Memories of my Florence Park boyhood days

         When I was a kid, the Florence Park Neighborhood in Tulsa where I lived had a city park.
The park included tennis courts, swings, a merry-go-round and a sprinkler during the summer months.
        It was located about four city blocks south of my boyhood home. I spent a good deal of time during the summer months at Florence Park playing in the sprinkler.
        I’m sure there have been many changes to the park since I was a kid.
     And across the street was the Florence Park Library where I attended summer reading programs and checked out books. I also enjoyed riding my bicycle in neighborhood, stopping to hang our with friends and sometimes staying the night.
       Florence Place was the street I lived on and in the 1970s it was also my paper route along with Florence Avenue, College and Evanston streets.
       And a few miles from my boyhood home was McClure City Park. The park featured various rides, swings, picnic tables, tennis and basketball courts and restrooms. It also featured a large public swimming pool that was always filled to the brim with youngsters on hot summer days.
         It was the first place that I jumped off a 10-foot tall diving board. I had a blast in the pool.
        I knew most all my neighbors and to this day can remember their names. I’m sure most, if not all, have passed on since I left Tulsa many moons ago.
        Mr. Wolfe, who lived a few houses south of me, tied my tie for me when I had my senior photos taken in August 1977. Back in the day, the photographer took two indoor poses and that was it. 
           My next door neighbors to the south were Frank and Lucile Watson. Growing up, it wasn’t Frank and Lucile, it was Mr. and Mrs. Watson.
           They were the ones who gave me my first camera, an Argus Twin Lens Reflex camera, that used 620 Kodak film. It was their son Johnny’s old camera. I still have it to this day.
            And many times my dad and I would stop and visit with Mr. Watson in his garage. He had an office upstairs that we would often check out.
            Mr. Watson loved Ford automobiles and the old LTD model was one of his favorites.
          The vehicle was wider than his driveway, so when he backed toward the street, he would drive the vehicle wheels into the grassy area between our driveway and his.
            If it was muddy from a rain storm, he’d make big ruts.
        My dad was always working on that strip of dirt and digging up grass from behind our garage and trying to patch the mud holes.
            It was all to no avail as when Mr. Watson had somewhere to go.
           I was probably about age 7. I had a small red bicycle with solid rubber tires. They were like riding on rocks.
         I was riding up and down the street when my dad cautioned me not to drive through his mud hole, as I called it.
          Well in true J.O. fashion, I drove through his mud hole and was he ever mad. He yanked me off my bicycle and proceeded to tan my hide as we marched to the back garage.
            I put up more of a fuss and scene than the actual spanking.
            My mom carried the belt in our home growing up and when I got in trouble at school, she met me at the front door and would tan my backside.
            I’d usually jump around and yell until it was over with.
         When I got older and in trouble, they’d take my 10-speed bicycle away from me for a month. I did get to ride my Schwinn bicycle on my morning paper route, but not to school. I had to walk.
           I built a club house in our garage and it fully furnished with a cot and sleeping bag, bean bag chair, games, lights, a big fan, a coffee table, posters, including a Raquel Welsh one.
           My neighbor to the north was Mr. and Mrs. Belknap. Mr. Belknap, who was born in the late 1890s, was raised in northwest Iowa in the small community of Harris in Osceola County. He attended college at TCU in Fort Worth where he met his wife, Marge or Mrs. Bell as I called her. 
         I enjoyed stopping to see Mr. Bell and playing dominos or just visiting. He had season tickets to the minor league Tulsa Oilers and later the Tulsa Drillers. He’d often take me to a game and I still have a mini baseball bat he bought me as a youngster.
           Mr. Bell would fix me popcorn on occasion and we’d sit at the kitchen table and eat a bowl full together. While the popcorn popped, Mr. Bell would sometimes cusp his hand and slap me on the knee. I’d usually jump a foot off the stool I was sitting on.
          Mr. Bell sold advertising trinkets such as ink pens, keychains, rulers, calendars and such. He’d let me go the garage and take all of the goodie samples I wanted.
           When I was little, I would stop and feed the birds at Mr. Bell’s place. He used a trash can lid to place the seed and had a bird bath.
           I went to his house on my birthday at age 7 and inside was that brand new red bicycle that I mentioned earlier.
        In later years, I mowed Mr. Bell’s front yard as our yard and his were connected. I sometimes would mow his back yard. I mowed other yards on my street, a business I took over from my dad and grandfather before him.
Often times I would cut through Mr. Bell’s yard to walk down to Dixon’s Grocery Store.
            It was an old neighborhood grocery store where I would get a Pepsi in the bottle, a candy bar or a big bag of Taco flavored Doritos for $.49. I sometimes would pick up pop bottles and sweep the store to earn a dollar or two.
            They also had a two-pump gas station out front.
            One year I was cruising the neighborhood in my 1959 Chevrolet Impala when I ran out of gas a block from the store. I shifted into neutral and coasted a block and pulled right up to the pump. In those days you could fill your tank for just a few dollars. 
           All my neighbors where some of the best friends and role models and I’m thankful to have grown up in the Florence Park neighborhood.
           Always remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.