Czechoslovakian contraption that was so tempermental, it drove me crazy. We decided to bike-hike to Washington Crossing, all the way up 532 to the Delaware. My dad said we'd never make it, and he was almost right. I had nothing but trouble with my Cold War Cycle. It was hot to boot. Anyway, we made it; signed the guestbook at the gallery, ate our lunch on the river and headed home. There was a lot of farmland between Somerton and Rt 32. Bucks County is a gorgeous place.

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