I loved winter in Omaha — as a kid.
When the first deep snows arrived, dad always wanted to make snow ice cream. My younger brother and I were always designated to get the snow with the warning, “do not scoop up the yellow snow.” It was an old joke, but we always laughed. I didn’t even mind hand grinding the ice cream maker. I rotated with my brother, even though I had to do it the most because I was older and supposedly stronger. I really thing Dean was stronger than I.
Mom would already have the milk, sugar and vanilla ready and we slowly added the light and fluffy clean white snow. I guess there was nothing special except it being one of the first big winter events. Dad always wanted to add somethi9ng to the ice cream. Canned peaches were a favorite.
When the snow was finally deep enough the whole neighborhood would gather around our place to go sledding. One person had a toboggan but all the rest had wooden sleds with steel runners for speed. There was a handle for control. I had an American Flyer – an old one, but a good one.
The best part about our place was the length of the snow run. You could start at the top of Webster (about 29th if 29th went through), come down to our yard, make a left down our hill, cross the alley (nice descent size jump) swing to the left of the garage on the empty lot behind us or take the dangerous and most exciting run between the garage and the neighbors fence and run on straight to Burt or cut right through another neighbors yard over to 28th, than another left and head for the light at the corner of 28th and Burt. If you arrived with the light green and had enough speed you might even live dangerously and try to cross Burt with the light. Few of us ever had the speed to make that light and when we did it always seemed to be red so we had to roll off before getting to the corner.
One year, the day after Christmas, a bunch of us were sledding when David arrived with a brand new American Flyer sled. He got it on the last day of Hanukah and he was proud as punch. This was going to be his first chance to use it. He had waxed the rails to make it go as fast as possible and he got a great run and jumped on. We were at the alley behind my house waiting for him to come flying into my yard and tear down the hill. He was really moving. He cut between the garage and the fence and turned into the yard heading toward 28th and made the sharp turn to go to Burt. We all ran down the Alley to see what was going to happen. When he came around the corner onto 28th the light at the corner was red and he was going to have to stop. He stopped all right by rolling off his sled, but her did not have the sleds rope wrapped around his hand and it went flying out into Burt where a truck ran over it smashing it flat as a pancake.
He was terrified when he realized his brand new sled was in pieces in the middle of Burt. He was more afraid of what his dad was going to say and how he was going to explain it. I am sure none of the parents were aware any of us were even trying to slide across Burt. But clearly, David was not successful. He was OK, but his sled was dead.
He picked up the remaining pieces of his brand new sled and wandered back home with tears running down his cheeks. He was more worried about what his dad was going to do than the sleds condition. He was grounded for a few days, but not spanked. He also had to work to earn enough money to pay for the sled. He was OK with that. It was sure better than being spanked.
Snow forts and partial igloos were also big neighborhood events. We usually tried to build those in the vacant lot by Bobby’s. Most of the parents figured that was a fairly safe place as his mother’s kitchen over looked the lot and she could see everything that was happening. The first rarely were ever completed. The snowball fights got started way before the protection was built. The lot had only one tree to hide behind so most snowball fights were more like dodge ball. Bobby and Jack were able to pack their snow balls very tight so theirs were the ones to avoid.
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