Helena Street and The Moruds

Helena St Today

Among a number of traditional Milwaukie families, Helena Street featured the Moruds...Timmy, Tommy, Jimmy, Johnny, Caren, Barbara Vicky Lisa. Or something like that.  We Richardson's, another consisting of Daphne, Christopher, Laird, Steffan, Forrest and Sean (not so musical) were very proud to be able to rattle of the Marud's names quickly.  It was almost like a poem.

They were the kids next door.  Our families were both mega families even by the standards of the 60's.  My mother and father had six kids. This probably had something to do with my mother being an only child and my father almost, as he had a single sister who was much older than him.  I am not sure of the Moruds, but I can imagine that having many children was also for their parents, based on feelings of an era.  We were post war children, the great hope and promise for a bright future.

Our parents were also living under the fear of total nuclear annihilation which made having a big family even more important.  As kids we had assembly and drills to practice taking shelter under our desks or in the school's make shift bomb shelter.  It was a time when President Kennedy was assassinated, The Beatles rocked the world, we landed on the moon but more than that we were kids without internet, no mobile phones or pagers, no cable tv and no music players.  Some of us had radios that could only pick up one station.  When we surfed we did it with sleds and cardboard boxes down a hill, we used knockers and knuckles to find our friends, we watched black and white tv once a week and listened to vinyl records if we were lucky enough to get a Christmas or Birthday 45 single.  When you needed sugar, flour or salt you simply went next door with a cup and asked "my mom wants to borrow a cup of sugar...", done, no questions asked further.

A typical mother will answer the door to hear "Can Lisa come out and play?".  A mother or father had to scream out and call home their kids who were  out playing in the fields or the nearby woods and dogs would chorus out barks in response.  People had strict times and schedules, because that is the only way you could find somebody by phone, a heavy clunky phone with a curly cord that was in the living room next to dad's arm chair.  Cartoons were at 4pm and news was at 5pm, dinner at 6pm and bed at 9pm.

You got up and walked to school, maybe together with your mother.  You saw your friends before or after school.  You did things, real things, outside and got dirty and sweaty and came home after play really tired.  Supper was delicious but never enough, dad ate first and prayers were said.  You had milk for dinner and the desert was made by mom.  There were no arguments and no and's if's or buts when it came time for bed. When you were punished it was for real, no police force or special services to save you.


When we came to the gravel/dirt Helena street hill it was a piece of property above the Moruds on the right hand side just in the middle of the hill.  The Moruds were at the base of the hill.  The so called HILL was in our mind a substantial piece of geography.  As an adult when I visited the hill, it wasn't the same at all.  I think they must have shortened it or at least made it smaller.  I like my memory better!

We lived initially in a trailer.  A trailer that gave you good shocks if we touched it with any tender part of our arms.  I remember jumping down to avoid the shocks.  This may have been for a very short time, but the shock still remains vivid in my memory.  I don't think Oscar or Mr. Morud to us was very happy at having the prospect of squatters living next to his beautiful house.  I'll bet he was happy when he first started seeing that dad was building a real house.  But he might not have been happy to see that it was anything but traditional.  Our house was a big black house with more roof than anything else.  Dad made it like a big A frame.  He said it was oriental, but I have never seen anything like it anywhere in my travels to the orient.  Well, dad was very resourceful and our house was made up of 50% salvaged stuff and the remainder new material.   As Richardson's it is our duty to never quite finish anything.  Our house was a perfect example.  Mr. Morud on the other hand was a perfectionist.  Everthing about the Moruds home was complete and finished.  Their yard was immaculate and the Boulder fence that separated their lot from ours was also a work of art.

I don't remember just exactly how we managed to meet the Morud kids, but I do suspect that it had absolutely nothing to do with our parents.  Maybe my dad did try at some point in time to share a word or so, but for sure our unkempt lot with mountains of black berry bushes, long thick grass that resembled wheat and the dirt/mud patch here and there, made for sticky conversations, which my dad would definitely avoid.  I could only imagine my dad saying, "How are you doing today Oscar", and he would reply, "It would be much better Don if you would take care of your lot!".

There were times when our house and lot actually looked good, and I am not talking about after we sold it to somebody else.  My father I am sure appreciated how good the Moruds house looked and wanted to at least be a little non-contrasting like what would be the Adams Family House and Brady Bunch Home.

The Moruds house was a real piece of carefully thought out architecture, not an experiment.  I am somewhat sure, but I may be corrected, I have to go on my remote and far away memories of the place. Actually, we didn't spend much time in their house.  We were outdoor kids full of mud and crud.  The kind of kids that as a parent you have to call screaming at the top of your lungs because we were always hard of hearing especially when having fun. Dad's voice was the kicker, time to really go home!

We knew they were Norwegian because my father told us.  As kids you didn't care much about parents because you couldn't play with them.  They were only useful to say yes when you went next door to ask if somebody could come out and play.

Originally Oscar had a big willow tree in the front yard.  He was very proud of this tree and my father recollects how just during the Columbus Day storm, Oscar suggested that we evacuate our house because for sure the Douglas fir trees that loomed around our house would surely fall on us.  Limbs and stuff like that were falling everywhere, but the most beautiful willow tree fell over and damaged the Moruds home.

Their home had oil heating and was therefore a great place to visit, if you could, for long spells during the winters.  We had these base board electric heaters that couldn't warm your toe nails.  We spent inordinate amounts of time in bed, where we could warm ourselves.  Poor Daphne she had a room to herself and no brothers to heat it up!  Actually her room was sort of to herself, we had to pass through it to get to our room.

The Morud girls lived on the ground floor while the boys lived in the basement, as I recollect.  We spent some time in their house, but as I said we could probably count the times on all of our collective fingers.  So what do I exactly remember is sketchy, but the living room had a grill floor heat source as did all of the ground floor rooms that were fun to be on when it was damp and cold.

The back yard had a magical tree that had a door that could never be opened by us, but probably was used frequently by the elves that lived there.  The trees were tall but not as big as our trees.  The yard was kept up nice and clean, not like our jungle.

I was a always causing Oscar much ado, as many times I put his rock wall out of shape by climbing on it.  A boulder or two would tumble down and I would try as much as I could to act innocent.  But he knew it was me.  We had an agreement.  If I did it again he would cut off my ears and dry them on the porch.  I don't remember if I ever did it again. But I still have both ears!

There was only Laird, Daphne and myself who were playable.  Forrest was a dinky baby and Steffan was too small to go out except in arms.  The Moruds were mainly much older than us, so I don't remember doing anything with the boys.  They were either too old or too young.

Daphne probably knew the others better than I did.  She was an indoor type and I was anything but.  I think she knew the older girls and boys.  Whether they played or not I don't quite know.

We did make a Beatles concert together.  Mop tops, broom handles and the audience was Lisa, Daphne and others that escape my memory.

We watched flying saucers that were really Good Year blimps.  The Boogy man lived not far away, so it was a good idea to stay out of the woods that were between us and the gravel pit.

Laird and I were buddies mainly with Lisa, who for most parts was sort of an outdoor tom boy type, at least for a few summers or so.  It is not like we spent all of our time with our neighbors nor did they spend their time with us.  We were tramps.  Who ever we could find at the time became our partners in crime.

Laird was the teddy bear who would rock on both legs back and forth singing teddy bear teddy bear, especially if he had poop in his pants.  Him and Lisa would rock back and forth and sometimes play inside, but I wanted to go outdoors.  Many times Lisa couldn't go out because it was raining or too late.  Our parents weren't so strict or they forgot about us.

There were several golden summers and perfect winters where we played and played like time would never end.  But it did.  Summers gave up their glory and ended in school.  Winters lost their few days of snow and became murky and gray - mud fest.  I am sure we were not popular in the Morud's home with mud on our shoes.

Our favorite commercial activity not on Helena street was Super King.  A supermarket on King Road where we would go buy penny candy.  Once Lisa and I had an idea to go into business.  Selling Kool Aid.  The problem was that we didn't have any investment funds.  I think it was me who had the idea to borrow Kool Aid from Super King.  I don't think it panned out too well and these little escapades were probably the reason why Lisa may have been told to stay away form the likes of me.  Too adventurous and inclined to do things that bordered on troublesome times for our parents.

Places of interest in and around the Helena St. were, The Gravel Pit, with its own annual ponds of murky green mucky creatures that were fun to collect in baby food jars.  This all ended when there were no more babies.  The sloping field that was for both the summer and winter Olympics.  When it was late summer the grass would dry and great a perfect cardboard slide slope, Super King was a good source of card board boxes.  During those rare winters when you get snow that stuck for more than a few hours.  It was fun to go down on sleds.  It was good to have friends that had a sled, or at least make friendship until the snow melted.  Garbage can lids didn't work well as long as you broke the handles off.

Mud puddles.  Helena street had the most amazing range and style of mud puddles.  Some were deep enough to swim in (almost).  They took on shapes and forms of the great lakes, pacific ocean and other famous bodies of water.  Almost every year the road graders would ruin the road making it boring, but safe to drive fast on your bicycle.

The Moruds lost their mother early on, as it seemed to me.  This was my first encounter with death.  We didn't understand anything and it was scary.  Things changed after that.  Helena st. was not the same.  The world was not the same. I never knew what happened to the Morud children exactly. I only knew that Lisa was with another family and I would only see her so beautiful a girl but at a distance merely a few times in High School.  We never talked again.  I never had the courage to ask her what happened nor how she felt.  Our early childhood experiences were lost to time, and in growing up gone as fleeting memories.

We moved to Ceder Crest which is a whole new story and adventure. Somehow in leaving Helena street we were loosing touch with our very cherished beginnings, but moving on to new experiences.  I don't know if this had any role to play in my life where I felt compelled to keep moving on to new experiences, but it may have.

The good news is, that through my sister's prowess with reaching out to old friends through facebook we managed to get in touch again.  I received one day a friend request.  It was Lisa Smith (Morud).  I learned that she has a loving husband, children, friends and family.  Her life is fulfilled with a new grand child and wonderful many experiences.  I don't know about the other kids, but I do hope they have found their destinies.

The Gravel Pit

There a sort of magic that lures young boys to the gravel pit. You can descent below the depths of the earth. You can see her many layers. Adventure, climbing, playing on adbandoned cars and strange rusting equipment. It seems as though the gravel pit invites people to through their junk into her open stetched arms. It was probably the sheer joy of seing something tumbling to a final resting place that attracts people to toss things into the adbandoned gravel pit.

Our house in Milwaukie Oregon was only a few hundred feet away from a gapping hole in the earth. The area was evidently very fluvial. The earth just gave up tons and tons of prime aggregate. That gravel pit is probably responsible for many foundations around Portland. The rock was crushed cleaned and used in the ready mix cement plants in the area. When they could take no more gravel because of the proximity to homes, they just adbandoned the pits. The gravel pit was used to create a housing comlex.

Our gravel pit was exceptional. It seemed as though it stretched from horizon to horizon. At one end the gravel pit was not very deep, since it was really an exevation where they removed a large portion of a hill. Since our house was at the top of the hill, we were not very far from the highest point.

In those days there was not much consideration for liability as there is today. There was no fence, no warning signs. You were expected to know not to fall into the pit. In those days most people relied on common sense. We never thought about danger in the way it is thought about today. It is a well known and understood fact that you cannot protect everybody from everything. People will invent ways to get into trouble. The gravel pit was no exception. We frequented the pit to do all sorts of kid things.

Rolling an old tire off of the top of the gravel pit was one of the most exciting things to do. If you got it just right the tire would bounce down the cliff and roll almost to the other end, threatening even to go on forever, if it were not for a boulder or two to throw a fateful wobble onto the tire to give it a few wild turns and then to come to an abrubt rest . On a bad roll the tire would wobble end over end and just smack on the bottom near the base of the pit. Very dissappointing. We found that if you gave it a good roll before reaching the edge of the cliff then the tire would stay upright.

The centrifugal force was enough to keep the tire going until the energy of the journey down the side of the cliff petered out. Laird and I were only afraid that in our vigor to roll the tires towards the edge of the cliff that we would miscalulate and end up going over ourselves. Our common sense worked well in these matters.

At the bottom of the gravel pit was a small lake. With the so may rainy days in Oregon the build up of rain water was inevitable. Even though the ground was very pervious, the water manged to build up and stay almost all year round, at least until summer. Then it would dry up leaving exposed all of the. The life created in these pools was amazing. There were three levels of creatures. Those that lived above the water, those on and the others under. The dragon flies swooped around the various plants that grew from the ponds edge. Why they had to hover in one place for as long as they did, we never could figure out. Maybe it was just to let us see them. That they were scary, so we should leave them alone. We could never hit one with a rock or catch one for that matter.

There were also the water skimmers. They walked on the water. We couldn't so we would get our shoes all mucked up and would try to dry them before going home. Our shoes never did last very long. We would either loose them or they would fall apart. Dad learned not to invest in new shoes. Mom could never insure that we only used them for school. So the Goodwill was a preferred shopping spot for our shoes. The mothers of the good kids that didn't ruin their shoes would give them to the Goodwill, so we could ruin them.

The tadpoles were those little back peas with small tails that swam everywhere. We would catch them and then let them go. They weren't very fast but they were numerous. There would only be a short period during the summer where they would be adbundant, then they would disappear into frogs. Sometimes we would catch that tadpoles with little from legs. Later during the summer we would be catching little frogs. There were much more fun to keep. Tadpole needed water and would last less than a day, while frogs would stay with us for weeks.

Easter on The Hill

Grandma Richardson lived just above us on the top of the hill. Dad sold his parents his house when he purchased a lot just below the house. We lived in a trailer until my father was able to construct the BIG BLACK HOUSE. Actually it was not a hudge house, it was of average size, but for me it was enormous (until I later visited the house and of course it seemed small).

Grandma's house on the other hand was small but very traditional. It was constructed I think in the 40's. It was a box with just the right amount of space for a kitchen, living room and one or two bedrooms. I remember the basic design but not much else.

What I remember the most was the white picket fence to the front of the house and the various contours of the small yard in front and the back yard which was right on a steep incline going down to our house.

Instead of a garage there was a carport, which is sort of an open garage. Buford, grandma's dog loved to lie in the shade of the garage. Old buford was so old that his hair was a little matty. His hair color was a little like a rich brown cappuccino. I think he was a collie.
One time we had an easter egg hunt. My mother hid a number of eggs around the yard and it was our job to find them. Grandma had made an easter meal of sorts and we kids spent our time outside looking for the eggs and playing on the lawn. I don't remember how many I found or where they were hidden. I suppose it will come back to me some day.

What I remember was how happy I was, the smell of grass, the cool brease, floating things like blowies in the air. The sound of distant traffic on King Road, birds and barking dogs.

It's too bad we dont remember much more than a few snap shots of special moments.

It was Easter and there was meaning in peoples faces. They were celebrating a tradition, a belief and to a certain degree, the feeling that life was ordained and that there was structure and order to these significant religious events. Church and supermarkets reminded you of these events.

Easter is one of the holiday's that is hard to grasp for children It was very hard for me. What I remember so clearly was the easter egg hunt. For me that made a lot of sense. We were always looking for our socks, shoes, library books, so why not look for eggs too!

To find the easter eggs you just had to be fast. It was like wanting to be everywhere at once. You would see one of your brothers or sister find an egg and you knew there would be other eggs close by. We would all hoard in on the find. Since I was the oldest boy I think I bullied a greater share of the eggs. This is probably why mom was harder on me than the other kids. She was the balance. All's anybody would have to do was to call out MAAAUUUMMM then say CHRIS and add whatever complaint was necessary. It worked. I knew and mom knew that if I didn't stop then it would be the wooden spoon. Sometimes my brothers and sister over did the MOM thing. It was a neat way to get back at me.

Mom boiled the eggs and experimented on how to color them designing eggs that should have been in a fine arts exhibition rather than being in our dirty clutches. We also had the pleasure of creating a mess with colors. That was the great thing about mom and dad. Unlike most other parents we were encouraged to be creative, which meant being messy was ok! Later, however we didn't exactly pass on this benefit to our own kids. Most of us kids liked a tidy and organized environment. Creativity was in habitat was for our childhood.

I don't think we found all of the Easter Eggs, there are probably some eggs still hidden around grandma's old house. I would like to think that they are still waiting for us to find them. Maybe in our dreams. There is a purple one with yellow stars high up in the top of an old tree that was once a sapling.