Tales From Catclaw Creek

I spent the first 16 years of my life on Catclaw Creek. For a short distance, Park Street is divided into two sections of houses facing Catclaw Creek. During the 1950's and 60's a group of kids lived, played, and influenced this part of the creek. Little did we realize how much the creek influenced our lives. Here are some of the stories (embellished or not) about those years. Bill (Billy) Casey

THE GANG

Our neighborhood gang: (e-mail me if I leave anyone out) Billy, Carroll, Gary Joe, Little David. Mike, Little Mike, Sherilyn, Willie Hikes, Ronald and Donald, Stevie, the Shouses and the Hensons. There are probably more "wannabees," but this group spent a lot of time having fun in and around Catclaw Creek.

A SWITCHING

"My first recollection of the creek was not a pleasant one. As I recall, my mother was in the hospital and my Grandmother Dean came to stay with us. I was young - maybe 3 or 4 - and I must have done something to irritate my grandmother. I remember that she walked across the street to the creekbank, pulled up a broom weed and used the stem as a switch on my bare legs. I remember that part well." Bill (Billy) Casey

LITTLE MIKE: STORY ONE

Catclawcreek is mostly shallow, muddy trickles of water that runs south to north - an oddity in water flow in Texas. Our domain spanned the creek from North 12th street to North 18th street. There was one turn in our part of the creek. The creek made an almost 90 degree turn to the east before rambling back to its northern path. At that bend in the creek, the water took on an ominous character. The water was a little deeper, a liitle murkier, and just plane scary. We were pretty sure there were snakes, sharks, giant turtles, alligators, and other unknown monsters of the deep. Rumors circulated that people had seen and heard stange sights here, both during the stillest days and on the darkest nights. It was even suggested that that wretched section of the creek was the Earthly opening to Hell itself.

Overlooking this "black hole" was an large mesquite tree -- almost as if it was the reason Catclaw Creek turned so sharply. To prove our courage, we would tie a rope to an overhanging limb of the tree. We could then swing across the water and skillfully land on a small, sandy, beach-like area across the deadly chasm. One of our gang was a kid named Little Mike. He was younger than most of us and we thought he was a pest, but we let him tag along anyway. Little Mike wanted to join us in this endevor, but being smaller, he had trouble. He would grab the rope and swing across --- but he couldn't figure out when to let go of the rope to make a safe landing on the other side. There he would be hanging over the monster filled creek, kicking and screaming in horror. He knew something was going to jump out of the water and snatch him into oblivion. He would scream and we would laugh. Finally, out of pity (and perhaps a little fear that he was right), we would pull him to safety. His efforts went on for weeks but no success.

One day -- in a brilliant stroke of genius -- we suggested that he was grabbing the rope too high. Maybe he needed more rope. That would make it longer and give him a better chance at success. He took more rope in his hand, backed up as far as he could and took a running leap ...... landing directly in the middle of the creek. There he hung waist deep in the black abyss, clinging for dear life, churning the water with his frantic kicking, and filling the air with a blood curdling scream of terror. He knew he was dead. "Watch out Little Mike, I see a shadow sliding through the water."

We were laughing so hard that it took us several minutes before we were able to rescue him. I don't think he ever tried again.

If you have a story e-mail it to Bill Casey -- bilco428@yahoo.com.