Budd Goodyear
It was late September or early October, 1948. I was nine. Dad was hunting mule deer in Colorado. He tried to get out there hunting every other year or so. One season he got a black bear. I thought black bear burgers tasted better than the mule deer he brought home from most trips.
On a Saturday afternoon, mom said she was going to take me to the movies. That was new. I’d never been to a movie. Around 6:30 in the evening, mom and I got in the car. It was a boxy black 1930s Plymouth, as I recall. We headed to Greenfield. In town, mom turned onto Main Street and stopped in front of the Weil Theater. She said, “Go see what time the movie gets out.” I did, then back to the car; “9 p.m.,” I said. Mom gave me 50 cents and told me to go. She was not coming with me, I found out.
The black and white movie playing was “Yellow Sky.” I had never heard of the actors. I watched, but had no idea what it was about. It was a western! I glanced at the clock on the way out. It was a couple of minutes before 9 p.m.. Our boxy old car was nowhere in sight. I went back in and check the time. Yes, it was 9 p.m.. I went back outside and waited.
And waited, and waited. I walked east to State Street then back to Pennsylvania Street; no boxy car, no mom. I sat down in a doorway a couple of doors of Weil Theater. The courthouse clock struck 9:30 and still no mom, no ride home. After a while I leaned against the doorway frame and began to dose off. At some point I felt someone poking me. I startled awake. It was Greenfield’s Night Watchman poking me with his stick.
He said, “You can’t stay here.” I told him I was waiting for my mom to pick me up. He said “You can’t stay here, move on.”
I had thought about walking home. It was around seven mile. Which road, Highway 13 (now Fortville Pike) or Highway Nine? Either would take me within two miles or so of home. I headed east on State Street then north along the north bound lane of Highway Nine.
A couple of blocks before I got to McKenzie Street a pickup truck pulled over ahead of me and stopped. The driver asked me where I was headed. I told him, “I live two miles west of Maxwell.” He said, “Well, I’m going to Fortville. I was going to take McKenzie over the Highway 13, but I can cross over at Maxwell. Get in.”
In 15 minutes or so, we were headed west out of Maxwell on 500 North. I felt a bit of relief when we got to the S-curve on the road not far from North 25 West. At the cross road I thanked the guy and got out. Jess Lowder’s beagle in his garage, barked at me as I walked the road past it. It was likely 11 p.m. or later.
Dad’s hunting hounds didn’t put up a ruckus when I got near to our home driveway. They must have recognized me; they were silent. The house was dark. I went into the bedroom where we five siblings slept. It had an outside entrance. I quickly dropped off to sleep.
Next morning when I got up, mom said to me, “You got home.”
Budd Goodyear of Wasilla, Alaska graduated in 1957 from Hancock Central High School. He is currently retired from management with Anchorage Municipal Light and Power, and he enjoys sharing stories of growing up in Hancock County.
