DIANE MAKAR MURPHY Spring brings the kids -- and memories -- out in full force

This was a long winter, and an unusual one because all the kids hid indoors. For my neighborhood, that's really strange. Most winters, you can even see a kid or two riding a bike. I like to say that my neighborhood has kids who never stop playing.
But the subzero temperatures this year sent everyone into hiding.
Spring, however, has brought them out with a vengeance, on bikes and scooters, with basketballs and baseballs, wearing shorts and grins. Normal again. I guess I care because it reminds me of the neighborhood of my youth.
When we were kids up in the Cleveland area, play was our job. We committed ourselves to play every free moment, until the sun set. At least, that's how it was for me and my buddy Johnny, who lived across the street in his big, old two-story house with its large front porch.
No. 1 pal
Johnny was a "tough" Polish American kid -- a compact little guy with the oomph of a Jack Russell terrier. He was my No. 1 pal, the kid I mixed blood with like Tom and Huck did. I was 100 percent Tom Girl, and he was 100 percent boy.
I don't remember Johnny's parents very well, but I do recall his dad worked at a steel mill, and even more interestingly to me at the time, that they always left a stick of butter out on a saucer on the kitchen dinette. That very nearly amazed me; a melting butter stick on the table 24/7.
Johnny's sister was MY sister's best friend (which was extra special because they were both named Christine).
Johnny's brother was Stanley, said "Stah-shoo" by his parents, and us sometimes, too. Stanley was a year or so younger than Johnny, but light years from him in toughness. Stanley would indulge the neighborhood girls by playing dolls or dress up with them on occasion. But not Johnny. It was Johnny that I hitched my wagon to.
Best stories
He was the best darn tale-teller any 10-year-old ever knew. He told me he had a secret passage under his bed. Had no one been around, he would have shown me, too. At night, he said, he snuck out and roamed the streets.
And though I never believed his stories, I loved them. They were exciting. He'd hold up a small pocket knife, look at me knowingly and say, "I take this with me when I go."
Winter with Johnny meant snowball fights and snow forts. And winter was just one season. On late spring Saturdays, we'd pack a lunch in a brown paper sack and disappear from home, hiking through suburbia, past houses with gigantic wooden porches and small brick stores that sold penny candies or cigarettes and milk.
We'd travel up the busy main street of our hometown, Garfield Heights. We'd stop in Kukla's pizza parlor, drop a penny into the gum-ball machine and hope for a striped gum ball to fall out. If it did, we got a free donut. If it didn't, we bought one for 7 cents.
To the park
We'd travel up Turney Road, past the junior high school and the frozen custard stand, to the enormous Garfield Park.
There we found towering swing sets with long-chained swings and miles and miles of trails. We found plenty to do before dinner brought us home.
Often, Johnny, Stashu and I got dropped off at the Mercury Theater to watch gladiator movies. Afterward, back home, we'd brandish plastic swords and trash can lids.
Tom Girl status had other rewards, too. I owned cap rifles and pistols, and a plastic machine gun. Johnny owned the same, plus an army helmet, grenade and bazooka. We mounted battles and saved each other's lives and defeated Hitler for a second time.
Eventually, Johnny moved away, and it near broke my heart. We visited once, but we were older then, and it wasn't the same. Stashu grew up to become a chef, I heard -- and Johnny? Well, I don't know what became of Johnny. And the truth is, I like him locked in my memory just as he was.
All's right
Johnny was Bogart and Gable and Cagney all rolled into one. I'd like to think he joined the merchant marine or the Foreign Legion or something romantic and manly like that. Just like I like to think of my current neighborhood as a place where kids are always outside playing. It's just the way it's supposed to be.
I'm glad spring is finally here.
murphy@vindy.com