The viaduct  over the railroad tracks near our ancient  house in north Portland was only three blocks away and adjoined a dense forested  acreage  just a block away. It was a place for exploring just like Africa.
That offered ample  choices for adventure for boys when I was a lad.

The woods offered trees to climb, hazelnuts to crack and eat and plenty of mystery, like trampled places for sleep and rest for many hobos passing through on railroad trains under the viaduct.

Like other boys we built, bartered with other boys and raced our homemade speeders. And then we rolled them at breakneck speed down the steep hill over the railroad tracks good for  about a quarter mile at speeds of at least a hunnert miles an hour. The raceway exists  to this day but kids prolly don't use it.

They all have bikes. Nobody on our street had a bike except  Melvin Amsterdam and it had a huge front wheel and a tiny rear wheel and clincher tires about an inch wide. I could never climb on to it.

We did a lot of summer days hiking along the tracks gathering  what  our Mom called Brock. It was similar to dandelion greens and we ate it as salad. Remember, this was the great depression.

There was a single railroad track under the viaduct  and about  a block away was  a big  lumber  mill where the Prentice   and the Robinson boys used  to scrounge mill ends. John Prentice still lives in the Shorewood area and has been active at Evergreen High for many years teaching students music.

One day my brother Russell  and I were poking  around the lumber mill scrounging and discovered the switch which allows a steam engine on the main track to turn off to the mill and it had been left unlocked.
So what  does any red -blooded  mischievous boy do? My big brother  and  I took an idle  handcar and like a couple  of gandy dancers pumped  it out on to the main track. We barely went fifty feet when we heard  a whistle blaring and saw a train coming.

Panic? You bet.

We managed  to pump that hijacked flat  car back onto the siding, jump off and throw  the switch in time  to only suffer the glares and fist  shaking  by the engine crew.Russell didn't even wet his  pants.

Jerry Robinson our publisher, celebrates his 91st birthday on April 6. You can reach him to wish him well at Robinson.jerry @comcast.net