When all kids could explore the area

By Paul Davison

My parents purchased their second home in West Seattle in 1952 when the plots of land were still called little city farms. That's what they were back then, too. Most of the homes on our block were built around the same time, and all of the families that moved in had children. My older brother was four years old and he would start kindergarten the next fall. I came along five years later in 1957. Our parents told us they chose that neighborhood because it was close to the schools: E.C. Hughes, what was then called Denny Jr. High and Chief Sealth High School. They thought it was important that we could walk to school from our home. My father was an industrial engineer at the Boeing Company, and my mother was a housewife. We had one car, as my mother didn't drive.

I was about to start kindergarten at E.C. Hughes Elementary the fall of 1963. My birthday is a few days after Labor Day; it always fell right after the first day of school. I couldn't think about my birthday right now, though. All I could think of was walking the four blocks to the looming brick building they called school. I would be leaving behind the security of my home, as well as the best friend that I had been with for the last four years, my mother.

That morning, my mother placed out a white shirt and a bow tie for me to wear. Was I going to church? That made me even more nervous and apprehensive on my first day. My mother was going to walk me to school that day, so we walked the four blocks to Hughes. I can remember above the entrance on the wall of the school before the kindergarten room was a yellow and black fall-out shelter sign where Mrs. Shafer was standing to greet the new students. Mrs. Shafer knew my mother, as my brother had her for kindergarten years before. They exchanged greetings and then my mother turned to say goodbye to me, told me she would see me after school, smiled at me and left.

A few minutes after she left, I removed the bow tie that was constricting my neck. I placed the bow tie in my pocket and quickly became excited about my new surroundings and classmates.

That first day was the only time my mother walked me to school. I would walk with other children that came up our street on their way to school. It was our time to talk, laugh, tell jokes, push each other and run, to just be kids. We had childhood adventures on that trek too. There was the mean barking dog whose yard was enclosed by a chain link fence, the home that the witch lived in, a rotund woman with raven black hair and dark red lipstick worn sometimes askew, and a mean girl that lived a few doors from the school. When you walked by her house you had to hold your breath so you wouldn't catch her germs. We did all the stupid things that kids do.

In those days it wasn't cool to have your parents with you; the less of their presence the better. We had much more freedom to go places and do activities than the children of today have. When I was around 11 or 12 years old, I recall going downtown by bus. It cost only 35 cents. I had one of my friends with me, and we thought how grown-up it was to be traveling to the city without our parents with us.

We were the children of WWII and Korean War veterans, the end of the baby boomers. 76 million American children were born from 1946 to 1964. In the '60's and '70's, enrollment at Seattle Public Schools was at its peak. When I started at Denny Junior High, I still walked. It only took me minutes to get to school, as Denny was closest to our house. Kids would be streaming though the neighborhoods from every direction, like a human migration; if you didn't live close enough to walk, you rode your bike or took the yellow school buses provided by the school district. At Denny there were 20-plus extra portable class rooms located behind the gym where the parking lot is behind the stadium, and a huge covered bike area with over 100 stalls to park and lock your bikes.

We went everywhere on our bikes. Every boy and girl had one, and they took us on various adventures and outings. I don't know how many times we set out early in the morning and returned at dusk, exploring the different neighborhoods of West Seattle, riding up and down the hills, spending hours down at Lincoln Park and Colman pool or packing a lunch taking the Fauntleroy ferry to Vashon Island. Cycling round-trip around Alki was 10 miles from my house, which I knew because I had an odometer on my bicycle.

Our parents instilled in us values, discipline, right from wrong, and to respect other people. Looking back, I am so thankful for their guidance as parents. I do remember my walks to school and my travels with my friends and our bikes, and I reflect with fond memories on a time that feels so far away, in a world that wasn't in such a hurry. We had so many freedoms that the young people don't get to experience in the generation of today.

Paul Davison is a West Seattle resident who may be reached via wseditor@robinsonnews.com