Chasing Memories
Yesterday I had the privilege to attend a memorial service and the dedication of the Indian Head Bridge in Indian Head, Pennsylvania. The span crosses the Indian Creek carrying traffic from Route 711 into the town of Indian Head. The bridge was built and rebuilt several times in its history. Today, the bridge was dedicated as a memorial in honor of my childhood friend, Sgt Earl Duane Barclay who was killed in Vietnam.
The concrete span was often the playground for me and my brother Kenneth Beck. My friend Earl Duane Barclay lived in Indian Head with his parents Evelyn and Bill Barclay with several siblings. Our friendship grew because of his visits to his grandparents Jesse and Carrie Hall. They were our neighbors. His nickname was “Weiner.” Because we lived several miles apart, many others were closer to him than I. But when he would visit, we would rough house, explore, build things, and generally find things to do.
With several ponds behind my parent’s place were several water-filled ditches that were filled with frogs, tadpoles, and crayfish. We’d hit those hunting grounds with glass jars and capture several jars full before we’d release them.
There was always used lumber around. We would add to or tear apart an old chicken coop, turning it into a clubhouse of sorts. The only thing we needed was our imagination and a hammer. Most of the boards already had nails in them. We’d pull them out and pound the rusted nails into straight reusable nails until we’d fill an empty tin can before we started our construction project.
I can’t remember if Weiner was there when we built the heaviest toboggan ever or if he was there when we created a weight lifting set from mine-cart wheels and an iron bar. He probably was there when his cousins and I built a cannon from a metal bed frame. Rock filled tin can ammunition and cherry bomb would blast the tin cans into the leafy tree foliage overhead. We’d play baseball in the vacant field across from Hall’s Arco then swim in Indian Creek after a hot game.
I know that he was with us one Halloween. Several of us hooligans were “Halloweening” in Indian Head. There was a stone house with a large picture window. A low hedge was next to the house under the window. His younger brother Bobby was there and we dared him to soap the window. The owners of the house were sitting next to the window. Bobby disappeared, the hedge started to move, and an arm rose from the bushes. Bobby began to soap the window and the people inside were following his arm’s every move.