Grizzly Lake

By Robert Woods

Grizzly Lake is the story of a young boy that ran away from home, troubled by poor grades at school and not allowed to spend his summer vacation with other kids. He, with the help of another boy, used every trick they could and joined a group of YMCA boys going to Mount St. Helens. They make it to the camp at Spirit Lake and meet the legendary Harry S. Truman. Grizzly Lake has numerous twists and turns that reveal some of the many beauties of Mount St. Helens. Lost and alone on a moonless night and high up the mountain, he learns, no matter how far he runs, his troubles follow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781640820357

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Grizzly Lake

Robert Woods

Copyright © 2018 Robert Woods

All rights reserved

First Edition

Page Publishing, Inc

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc 2018

ISBN 978-1-64082-034-0 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64082-035-7 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

In memory of

David A. Johnston

Chapter 1

Over Troubled Water

The Pacific Northwest is a beautiful place, especially if you are young. I grew up on the southeast side of Portland, Oregon. After experiencing the worst year at my elementary school, I passed the sixth grade. Our school did not have a junior high. All students went from the first grade to the eighth at the same school. This is the first year our class had four teachers, instead of one. All four of the teachers tried hopelessly to fix my many flaws. Two of them felt I was struggling too much. They wanted to hold me back a year and said I was not ready for the seventh.

This is a scary time in my life. If held back a grade, that would mean I am retarded. A mark that stays on your forehead for the rest of your life. Flunked the sixth grade! However, after the parent-teacher meeting, they all agreed spanking my bottom could cure me, if done enough times, before summer was over. Starting once I get home. This brings us to where I am three weeks into my summer vacation.

My folks manufacture furniture for a living. Their shop is not far from our house. I have helped them make furniture as far back as I can remember. Since summer started, I have been stuck in front of this old, handy number 2-button machine making buttons. My folks recently received a big order for their best-selling chair called the Maxi. Each chair had seventy-two number 36 buttons. I had to make buttons in the thousands. Although I am glad to have passed the sixth grade, it sure sucks watching the summer slip away. There is no fun cutting up round pieces of fabric. Then place the fabric, cap, and eye in a dye and press them together by pulling on a lever.

Boy, I wish could go out and play on this hot, sunny day. My older sister went swimming earlier with my younger brother and our youngest sister. They went with our neighbors, Linda and Robin. Their mother took the five of them to the pool at Mt. Scott Park. I wanted to go but could not because of my poor grades.

My parents said, You are grounded!

My older sister and Linda waved goodbye from the back window, wearing big smiles as they left. Mt. Scott Park is one of the city of Portland’s biggest parks. The park has an Olympic-size swimming pool and a small pool for the kiddies. People from all parts of the city go there to cool off on the hot summer days. Mt. Scott Park is one of the most popular places in southeast Portland. To be grounded for the whole summer sucks! All my friends are gone enjoying their hot summer vacation. Yet I am here stuck making stupid buttons.

Looking out on the open side door of the shop, the sun is shining down on the green grass. It is a hot Friday afternoon and past lunchtime. Feeling hungry, I am hoping we will go out for fish and chips. The place around the corner has some of the best-battered fish in Portland. On the other hand, maybe some Kentucky Fried Chicken. The smell of chicken fills the air before you take off the lid. They are giving away a free cherry pie if you buy a bucket. Either one would sure be nice.

Something has to change. This button machine is older than I am and is not going to break down. I prayed for a miracle and then got mad as hell for what felt like extreme punishment. Then I smashed down hard on the lever, and the handle broke off. Afraid at first of being in trouble, I tried to make a button. There was not enough force to press the three pieces together. Cool! If the machine cannot make buttons, I will not have to make any more.

I called my father and with a sad face told him, Dad, the handle fell off the button machine, and it will not make the buttons.

He looked at the broken handle and then tried to make a button only to notice the same. The handle was too short, and it did not have enough force. My father went out the side door and returned with a pipe about two feet long and two inches round. That did not look good. He laid the pipe on the floor and hit it with a hammer a couple of times. Then he placed it over the unbroken part of the lever and said, There you go, now get back to work.

The pipe did not make it any easier to make buttons. It clanked loosely and created a disturbing noise. This made things go from bad to worse. Boy, that sure came back to bite me black and blue. About then, two tall middle-aged men came in the shop. Their curly hair shone in the light, and they wore expensive suits. They spoke with my father for a short time and then went in the office. Sitting in the far back of our shop, I watched through the glass window of the office. As they talked, I could see my father’s excitement grow. Soon after, he called my mother to join them in the office.

This could be the break I have been praying for. Maybe these two men could get the folks in a good mood. If so, they may just forget about my report card and let me go have some fun. Although I knew it was only wishful dreaming, sometimes that is all you can do. This is no way for a kid to spend his summer school vacation. If I can find a way out of here, I am going to jump without hesitating. Then I could not believe my ears when they came out of the office in a cheerful mood.

Father said, Lock up the shop. We are taking the weekend off!

They walked out together, got in the same car, and drove away. I ran to the front door and watched until the car drove out of sight. Feeling astonished, I did not waste any time locking up the shop. While leaving, I wondered if those two men had wings under their suits. What I thought could not happen just did. This was my first day of summer! It happened so fast, I am not sure what to do. The whole weekend off! The feeling of joy ran through my body while running to the house. Our two-story home is not far from the shop, maybe a hundred feet away. I will need some spending money to start this vacation off right. It is time to rob the piggy bank!

My brother and sisters have gone swimming. The house was empty and quiet. I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and got the savings under my bed. My piggy bank is a big coffee can with a red plastic lid. Although the can is large, it did not have much inside. Only some coins that I found while stripping off old fabric covers. Occasionally, a customer would bring in a piece of used furniture and would want it reupholstered. While taking off the old cover, I sometimes found coins inside. The change came to a little over three dollars. This should last the weekend!

I put the money in my pocket and ran down to the kitchen. Then I made a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and ran out the back door. I jumped on my primer-black Stingray bike and pedaled away. Then I took the short trail to a newly built bypass bridge that the city was about to open. They made a temporary bridge so they could tear down the old green bridge. This bridge going over Johnson Creek has been there for many years. I walked over and under it so many times, it is hard to believe they are going to tear it down. The old green bridge has a steel-grade sidewalk on both sides. It is like the steel cover for street-water overflow, only much longer and wider. The sidewalk goes from one end of the bridge to the other.

For some people, it is scary to walk on the outside walkway. You could see the bottom of the creek bed. That made it too uneasy for people to walk, and they would quickly run across. During the rainy season, heavy rains would bring the water within inches from the bottom of the bridge. This for some made the walkway even scarier. Johnson Creek has flooded many times in the past, at times closing the bridge. I remember not being able to see the bridge once. The water came all the way to our house. We had to leave and stay with relatives until the water level went back down.

Only a few years ago, scores of people would sit on the bridge. They would fish in the water below for rainbow trout. Fishing was good back then. However, that was when the water ran clearer, and now it seems like a long time ago. They say that in a few weeks, the city will tear down the old green bridge. A new modern bridge will replace it.

They have been using big tractors upstream to widen Johnson Creek and now were almost to the bridge. During one of our war games, someone shot one of the tractors. We learned that it took only one BB to shatter the safety-glass windows. From then on, tractors became target too. The sport was in how far away you could be and still hit the windows. The city workers had to learn how to work without the use of the windows.

Many a time, my friends and I fished and played under that bridge. For years, it was my playground and for many others. You would not know it now, but just a few years ago, the water ran clearer and with so much life. We caught many rainbow trout, tadpoles, a few turtles, and of course, some big frogs in the creek.

The people of southeast Portland complained about how bad Dryers mill was polluting the creek. Yet they were powerless to stop them, and nothing came of it. However, the same people were just as much to blame. They have been throwing things in the creek for a very long time. Even the military threw some things in the creek. We had a lot of fun with that stuff. To see and smell it now is sad; Johnson Creek’s time had passed and was not coming back.

Riding past Steven’s house, my best friend for years, I could see he is not home. Steven told me before school was out that their family will be gone for the whole summer. He was going to spend his summer vacation with relatives in Washington state. I pedaled away and went over the railroad tracks, then took the road to my school. Eager to see if anyone was there, I rode my bike and looked around the school. The playgrounds were empty and quiet and not a soul in sight.

Next to our school was a new addition. It was built only a few years ago. It was a school for the disabled, the deaf and blind. Some of the old school students did not want the new addition built. They put up a good fight, afraid of their kids going to school with the disabled. They sometimes shared class with us, and I am thankful to have met them.

The school tore down the one-room schoolhouse for preschool and built the new addition. I went to kindergarten in the small schoolhouse, so did many before me. All of us loved our first teacher. We were her life’s work. Her name was Miss Chatterton.

I noticed a baseball game going on at the park next to our school and stopped doing circles in the playgrounds. Then I went to the asphalt walkway that divided our school from Glenview Park. A mobile hot dog stand was there for the baseball game.

The smell of hot buttered popcorn and hot dogs lingered in the air. Fans of the game were standing in a line to get their food and drink. Feeling the heat of the day, I had a craving for a wild-cherry snow cone. I jumped off my bike and let it crash in the grass near the bleachers, next right to the field.

Hurrying to the snack wagon, I got in line to get a snow cone. It might help to cool things down while I thought of what to do next. The crack of the bat sounded out, and all the fans stood up to see the player in the center field catch the ball. They all sat back down with some boos and then called for the next batter. The line did not seem to be moving as I heard the woman inside say, I am sorry, but I am out of change, you must have the right amount.

Waving to her, I said, I got some change. She waved at me to come forward. I emptied my pockets out on a fold-down wooden window, which she used as a pay shelf. The woman inside counted out three dollars and thirty cents. Then she handed me three one-dollar bills and pushed back the change.

The woman said, What can I get for you, young man?

Could I have a wild-cherry snow cone please?

She scooped up some crushed clear ice and put it in a snow cone paper cup. Then she put the snow cone beside the wild-cherry syrup jar and gave the plastic spout on top a full push down. To my surprise, she pushed down on the spout again. The woman inside handed me my wild-cherry snow cone with a smile. The syrup was all the way to the top rim of the cone cup.

The woman said, Thank you, young man, this one is free.

I strolled back to where I left my bike. It was now leaned against the wooden bleachers. I sat down on the bottom bleacher next to my bike. A couple of wannabe baseball players sat up a couple rows and gave me some strange looks. I did not care and bit off the top of my snow cone. The wild-cherry brain freeze never tasted so good. Now it is official. My summer vacation has started! The crowd yelled as the next batter approached. Come on, batter, batter!

While watching the game, I looked around for someone my age. The crowd was either older or younger than I was, and I did not know one person here. In the middle of the park, near the edge of the center field is a small restroom. I remember the time I jumped off the top of the darn thing on a dare. Will never do that again. I almost broke my leg.

A couple of kids are hanging around outside the boys’ restroom door. Yet no one good hangs out at the bathroom, and they looked too rough for me. In the far right corner of the park is the playground area for the young kids. I played there a lot when I was younger, and I know the area well. I spent many hours swinging on the swings. Many a time, I ran through the sprinklers and got dizzy on the merry-go-round.

Soon to be going in the seventh grade, I have outgrown that part of the park. I am too big to play there now, yet too young to do anything else. Life sucks when you are only twelve and all the fun stuff is for the teenagers. The game is getting boring, and I do not know anyone here. I tried to think of something to do that could last the weekend. For now, find someone my age that wants to do anything fun.

Last summer, I went to the coast with Mike. He lives not far from here. Mike and I were in the same class together, although he did not show up much. Because he did not go to class, they held him back a grade. It felt like Mike and I were the only two grilled at the parent-teacher meeting.

Mike watched as his oldest brother died two summers back. He was swimming in Glen River when it happened. Mike told me that his baby sister was there too. He said his oldest brother died because he got the cramps while swimming. I will never forget his words.

Mike said, It was just like in the movies. He went down three times. The last time, his hand went down slowly, his finger pointing to the sky. My baby sister and I screamed at the people standing on the shore, ‘Please, save our brother from drowning!’ The people just stood there and watched as he drowned. No one helped him. Mom arrived just as they were pulling his body out of the river. She had a breakdown, and they had to take her to the hospital.

He held his head down and with a sneer said, It happened the day before Jack was to get out of the hospital.

Jack is another brother of Mike’s, the second oldest. He was hitchhiking in the state of California when they found him shot in a