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My dad ran a crane there when they were roofing the lakes over, around 1962.

My fourteen-year-old cousin, George, died as the result of a golfing accident with his best friend there, in 1956.

In Winter, we used to go sleigh riding on the golf course.

Passed Silver Lake every day for four years on the Victory Blvd. bus on the way to and from Curtis. Always wondered about the stories they told about the lakes. There was a concrete bridge separating the lakes, don't know what for. They were fenced in, don't know what for. Swimmers couldn't have been any fouler than the flock of, make that h u g e flock of seagulls that called it home.

Some said there were big fish in there. Fishing was prohibited.

Some said the water was so clear that from a foot under water at night you could see the stars. Swimming was prohibited.

And some said that one side of the bridge was for the Hot water in your faucet, and the other side for the Cold.

Some of those stories strike me as being apocryphal, meaning don't believe every word. I believed them, except for the Hot and Cold. As to the latter, I think it was like the stories they told about the cemeteries we also rode past on the same buses, every day. "People are dying to get in there," was one of 'em. Forget the others. I remember my dad, who lived in Sunnyside, telling me about going over to his friend's house, might have been one of the Franzrebs at the stables on Clove Road. Apparently he had to go through a cemetery. Said he used to whistle to keep his spirits up. So I guess that old saw that goes, "He's just whistling through the graveyard," which I think refers to boastful talking to keep fear away, has a grain of truth to it. What else would you do if you were a kid walking past someplace spooky than make a lot of noise to dispel the eeriness.

I feel like whistling right now when I think of today's fifth day of the air war in Serbia, with things looking like they're going all to Hell if we don't watch out. -rs



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