I could tell you some stories you'd never believe. Thank goodness we didn't have Faceplant and Instadope back then.
A few weeks ago, an impressive group of my childhood friends showed up at my mother and brother's memorial in Elkhorn City, including four of the first five kids I met when we moved to town. The elusive Third Street gang were caught for the socials some 59 years later.
I say elusive because we were a pack of young'uns who were usually focused on some sort of mischief with the ultimate goal of not getting caught. And we got remarkably good at it.
For example, once, when I was about 10 or 11, several of us had gotten our hands on some gasoline. The gas was in a plastic milk jug, possibly the result of siphoning one of the neighbor's cars. It was a city council meeting night and, as usual, half the town was there and we were relatively loose.
Up on third street, we were exploring some old rusty corrugated metal drain pipes no longer in use that were still in place under the road. It became clear to us the best way to do that was to pour a little gas into the drain, then light it.
We did that a couple of times and got some good quick looks but then got into an argument over whether the drains were clogged too much to make the fire go all the way under the road from one side to the other.
So half of us got on one side of the road, half on the other. Moose poured gas into the rusty hole on one side, then I lit the match and threw it in when he stopped pouring. After the initial whoosh, you could see good flames on one end, but only a glow on the other.
Someone said "quick we need more gas on it." Someone else said "wait, you can't pour gas right on it." At this point, the plastic jug was about 1/3 full.
Moose kneeled down next to the hole where you could see the flame and said, "It'll be okay if you trickle it in from the side" to which he slowly turned the jug enough to trickle some gas in. We all watched in slow motion as the trickle pouring out of the jug became a rope of flame coming back and WHOOOMP!
As the jug became a flaming ball, Moose threw it straight into the air and it landed squarely in the middle of 3rd Street, scattering flames and six 9-12 year olds in every direction. Right in front of Kate and Too Short Stewart's house.
We all returned to stomp the flames out as best we could. Somehow, as usual, Moose came out completely unscathed. No one was burned and besides some scorch marks in the middle of the road, you could barely tell we'd set the entire street on fire.
I've been blessed to know and make a living with many creatives in my life, including a few famous ones. I've even been accused of creativity myself. But the most creative person I've ever known, by far, is the boy holding that jug of gasoline, Mike Wallace.
I could tell you some stories you wouldn't believe. I'm thankful I got to relive a couple with Mike before it was too late. Godspeed old friend.