Memories from Baptist Hill
Guest editorial by Mike Harre
Published on www.david-sadler.org
Publish date 2007.01.23

Yesterday I was whining about having to get out in the cold, it had been below zero and I had to move a torpedo heater from one place to another. In my haste I forgot the heater had been on and reached to pick it up and my glove palm vaporized before my eyes and the smell of plastic burning instantly brought back a plethora of images, long since over but far from forgotten.

I was catapulted back in time to an area of town that seemed like the pinnacle of winter existence to millions (well maybe 40-50 children) every time there was a big snow. Yes, I mean Baptist Hill.

Instead of getting up to check for a snow day as my children do, we all got up to see if it snowed enough to go sledding on Baptist Hill. Mom got the old Rambler station wagon(which was equipped with studded snow tires) and I loaded it with everything one could ever need to sled including enough cloths and food to last till spring, picked up my ole’ buddy Dave and headed to the hill.

Word got around faster than flu at the nursing home that the hill had been roped off after city workers drove the old dump truck up and down the hill to pack it (several like myself anxiously waited and cheered). In those days the street was still brick cobblestones, which held the cold like a glacier in the last Ice Age, and a good snow could last a week on the hill. Most residents on the hill were nice enough to park their vehicles in their drives; occasionally we would have to dig out the drive so they could get in. There always was one or two old grumps that thought, "kids don’t need to go down that hill," so the city crew would build a pile of snow behind their car so we wouldn’t eat a bumper. We all had visions of flying over the car and although we thought we could, it did not happen. Our parents had to warn us, like not swimming for an hour after eating, be careful to watch for cars as you could run under one and be killed like some unnamed child in some other town or maybe universe had done.

Digging out someone's driveway was a small price to pay for unfettered speed down the hill that could send you and your companions down the west side and halfway up the other side. One story goes that some unnamed sledder made it to Doc Tobey’s lower driveway (although it was never verified) but we believed it could happen and spent hours rubbing paraffin on the runners, polishing the runners with steel wool, and someone had a can of spray stuff called silicon which worked OK but didn’t last long. We couldn’t see any future for the stuff.

Getting back up the hill on the sidewalk was not unlike climbing Mt Everest, but walking back up the hill in the road was as dangerous as scraping gum off the road during the Indianapolis 500 race.

After a few hours of sledding one could get cold enough to die, but again the city crew came through and brought two huge oil ,or at least black like oil, heaters. In a short time they were cherry red belching smoke and when you held your mittens to close they would get hot enough to melt around your fingers, but it didn’t matter because you couldn’t feel your fingers anyway! The smell of red no-fingered plastic mittens burning is unforgettable. The heaters must have been nuclear powered or some alien technology as no one ever saw them refueled. They ran night and day as kids of all ages came even with their kids and grandkids to play. It was a wonderful family event.

The evening usually ended by midnight but some of us played all night (my grandmother had the Jackson Hotel nearby and always had biscuits on the stove which the pilot light always kept warm, and, I knew where the strawberry preserves were kept in the basement).

Eventually the hill began to melt and brick shown through in spots which took a seasoned sledder, like myself, to negotiate. It was like bobsledding at the Olympics but unlike the Olympics, if you got off course you had to eat cinders that rubbed off the hide on your cheek and an occasional tooth was lost to the bricks as well. It was well worth the danger, Even with the images of that skier on the Wild World Of Sports that flew off the ski slope fresh in our mind!!!!!

Understanding that all good things must end, mysteriously as they began the barricades disappeared, the heaters left and traffic resumed but not before lifetime memories were formed for all there and yes there would be more childhood SNOW DAYS.

Today they probably would worry about litigation from the burnt gloves, frostbite, smoke from the heaters, and causing an attractive nuisance. I wondered if children today still play so I circled the old sledding spots and no one was on the hill low and behold a group of children were on the spillway ... and again visions flashed through my mind of ... but that’s another story.



Mike Harre
Legendary Sledder

Mike Harre lives in McLeansboro, Illinois, USA and owns a business there. He and David Sadler have known each other their entire lives. They, along with their friends including Doc Tobey's daughter, Debbie, shared many enjoyable winter days sledding. Baptist Hill and the backside of the city reservoir dam near the 'spillway' were two of those sledding sites.