'67 - Summer of Love (3)

(I changed the name of the Vacation (10) post to '67 Summer of Love (2) - as the title was more appropriate, and it happened all the same year. So this post picks up - that same summer - before my 8th grade year.)

We returned from Vacation early in July. Even though my crush was no longer interested, there was plenty of summer left.


In July and August the creeks and rivers of Northern Idaho are warm enough for swimming, and even though I was not old enough to swim alone, Dad would take me to the creek to swim.

This summer, someone had dammed up the creek near the south end of Weir Gulch. This made the creek near the Bauman Addition too shallow for swimming, but created a better swimming hole behind the Assembly of God Church at the end of Division Street. All the kids my age were going there to swim in a great green pool of water.


Dad took me there a few times, and that is where I met Tom. (Now Tom was his real name, and I decided to use it, because he has been deceased for quite a number of years now. I don't know the reason for his early demise, but it could have been the result of an accident or disease.)

Tom was a great looking kid with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. (Ok, so his hair was red, but a soft redish-brown, and bleached by the sun. It's not that I have anything against red-haired guys, but I think my repulsion of Howdy Doody didn't help.) Tom was a year older than I, and for some strange reason he took a liking to me. I was a bit shy in those days, so he must have been the first one to swim over and introduce himself. I was fascinated by the fact that he was interested in me when he could have had a lot of girls after him.

The one event that sticks out in my mind was the day at the creek, when he scooped me up into his arms and hollered at my Dad, "Hey, Mr. Lewis, do you mind if I throw your daughter in the water?" Before I could process the fact that he lifted me up, my dad was saying, "Go ahead," and I was flying through the air toward the middle of the green pool.

Nearly every afternoon for the rest of the summer, I would go to the swimming hole. Dad didn't go with me all summer. I think he started to realize that I could swim pretty well, and that there weren't any creepy people to be wary of. I think as long as I had at least one friend along, I could go. Sometimes the Carver brothers would come down to the swimming hole, and I would feel safe, because they were all like brothers to me.

I never had to worry about Tom, and neither did my parents. He was a gentleman. He started coming over to my place to visit, and always spent time interacting with my parents. He'd usually say, "Hi" to me and continue on into the kitchen to ask my mom if she needed help with the dishes or whatever she was doing. Mom used to tease me by saying, "I think he likes me more than he likes you." But I knew that wasn't true!

'67 - Summer of Love (2)

Something happened the year I turned 13. I got a crush on an older kid. He rode his bicycle past my house everyday that summer of '67, and I was smitten. I sat out on the front porch in the evenings and listened to the radio play the latest rock tunes. Early one evening, he rode his bike past the house and stopped across the street at the street corner. He called to me to come over to talk with him. I was so excited, and so scared. (What if he tried to kiss me?)

I left the security of the porch and strode across the lawn and the street to the corner, by the stop sign, where he stood with his bike, under the branches of the neighbor's tree. He had leaned his bicycle against their fence, and was waiting for me. His eyes were blue and his hair blonde, and I thought he was the best looking guy I had seen in a long time. I was nervous to be standing near him.

We made small talk, then he asked me what I was going to be doing the next few days. "We are leaving on vacation in the morning," I confessed, wondering if he would try to kiss me good-bye.
He didn't move closer, but wanted to know where I was going and how long I would be gone. (He must really like me, I thought.) Soon the conversation ended. I don't remember if I was called into the house, or if he had to go, but he took off on his bike, and I sauntered home -glowing, I think.

I finished packing and went to bed early, because we were leaving the next morning. I remember getting in the car, and wishing I didn't have to go. I wanted to stay. Just when things were getting interesting - I was off for Utah for three weeks. I laid in the backseat and stared up at the telephone poles outside the car window. The telephone lines went up one pole and swooped down to the next. Up and down, up and down, just like the emotions in my heart. I had been so encouraged, so excited, and now I was down, down, down.

I probably cried off and on, but disguising my sadness from the family. We were not the kind of family that showed our emotions. . .especially sorrow and disappointment. How could I stand the wait - 3 whole weeks - before I would see him again. It just wasn't fair!

I don't remember any of the particulars about that vacation, except that my cousins were out pacing me in their experiences. My cousin, LD, who was two years younger, told me about kissing boys behind some curtains at her school. Good grief! She just finished the 5th grade! Another cousin who lived in Las Vegas, and was a few months older than I was going to parties where there was a lot of drinking and older guys. I felt inexperienced, but safe. I was glad I didn't have to deal with such pressure.

I probably had a lot of fun on vacation despite my sorrow. LD and I usually went swimming at the public pool in Provo, shopping, and to the 4th of July parade and carnival. We were old enough now that we didn't need to stay with the family all the time, and were venturing out on our own more. At the swimming pool, there were always guys who like to show off for us, and that was a distraction from my beau back home.

Finally, the day came for us to load up and drive home. I couldn't wait to get there. I was excited to find out what the future would hold for this "biker-guy" and I. We arrived home, and as always, I sat out on the front porch in the evening. I waited, and waited for him to drive by on his bike. . .but he did not. The next day, or two or three, I rode my bike to the store, past his house, just for a glimpse of him. . .

For some reason, only known to young almost women, I thought I could impress him by making him think I could eat anything I wanted, and never gain weight. I would walk past his house eating ice cream from the Tall Pine, and then refuse to eat sweets at any other time. I made at least one trip past his house everyday. I was sure as soon as he saw I was back from vacation, that he would ride his bike past my house around sunset, and stop to talk - or call me over to the corner. . .but it was not to be. I don't think I saw him again that summer. And while I was entering 8th grade at Pinehurst in the fall, he would be going to High School in Kellogg.

Looking back, he may have obtained his driver's license while I was gone or found someone else older and more interesting, who wasn't going on vacation. Maybe he realized I was just a kid, and he was a young man. Regardless, our "love" was a short-lived. For several years, I blamed the end of it on an ill timed vacation.

Pinehurst again, summertime (2)

(I acturally don't remember if Dad taught me to swim before or after 4th grade.)

Dad Teaches Me How to Swim

We began to go to Pine Creek (the swimming hole near the bridge on Main street) in the summer time to cool off. One day I was there with the family, and Dad taught me how to swim. (Apparently this wasn't my first swimming lesson, as my mom had taken us to the Kellogg pool when we were younger, but all I remember is that I hated putting my face in the water.)

Now, I was practically grown up, and at 10 yrs old, my Dad figured I needed to learn how to swim. When Dad taught me how to swim, he decided he would teach me the way he learned, and that was to swim "underwater" first. His reasoning was that if you learn to swim underwater first, then you aren't afraid of going under while you are learning to swim on top. He demonstrated his technique, then I tried it, swimming parallel to the shore. After I was comfortable in the shallow water, he let me venture until I could easily swim in water over my head. It wasn't until I was proficient at underwater swimming, that he taught me how to swim on top.

He may have taught me how to float on my back first, then dog paddle, and finally the Australian crawl (overhand). Whenever I got tire of "crawling" I would usually float, because it took less energy. Regardless, after I learned to swim underwater, I lost my fear of the water.

Dad even taught me how to open my eyes underwater, so I could see where I was going. It was so much fun to swim around and look for pretty rocks along the bottom of the creek. Sometimes my friends and I would cover a rock with foil and dive for it. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with Northern Idaho, the creeks and rivers are naturally clear, because they flow over rocks, rather than dirt or silt. Occassionally, there will be a sand bar, but for the most part there are rocks everywhere. Most of the rocks are smooth from rolling over other rocks in the river bed, or smooth and flat).

Dad also taught me how to dive when I was a little older. He taught me how to dive shallow, so that when I dove there would be little chance of hitting my head on the bottom. I used to be able to dive into 3' of water - but that was probably before I stopped growing taller, and definitely before I grew "larger." Just like my Dad, when I went swimming up the river (North Fork of the Coeur d'Alene River), I wouldn't get wet gradually. . .I would run and dive right in. (I don't think my body could stand the shock of that now - having stayed out of really cold water for a lot of years!)

Does anyone know, why after numerous attempts, I cannot separate the paragraphs????

P.S. I spoke with my dad last night (May 15), and he told me about learning to swim when he was 10 yrs old, and living in Placerville, Ca. during the summer of '34. His cousin Wayne (I think) bought him a two week pass to the pool (or recreation center) for 50 cents. Dad learned to swim underwater first - just as I thought.

There's a story that began with their stay in Placerville. My grandfather, Art Lewis, took a job working for his older brother Hugh Lewis and Hugh's son at a machine shop - aptly named Lewis & Lewis. My dad and his dad got such a kick out of the name, they started to refer to themselves as "Lewis & Lewis." (Now whether they began in Placerville, or when they moved back to Utah after my dad's 5th grade year, I am uncertain.) The joke stuck, and as my dad grew to adulthood, they called each other "Lewis." I never heard either of them call each other by their given "first" names: It was always "Lewis."