As a boy, August signaled the end of summer vacation, swimming, church picnics, and most Little League baseball. It was now time to start thinking about going back to school. But before that first day of school, there were still lots of things to do.
Most of my boyhood summers were spent exploring the woods and streams around my Johnstown home with my friends and my dog. We lived on the edge of town, near a heavily wooded area, with overgrown strip mines. The river was close by and was paralleled by multiple tracks on the mainline of The Pennsylvania Railroad.
From dawn until dusk, we would set out to see and do as much as we could in these woods. I can fondly remember walking the streams and building stone dams, followed by searching for crayfish, frogs, and salamanders. If we were lucky, we would find a turtle.
On some occasions, we would travel down to the river and walk the railroad tracks for miles, waiting for the trains to come by. I would balance myself, while walking on the rail, trying not to come home covered in wheel grease. Often, I would bring home a few spikes.
I can recall always knowing what time of day it was by all the church bells tolling on the hour. In those days, there seemed to be a church and a bar on every block in Johnstown. Every afternoon at 3, the steel mill whistles would blow, alerting everyone that the daylight shift was ending and a new one was about to begin. I never needed a wristwatch.
Often, we would find an abandoned car or an old piece of machinery in the woods. Many of these vehicles had been there since the 1950s and were full of bullet holes and rust. There would always be large strands of industrial mine wire, inches thick, half buried, that you learned very quickly not to grab with a bare hand at the risk of terrible cuts. These objects were fascinating to young boys imaging how they got there and who drove them.
One of my most cherished childhood memories is of my dog, Rusty. He was a German shepherd who went everywhere with me from the time I was 10 years old until I left for college. We spent every summer together, walking and playing in the woods. Sadly, he died of cancer during my sophomore year at Penn State. His death truly closed the childhood chapter of my life. I still think about him, to this day.
It has been more than 40 years since I last walked those woods and tracks, yet I can still see every tree, stream, and railroad tie as though it was yesterday. Those August days will never be forgotten.
Bernard A. Oravec
Publisher
