'Everything a kid like me could want'

It has been a privilege to grow up and spend my entire life in and around Waukegan, a city rich in culture and diversity. Since The News-Sun began its anniversary editions, I have read the accounts of others who lived here and enjoyed the city for all it has had to offer.

I offer my painting on the mural they have crafted for the canvas of this landscape. Being a former News-Sun outdoor writer, I will share my (what else?) outdoor experiences as a kid.

In the late 1950s and early into the '60s, my dad would take my brothers and me perch fishing on the Government Pier in Waukegan Harbor. The pier itself was different than today because it had a catwalk on top, allowing the lighthouse personnel to walk from shore to the lighthouse during periods of big storms without getting drenched by the pounding waves. When the wind blew from the west, it would push the surface water out and away from the harbor, sucking in the cooler water from beneath and bringing in the jumbo yellow perch.

We swam at the beach in front of Johnson Motors and the old coke plant.

The wind was always a factor. When it was from the west, the beach water was cold. If from the east, it was warm and we pretended to be surfers in the waves.

We lived on the corner of Pearsall and Carney streets. My two brothers and sister and I all went to Lyon School. I had a good arm and loved to throw baseballs, rocks and anything else my hand could grab. Winter was a particularly satisfying time.

Going to school required that we walk east to the intersection where Lewis Avenue, Dugdale Road, and 8th Street came together. Lots of trucks went by going south on Dugdale. They were easy targets for a kid who couldn't resist pounding them with a snowball. I relished those warmer winter days when it was easy to pack a snowball, turning it into ice, making a grenade of sorts. When a semi (that's what we called them before the term "18-wheeler" was invented) passed by, I would launch my grenade at the trailer, and if it were empty with no cargo inside, it would make a booming noise so loud it could be heard on Tenth and Lincoln in North Chicago.

One memorable time I took aim at a car and struck a bulls eye on the passenger side front window. Big mistake. What was I thinking? The driver made a U-turn on Dugdale, then an immediate left turn onto 8th Street, and chased me down as I fled for cover. He caught me, and let's say the language that spewed forth was something I never heard in Mother of God Church.

Another winter experience was sledding down Pearsall Street, which had a pretty steep incline from Carney to Dugdale. After a snowfall, and after cars had driven up and down the street, the snow on the road turned to ice, perfect for sledding downhill. We perfected a technique called "hoogy," which allowed one to get back up the hill without walking.

Back then, there was no road salt, so when the cars had to drive up the icy hill, it was slow going. We would run up behind a car as it struggled to get traction, grab onto the rear bumper, and when it got traction, got a free ride uphill, sliding on the soles of our boots. In those years, cars actually had bumpers that one could hold on to. That was hoogying.

After each snowfall, this kind of fun came to an end because black cinders from the Commonwealth Edison power plant would be spread on the road. No sand. No salt. Just black cinders. Can you imagine what our clothes looked like when we came home after a day on the cindered street?

When it was time for the seventh grade, I went to Thomas Jefferson Junior High. One day, an equally mischievous friend of mine and I pilfered a big chunk of raw sodium from one of the science rooms. We took it outside and went to the creek west of the school because we pretty much knew what would happen when sodium comes in contact with water.

We threw the sodium chunk into the creek and the result was instantaneous and fascinating: There was a flash of light as if lightning had struck a tree and then a booming noise like the one we always heard when we thought God was bowling during a thunderstorm. It was exhilarating and fortunately, we never got caught.

Experiences are what you make of them and what you take from them.

Growing up in Waukegan offered everything a kid like me could want.

Those were, in fact, the good old days.

Jim Zegar