Cracked Corn

Church Street, where we lived, gently ascended, over a two block stretch, to Mill Street. In front of our house, the ground sloped away from the street providing a bank where you could duck out of sight if it was dark outside. In the Hubbard's yard, across the street, the bank was even more pronounced and provided an even better nighttime hiding spot. This was important given the fact that we often needed to run and hide.

RD (I will protect his identity by using only his initials) got a hold of some feed corn, the kind that is dry and hard, and got some of the neighborhood boys together for a little nighttime trouble making. The boys laid on the side of the road, shielded by the bank and waited for cars to drive by. At just the right moment, they would pop-up and hurl a handful of feed corn at the passing car. A shower of corn would hit the car causing all kinds of racket, usually scaring the beejeebers out of the driver. Sometimes the driver would slam on their brakes, roll-down the window and scream obscenities into the blackness. The boys rolled around in the darkness, hands over their mouths, trying to keep from laughing and giving away their position. (I have no first-hand knowledge of this, I'm simply relaying what I was told.)

RD got more than he bargained for when, after whipping a handful of corn at a car, the driver not only brought his car to a screeching halt, he jumped out and went looking for the perpetrators. When he started moving toward RD, RD jumped up and started running. The angry driver ran after him. RD panicked and ran into the house (our house!) The angry driver FOLLOWED HIM INTO THE HOUSE! My Dad came to the rescue, threatening to call the police if the man didn't leave immediately! Because my Dad was obviously an important FEDERAL employee, the angry driver realized that he must comply.

Dad had some words with RD but I can't remember what happened after that. I will leave it to the rest of you to fill in the blanks.