By
Walter Lunt
In
the summer of 1956, eight-year-old Tom Millett lived on a small farm with his
parents, three brothers and a sister on Highland Cliff Road in Windham. “It was
a different time,” he remembers, “we had garden chores in the morning, but
after that, the day was ours. Our parents didn’t worry if we disappeared for
the rest of the day.”
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| Artwork by Jerry Black of Arrowhead Art |
For
the most part, the boys could be trusted to stay in the neighborhood and to
stay out of trouble. They would ride bicycles, fish, build forts in the woods,
play basketball in the barn or baseball in a nearby field where chicken wire
fencing served as a suitable backstop.
Those
were the lazy, hazy days of summer sun and fun for kids in the 50s. There were
no play dates or organized sports. Decisions regarding what to do and where to
go originated from imaginative and inventive young minds. Ideas ranged from the
familiar and usual to the foolish and amusing.
One
hot afternoon found Tom, his older brother Lineous and friend Dennis (from ‘up
the road’) exploring Colley Wright Brook on the east side of River Road across
from the Men’s Reformatory (now Windham Correctional Center). In the 1950s it was
known as Reformatory Field, a cow pasture fenced and maintained by supervised
inmates at the minimum-security prison. Dennis came up with an idea: why not
dam the brook and make a swimming hole?
The
boys chose a site on the brook that happened to be one of their favorite
fishing spots: the ‘sucker hole,’ a narrow spot in the stream that had created
a small impoundment. Working through the afternoon, they bridged the banks with
rocks and sticks all the way from the muddy bottom up to near chin high. Near
the top, they inserted several four-inch sections of PVC pipe that would drain
off the overflow and prevent run-off from wiping away the top of the dam.
Finished, the boys went home to wait for their new swim hole to fill up.
The
following day dawned hazy and hot. After chores, the Millett brothers met
Dennis at the sucker hole, which had swelled to an area of 10 by 15 feet, and
chest high deep.
Because
it was hidden from traffic on River Road by a road-side berm and by bushes that
lined the brook, and preferring to keep their clothes dry, the boys stripped
naked and jumped in.
For
the rest of that summer and the next, the sucker hole would be their private skinny-dipping
pond, deep enough for shallow diving. It had cool, crystal clear water until
busy feet stirred up the muddy bottom. And, if at this point dear reader, you’re
wondering about blood suckers, the answer is yes, they were present.
“We’d
swim, get out, pick them off, and jump in again. Didn’t bother us,” said Tom.
The
private sucker hole, tucked away in a swale behind berms and bushes was the
cool and fun respite for the trio of boys for two long, hot summers.
Only
once was their secret, shall we say, exposed.
One
afternoon, as the boys frolicked and freewheeled in the sucker hole, a man
appeared carrying, according to Tom, “…what appeared to be surveying
equipment.” He carried on small talk
with the three boys, then sat down to eat his lunch.
“He
told us we should get out of the water because his helper would be joining
him.” The trio dismissed the warning, not really caring whether another guy
joined the group or not.
A
few minutes later, the man’s helper appeared and was told that the swimmers
were skinny dipping. The helper, a young woman, smiled broadly and sat to eat
her lunch, too.
The
boys ceased their water sports and stared at the visitors who were munching
their mid-day meal and staring back. The swimmer’s inactivity caused the water
to clear up. “So,” said Tom, “we had to kick up mud to cloud the swim hole.”
Eventually,
the surveyors (or whoever they were) finished eating, picked up their gear and
moved on, smiling and waving.
Tom
says he laughs when he thinks back on the incident. And to this day still likes
to tell the story. <
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