To the Moon and Back with Neil Armstrong

The Drainage Ditch Gang

Growing up in Nederland, Texas in the 70's was no more typical than any other town across America at the time I am sure. But we sure thought so. Nederland had not reached the population it is today. It consisted of vacant lots and large expanses of land and forest dividing the different neighborhoods. So our hood was truly our hood. And one thing that we had in our hood was the levee and the drainage ditch system. A 10 year old boys ultimate playground to be sure! We owned this maze of cement lined ditches, tunnels, and pipes. And if someone from another hood invaded our territory we fought for it. And many a war was fought on our battleground playing Army and Cops and Robbers. We called it Starsky and Hutch. LOL! The history of the levee according to Mr. Blocks historical website is that it was once a railroad between Beaumont and Port Arthur. When I was growing up it was the Gulf States Utilities main right of way with the high voltage power lines. And it still is. I remember when they changed the old wooden poles out with the ones that are in place now. There was not a single one that I haven't been inside and crawled all the way through it from end to end on our stretch of the levee. Oh the stories I can tell of our gang of kids and our playground. Where to start?

In the beginning

The Entrance now days



The Exit

This culvert was in my front yard growing up. It ran underground beside our house from our ditch to the drainage ditch. The entrance was open then . A perfect spot for a 10 year old boy! Man the summer days we spent inside this dadgum pipe. It was cool and dark in there. You could only see light at both ends. We would have flashlights and just let our imaginations roam. One day we were tired of all the sludge in the bottom of the pipe. We all had Frisbees and proceeded a drudging operation raking the mud and gunk from one end to the other ultimately dumping the sludge on the drainage ditch side. All day long we did this. Covered from head to toe with sludge but ultimately victorious. The city never said thank you as I am sure it helped our neighborhoods drainage issues! And what was in that crap we Frisbeed out anyways. If we were in a modern world I am sure that my Dad and me would have been indicted by the EPA for oil contamination. I'll just leave it at that!

Stitches

The pipes in the pic above still make me cringe. On the very first day we moved to Nederland in the second grade I cut my foot in the drainage ditch on a piece of glass. I think I needed stitches as I still have a nasty scar but Momma and Daddy just butterflied it and dumped a gallon of mecuricome on it. The second time and involving the pic above was my nastiest incident with the ditch. Everybody else had shoes on and I was barefooted. So me being the gallant man I am I volunteered to go down in it first to see how deep the mud was. Well it turned out to be about 2 foot deep! Everything was fine until my buddy hollered that I was bleeding. I looked down to see my blood boiling out and being carried by the current. They say that I came out of that ditch and hopped home all on one leg! Well it turned out that it was a triangle shaped piece of glass and it went clean through my foot. 50 something stitches in all inside and out. The drainage ditch had won this battle but I would be back for more!


The Clubhouse

The clubhouse was located in the backyard of the Ritters house off of 17th Street. The bush's in their backyard were very thick to say the least. We all had "borrowed" tools of the trade for making our clubhouse. Complete with axes, saws, picks, and shovels we proceeded to destroy the bush's from the drainage ditch/levee backside. We carved out a complete middle section with only one very small opening barely visible. There we had us a headquarters for waging our wars and a hiding spot from our mischievous ways! We had the bright idea one day to dam up the drainage ditch. So we dug a huge hole down the side of the drainage ditch creating a huge foxhole and damming up the drainage ditch in the process. Well apparently a city worker discovered it as our dam was doing its job pretty damn well! Pun intended! Needless to say we were the ones who had to un-dam it. Now there is a concept for you. Kids repairing the damage they caused. Anyway we started getting older and our attention turned somewhat towards the ladies. A page out of a Playboy book was treated like gold to say the least! We had a zip lock baggie full of one page pics. I fell in love with more than one maiden that is for sure! If we were to have the luck of someone stealing there Dads stash and come away with a complete book then words cannot even describe the days of pure joy that lay ahead! But the books and pics would get damp and we would have to carefully pull them apart like performing brain surgery! When I took the pic up above I was straining to see some remnant of our days at the clubhouse. Some hole in the ground or perhaps if I was lucky an old stash box with some photos of the ladies or an old baseball card. But there was nothing visible. Perhaps buried along with all the other memories. But if I listened real closely I could hear boys laughing in the wind.

We would ride our bikes on these "sidewalks" and out on the wall. The pipe was made for crossing!

Americas Team My Behonkus!

Your from Texas?

They're getting ready to come on the TV here in awhile. I will tune in to watch them. But I will be rooting against the team with the star on their helmet. I cannot stand the star or anything it represents. They market themselves as "Americas Team" so that rules me out having to like them because I'm from Texas. Wow the memories of loving to hate the Dallas Cowboys. Where to start? How about when I was just a young lad and influenced by the difference between right and wrong? I chose right! LOL!

 

Breeding hate in the hood!

I love to hate the Dallas Cowboys. It was bred into me from an early age. My Dad did not like Tom Landry because he would not go across the field to shake hands with the opposing coaches. How rude I thought and the hate began to take shape. All the kids in the neighborhood were Cowboy fans following in there Dads footsteps I guess. You see Dallas existed before the Houston Oilers did so naturally there were more Dads rooting for them and getting their sons to follow their misunderstood ways. Also the Oilers were not winning at the time. Most kids like winners and just get on the bandwagon. Well I did too but I liked to root for an underdog to win and steer clear of the bandwagon. I mean Houston is an hour and a half away from my hometown in Southeast Texas. Can you say hometown team? Oil is what makes our area what it is. A name to be proud of as well. So I was an Oiler and a damn proud one to boot! And you always go for the home team right? What was wrong with all the bandwagon jumpers in my hood? And the Cowboys continued to win and the cockiness grew with the team and with my friends. Ha Ha. What happened to your Oilers? The Boys won! I hate that word used in that context to this day! "The Boys". Yea The Boys my derriere!

Dallas Cowboy Hating 101

• Me and my ex wife on our knees in front of the TV in praying position hands clasped and summoning the powers of the Good Lord above to please let the team that does not have a star on its helmet to make the field goal to win the game. They make it! Tears of joy are streaming down our faces, The Cowboys have lost. Flash forward one year. Same scenario but the field goal is wide right. The Cowboys have won the game as my remote control sails across the living room embedding itself in the sheet rock. Oh well a picture will look good hanging there. A picture that says I hate the Dallas Cowboys!
• I refuse to draft any Dallas Cowboy player onto my fantasy football roster. I don't care if it means the difference between me winning or losing the championship. I would rather pay the money than sacrifice my values.
• I look forward to watching the Cowboys play every week so I can root against them. I actually plan "Hater" parties at my house!
• In order to keep friends that are Cowboy fans you have to learn to be quiet and not rub it in too hard. They cannot take it. They were bred to expect to win. Most Cowboy fans are stuck in the 90's and have no idea how long a dry spell the Cowboys are in right now! I love saying that!
• When someone says "How 'bout them Cowboys"! I cringe and make this facial expression that cries regurgitation!
• Use the word Cowpukes as often as you can.



Great Christmas gifts under the tree. Click on these:

History of the Dallas Cowboys Book #1 

Cowboys Book #2

Americas Team? ROTFLMAO!

They bought the title of Americas Team! They did not earn it. It was not coined by some great name in the annals of pro football history other than the Cowboys front office. Paid for it! Just like a logo. Read the history here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/America%27s_Team

Everywhere I traveled to nobody could stand "Americas Team"!

And everyone would say the same thing. I thought all people from Texas like the Cowboys?....Uh....NOOOOOO!!!

But Double D.....

But Double D isn't there anything at all that you like about the Dallas Cowboys? Well....now that you mention it there is this one thing that they got going on for them...





I Love my Football

I hope this blog post did not offend anyone in any way. Football is "Americas Game" and your hometown team is "Americas Team". I love the game and everything that goes with it. Good friends, good times, good food, and making memories. Even memories of Dallas losing! Good natured ribbing and post like this give me something to do! I love all my friends, even the Cowboy fans. Just know this: I will always be around to try and make you see the evil of your ways and to wipe your tears dry when they lose. Which I hope will be quite often!

Crossroads

Driving down the road pumping my fist to Bostons 'More than a Feeling'. Goose bumps appear and I close my eyes and slip away. It is the mid to late 70's and I am young again. No crossroads in my path. The road is straight. I have only one care. Making memories with my friends and striving to be the best I can. When I'm tired and thinking cold I hide in my music and forget the day. The song is over and I am back to reality. I look in the rear view and can clearly see all the crossroads and wrong turns. Cant wait for the next song.

Add a caption

Driving down the road pumping my fist to Bostons 'More than a Feeling'. Goose bumps appear and I close my eyes and slip away. It is the mid to late 70's and I am young again. No crossroads in my path. The road is straight. I have only one care. Making memories with my friends and striving to be the best I can. When I'm tired and thinking cold I hide in my music and forget the day. The song is over and I am back to reality. I look in the rear view and can clearly see all the crossroads and wrong turns. Cant wait for the next song.

Fun at Langham Elementary

Let me tell you a little story. Back in 5th grade at Langham elementary school we had an overload of kids so they converted an outside building into 2 classrooms. Mr.Mcrees and Mr.Noels. I was in Mr.McCrees class. We had to use tables and boxes under them for our books. Well one day they told all the guys in class that we we're to take recess while all the girls stayed in the classroom. WTF? Me an David Smith we're curious. It was all too secretive. We found out that all the girls had been given some sort of a book. So we hatched a plan that we would eat lunch really fast and haul ass back to the classroom and find one of these books to see what it was and why it was so secretive. So we hogged lunch down and hauled ass back to the classroom and went to some girls boxes searching. All of a sudden all the wall lockers opened up all around the classroom. It was all the girls in class. They got wind of what we we're up to and lay in wait for us. Can you say busted. They told Mr. McCree about it and we got taken out and given licks for it!!!! We never found out what was in that pamphlet. I was asking my friend Rhonda if she remembered that story. She said not only does she remember it but she still had the pamphlet after all these years!!!! She scanned it and E-mailed it to me. So...after 33 years I finally got to read this pamphlet and the secret is out!!! I really knew what it was about in the back of my mind after the birds and the bees became clearer. So here are a few pages for your viewing pleasure with pictures of  all the players.

Mr. McCrees Class

Mr. Noels Class

The Pamphlet (Secret for 33 years)!!

 

The Life and Times of Poopsie

That picture is of me and Poopsie the dog in December 1964. That would make me 14 months old. He was my Christmas present. I played with that dog until I graduated to guns and army men. Then poor Poopsie was stuffed into the bottom of the toy box a forgotten dog. Until one day we had a need for a door stop. Poopsie became the guardian of my bedroom dutifully holding the door in place. As I became a teenager my friends used to come over and pull his head off just because they knew it pushed my buttons. I would grab him and reattach his head. Well Poopsie then became my partner in crime. He became my weed stash. I would take his head off and insert the bag and reattach his head. All the time he was guarding the door and guarding my stash. Perfect hiding spot right?....WRONG!! My Mother religiously cooked breakfast for me and my sister before school wth plate settings and everything. One morning I walked into the kitchen expecting bacon and eggs. There on the table complete with knife and fork was my bag of weed on a plate. PANIC!! I looked at my Mom who was turned toward the stove cooking. What was I to do? Leave it sitting there or grab it and make a beeline for the door? Well I left it lay and skipped breakfast opting instead to go to school early. It was never mentioned again but my innocence was gone in my parents eyes. I Joined the Air Force and Poopsie was left behind stuck in a closet somewhere for years. After I had kids and got out of the Air Force my Mom told me to come to the house and go through some things to see if I wanted them or she was going to throw it all away. I went over there and lo and behold....POOPSIE!!! He now belonged to my kids. And wear him out they did!!! One of the things I took with me after my divorce was Poopsie. And I have him to this day. He was stained from years of abuse and one eye will not open all the way. His whistle is missing. I cleaned him up with some bleach and forgot about him again until my Mom gave me some old pics to scan. I had never seen that picture up top before today. I took Poopsie out of the closet and placed him in a position of honor in the living room. I just hope one day that he can bring joy and memories to my Grandkids like he has for me. Pic below is Poopsie today.

Thanks for the memories Evel Knievel

I wrote this the day I heard he died 11/30/2007


Growing up in the early 70's there was an abundant amount of things to keep a 10 year old boy occupied. We had no video games, no VCR's, no computers and only 3 channels on a black and white TV. But that was what it was. We would create things to play like cowboys and Indians, army, and cops and robbers. We played baseball and football in one of the many vacant lots that existed in Nederland at the time. Mr. Kennedy would mow all of these with his tractor for us and we would stay out all day long bitching and complaining when we were called in for supper. We drank water out of the garden hoses having to let it run to cool off and getting that rubbery taste in your mouth. Our parents didn't worry about us being out like that at all. One of our favorite things to play was Evel Knievel. Oh my God I only wish I had pictures of our rag tag bunch on our bikes back in those days. We would put those old metal trash cans in a row on the street and make ramps out of plywood. Everybody would start with maybe 2 and as the length of cans grew longer the chickens would all start to drop out. But some of us brave souls would go to the limit every time. The neighbors all got mad at us because we were destroying their garbage cans when we would miss a jump and land right on them. We would keep track of who had the most garbage cans jumped and try to break that record over and over again. Well the record got stuck at one point and nobody could break it. We needed a higher ramp we presumed. So we got some cement blocks and raised it up where it was pointing damn near straight up. Now I never claimed to be the smartest kid on the block so I volunteered to go first. This jump was going to require more distance on the run up so I pedaled all the way to the end of the street and got up on the pedals building up as much speed as I could. Let me tell you right now that Ol' Evel Knievel would have been proud of me that day as I hit the ramp and shot damn near straight up in the air about what must have been 10 feet or more. And I came back down the same way...straight down. BAM!!! I landed with my back hitting the garbage cans and my bike on top of me. I was out like a light for about a minute. When I woke up there was my Mom that had been retrieved by a runner to tell her about my crash. The only thing she seemed concerned with was that I destroyed 2 more garbage cans that she was going to have to answer for. I was fine after I got my breath and my pride back. The record officially stood and to my knowledge was never broken by any other generation growing up on Marshall Street. Today I heard that Evel Knievel passed away. It brought me back to those days of old when times seemed much more innocent and it was like I lost a part of my youth today. Thank You Evel Knievel for giving a 10 year old boy growing up in Nederland, TX something to do.

Add a captionWrote the day I heard he passed away. Growing up in the early 70's there was an abundant amount of things to keep a 10 year old boy occupied. We had no video games, no <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>VCR's</SPAN></SPAN>, no computers, and only 3 channels on a black and white TV. But that was what it was. We would create things to play like cowboys and <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">indians</SPAN></SPAN>, army, and cops and robbers. We played baseball and football in one of the many vacant lots that existed in <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>Nederland</SPAN></SPAN> at the time. Mr. Kennedy would mow all of these with his tractor for us and we would stay out all day long bitching and complaining when we were called in for supper. We drank water out of the garden hoses having to let it run to cool off and getting that rubbery taste in your mouth. Our parents didn't worry about us being out like that at all. One of our favorite things to play was Evil Knievel. Oh my God I only wish I had pictures of our rag tag bunch on our bikes back in those days. We would put those old metal trash cans in a row on the street and make ramps out of plywood. Everybody would start with maybe 2 and as the length of cans grew longer the chickens would all start to drop out. But some of us brave souls would go to the limit every time. The neighbors all got mad at us because we were destroying there garbage cans when we would miss a jump and land right on them. We would keep track of who had the most garbage cans jumped and try to break that record over and over again. Well the record got stuck at one point and nobody could break it. We needed a higher ramp we presumed. So we got some cement blocks and raised it up where it was pointing damn near straight up. Now I never claimed to be the smartest kid on the block so I volunteered to go first. This jump was going to require more distance on the run up so I pedaled all the way to the end of the street and got up on the pedals building up as much speed as I could. Let me tell you right now that Ol' Evil Knievel would have been proud of me that day as I hit the ramp and shot damn near straight up in the air about that must have been at least 15 or so feet. And I came back down the same way...straight down. <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>BAM</SPAN></SPAN>!!! I landed with my back hitting the garbage cans and my bike on top of me. I was out like a light for about a minute. When I woke up there was my Mom that had been retrieved by a runner to tell her about my crash. The only thing she seemed concerned with was that I destroyed 2 more garbage cans that she was going to have to answer for. I was fine after I got my breath and my pride back. The record officially stood and to my knowledge was never broken by any other generation growing up on Marshall Street. Today I heard that Evil Knievel passed away. It brought me back to those days of old when times seemed much more innocent and it was like I lost a part of my youth today. Thank You Evil Knievel for giving a 10 year old boy growing up in <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>Nederland</SPAN></SPAN>, <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">Tx</SPAN></SPAN> something to do.

Wrote the day I heard he passed away. Growing up in the early 70's there was an abundant amount of things to keep a 10 year old boy occupied. We had no video games, no <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>VCR's</SPAN></SPAN>, no computers, and only 3 channels on a black and white TV. But that was what it was. We would create things to play like cowboys and <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">indians</SPAN></SPAN>, army, and cops and robbers. We played baseball and football in one of the many vacant lots that existed in <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>Nederland</SPAN></SPAN> at the time. Mr. Kennedy would mow all of these with his tractor for us and we would stay out all day long bitching and complaining when we were called in for supper. We drank water out of the garden hoses having to let it run to cool off and getting that rubbery taste in your mouth. Our parents didn't worry about us being out like that at all. One of our favorite things to play was Evil Knievel. Oh my God I only wish I had pictures of our rag tag bunch on our bikes back in those days. We would put those old metal trash cans in a row on the street and make ramps out of plywood. Everybody would start with maybe 2 and as the length of cans grew longer the chickens would all start to drop out. But some of us brave souls would go to the limit every time. The neighbors all got mad at us because we were destroying there garbage cans when we would miss a jump and land right on them. We would keep track of who had the most garbage cans jumped and try to break that record over and over again. Well the record got stuck at one point and nobody could break it. We needed a higher ramp we presumed. So we got some cement blocks and raised it up where it was pointing damn near straight up. Now I never claimed to be the smartest kid on the block so I volunteered to go first. This jump was going to require more distance on the run up so I pedaled all the way to the end of the street and got up on the pedals building up as much speed as I could. Let me tell you right now that Ol' Evil Knievel would have been proud of me that day as I hit the ramp and shot damn near straight up in the air about that must have been at least 15 or so feet. And I came back down the same way...straight down. <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>BAM</SPAN></SPAN>!!! I landed with my back hitting the garbage cans and my bike on top of me. I was out like a light for about a minute. When I woke up there was my Mom that had been retrieved by a runner to tell her about my crash. The only thing she seemed concerned with was that I destroyed 2 more garbage cans that she was going to have to answer for. I was fine after I got my breath and my pride back. The record officially stood and to my knowledge was never broken by any other generation growing up on Marshall Street. Today I heard that Evil Knievel passed away. It brought me back to those days of old when times seemed much more innocent and it was like I lost a part of my youth today. Thank You Evil Knievel for giving a 10 year old boy growing up in <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word>Nederland</SPAN></SPAN>, <SPAN class=<SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">goog</SPAN>-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow"><SPAN class=goog-spellcheck-word style="BACKGROUND: yellow">Tx</SPAN></SPAN> something to do.