The little house we lived in had but 4 rooms, all of equal size, 9' by 12'. A living room, kitchen, and 2 bedrooms.  No closets, no bathrooms, no running water for my first few years.  A coal fired furnace sat in a half -basement under the home.

One of 38 homes owned by the company, all sitting together in the shadow of the company smokestack.

Some were larger, a few even smaller. Most of them did have bathrooms, but the plumbing god had not visited us yet. In fact it would be 14 years before the house was remodeled and we will have long been gone.

One main street, known as ....Main Street...., two back streets, with good names like Washington and Harrison, and 3 cross connectors, only one having a name. There were another 30 homes in the village not belonging to the company, but the occupants were more than likely employed by the company.  One church,  a large school serving most of the township, and a railroad track that actually bisected the village. However, there was no wrong side of the tracks, as we were as equal as could be.

The time is just after W.W.II, the men are all veterans returning to work for the first time in 4 or 5 years. Just two didn't make it. My uncle Melvin was one, and David Armstrong the other.  A large board known as the Honor Roll stood in front of the company supply house.  Two gold stars besides those two, and over a hundred names in 4 columns filling the rest of it. A great memorial I always thought. It weathered, went unkempt, and rotted away without protest from those who served.

Only a few automobiles, or machines as they were better known existed in the village. Everyone walked to work, two groceries were near, and bus service to Cincinnatiand Dayton ran daily.  A bus from Middletown ran to the village every 3 hours.

There was no police force.  Who needed one?  We had no trouble of any kind. A fire squad existed, made up of those who lived in the village. Two hose houses and 2 ladder houses were at each end of the village.

If there was a fire, the steam whistle at the mill would blow, all those assigned to the fire squads would leave their jobs and head for a hose house or ladder house. Inside the hose house were fire axes, fire extinguishers, and a wheel mounted reel holding several hundred feet of hose.  It took at least two men to pull the hose reel to the fire, and another 2 to handle a ladder. Response time was always quick, and damage was always kept to a minimum.

The village was just about 8 square blocks.

All of these building sat at the base of what was known as Gordon's park. The park consisted of a low land that flooded each spring, the creek which was a source of much childhood pleasure, and a very steep hill that had woods at the top that ran all the way to the next small town.  The hill was a sledding delight as one could have a lengthy run at a very high speed. The problem was that you had to turn the sled very fast as you approached the bottom of the hill or you would wind up in the creek.

Each years sledding activities were always preceded by words of caution and a reminder of the poor boys who had lost their lives by going into the creek. A good sled run would actually head for the bridge that spanned the creek. However this also had its own hazard as every other board was missing off the bridge floor. Sometimes two were missing. So this always invoked the reminder of the poor boys who went through these holes in the bridge and never were seen again.

Over the years these "poor boys" actually took on names. It seems as if there was one death due to sledding. Over 14 winters I never saw an accident. I saw a lot of close calls.

We had to be the early inventors of snow boarding as we went down that hill on anything that had a flat bottom. The best one was the huge oval Coca-Cola sign that the older guys had confiscated during the Halloween season. It would easily hold 4 of us as we went down the hill in the huge saucer. Ropes were added so we could haul it back up the grade. This was not an easy task with a sled, and it took 3 of us to accomplish this feat. However, we were kids, and we didn't know what tired was.

Summertime saw the woods above as our main playground. Lookout towers were constructed so you could see above the tree tops. This was a yearly ritual that the scouts did under my dad's supervision. No nails were used. Everything was lashed together with rope. The towers would be as high as 40 feet.

Eventually the jealous vandals in the area would come in and tear them down. We camped out in the woods almost weekly. For the guys old enough occasionally you would see them with their girlfriends sitting in the grass under the trees.

There was a name to every trail, and certain trees had their own names. The "snake tree" was where we saw the huge blacksnake hanging, the "owl tree" was where Cousin Dale killed the white owl. Yes, and he ate it too. The lighthouse tree was a large tree that had broken off about half way down its trunk. Over the years fire after campfire had been built against it hollowing it out. You could climb in this tree and climb up its interior walls. The trails had names like the "frog pond trail' and "hobos path."

After W.W.II many hobos were in the area as a result of the railroad passing at the foot of the west side of the hill. Many a hobo camp would spring up along these tracks. The more enterprising ones would actually build shacks in the wood close to the tracks. Once the railroad had placed all new ties beside the tracks to replace the old ones. When it came time to do the replacing, the ties were gone. Back in the woods, less than 100 feet away was the most solid little cabin one would want to see built of railroad ties and a tin roof. It lasted several years.

The creek was our swimming hole. We were allowed to swim there except during dog days. All mothers were sure that the creek was a source of the polio virus. As it turned out 40 years later, the creek was a source of a lot of things and some were worse than the polio virus.

Today this creek is posted to prevent any activity associated with it as it is full of toxins. The local polluters and the Government are at odds as to how to take care of the problem. In fact the polluters say the problem does not exist. However, no wildlife exists in the creek except the occasional crayfish

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I recall several fish kills when I was a boy. Some of them huge. Parents were at a loss then to explain what had happened because they were unaware as to the dumping, or aware of it and not realizing the dangers.

However, we did swim daily. Our favorite swimming hole was a place called the sycamores.

Huge sycamore trees lined the creek banks at this spot. On a branch hanging over the creek was a tire tied to a rope. We would swing out and across. When we were coming back on the return swing we would drop off into the over the head water. One never saw a swimming suit. It was usually nothing or your underpants.

One thing the pollutants didn't kill was the water snakes that lined the banks. They hung from the willow trees like tinsel from a Christmas tree. As one approached their trees you would hear "splat, splat, and splat" as they dropped into the water and swam away.

A favorite sport was going snake hunting. Cousin Brad was the best and frequently headed home with them wrapped around his neck. He did this to get a reaction from his father who was terrified by them. I think he knew it would cause his dad to leave the house, that's why he did it. At least for that evening there would be peace in the household.

This was my wonderful childhood. The imagination had to be used. We were never bored.