THE MIDNIGHT RUN OF W.W.

Well, six p.m. in Cedar Vale,Kansas, in January seemed like midnight. It was always dark and cold and usually windy. Basketball practice ended about that time, and after a quick shower, off I went running down (what is now) Walnut Street toward our farm just outside town. The run was always interesting in what one might or might not see on the way, depending on who was around on a particular evening.
First, by the Bell Telephone office, where Mrs. White was at times sitting at the switchboard with those funny looking headphones on her ears. It looked warm and cozy in that office.
Next, by the little house where Bobbie Brooks lived with her family. Unfortunately, in January, she did not sit on the front porch with her extra tight, extra short shorts and ultra small halter top as she did in the summers, but still it was worth a quick look as I flew by.
Next, by the Cable Implement which was mostly shut up for the night but you could still smell the odor of oil and grease, and sweaty mechanics. Now came the perilous part of the run, crossing the intersection where old Highway 166 made the bend and headed east down Monroe Street. It was tricky trying to gauge the fast, heavy traffic that came down the highway trying to squash me before I could get across to the safety of the sidewalk by Carter Implement, which was also closed and also had that same distinctive perfume of oil and welding.
On down the street past the Hays Hospital which also had that hospital smell that one could detect even running by out on the sidewalk. I always took a glance across at the Sartin house and often would see old Mr. Sartin working with his arrowhead collection. Almost always I would see Dr. Hays' car sitting under the portico by the hospital, and wondered if he ever had a spare moments to himself.
Across West Street and past Melvin and Neva Shraders house, but of course, they were never home at that time of evening, because Neva did not cook and they were probably at the Hilltop or old Cedar Vale Cafe. And I looked across the street at Foster's house which was brightly lighted as Dorothy was cooking her wonderful meals and Jack and Jim were arriving home from practice, and often Jess was sitting on the front porch smoking because Dorothy preferred he keep THAT odor out of her house. He always yelled and waved.
Past the Adam's Funeral Home and the Marsh house and across Walnut was the house I always considered the Whartenbee house, even thought Charlie had killed himself years before. Now Carter's lived there, and they rented an upstairs bedroom to Mary Hamilton, the pretty young P.E. teacher. Carters had a daughter a little older than I, Juanell, who was a pretty thing also. Seemed like Cedar Vale was filled with pretty young things.
Across Avenue "B" and there was Carl and Nola Stewards little house and across Walnut from them was Goldie West's place. Goldie was Nola's mother, and except for the white hair, Goldie looked like her sister instead of her mother. On down the sidewalk I came to one of the highlights of the run, past the house where Nadine Stanhope lived, and I always slowed down hoping for just a glance of the beautiful girl who was a year older and light years away from me in terms of availability. Keep running and on past the old Babcock house across the street and it seemed that the street was getting darker and spookier as the street lights were fewer and farther between.
Across Cleveland Street into the block where Squirrely Hill's house sat on the corner and the home of one of CVHS' biggest athletes, Jim Hill, the hero of every young athlete. Also the home of the beautiful Donna Jean, who was desired by all the older boys in the school, but was too old for me to slow down for a glance. Mrs. Kirby's house and old Model T were sitting quietly and dark. After all, it was six p.m. and she had had a hard day driving the old car around town in first gear giving piano lessons to a group of lucky young folks, and she was tucked away soundly in bed. Directly across from her place was the home of Hap and ?Flora Beaver and their pretty young daughter, Betty, and most of the time by the time I was running past her house, Roy Walkinshaw had already made it there to spend a few hours ??studying with her. They did a lot of serious ??studying.
Now across Avenue "A" and a darker and interesting block occurred. Here lived Charles Oliver and close to him, Gerald Kennedy, but the last house on that side of the street was the Williamson home and I slowed down appreciably in order that I might get a glance into the front bedroom window where Velda might be changing clothes. Seemed that she hardly ever closed that shade, apparently unaware that some hormone-ridden boy might be close at hand.
Then one more odor, and that was the cigar that Woody Lemert always had in his mouth, and usually Effie made him smoke that on the side step of the house.
One more street light and then it became really dark as I crossed over the cattle guard and in front of the old rodeo grounds and through the giant cedar trees of Hewins Park toward our north field. Most of the time I would run in front of the Pavillion, but when I was feeling especially fast and brave, I would take the shorter root behind the Pavillion where the gentlemen who needed a quiet place to drink something out of a sack were parked in their cars and usually too drunk to be of any danger to the lightening fast athlete that I imagined I was.
Through the barb wire fence, into our alfalfa field, now running in the moonlight until I was frightened to death by the snorting hogs that had been equally frightened by this running boy. On into the house where, if I were lucky, there was still some delicious dinner with the delicious smells. No more the smell of oil, grease, welding, cigarettes, cigars, hospitals, but the warm smell of home. I had made it another time, unscathed and out of breath.