When I was four years old, our family sold its two-story Preston Street store in Louisville, Kentucky, and purchased the small grocery on Poplar Level Road. We first lived in a one-story bungalow a short distance from the store. Fox’s Hardware was located on the opposite corner.
Those were the days of “Ice Boxes” for storing cold items and kerosene heaters for warmth instead of pot-bellied coal stoves used by my Grandparents at their Link home on Crittenden Drive.
I remember the kerosene heater because an air raid warden knocked on our door during a “blackout” to tell us the glow from the living room heater could be seen outside and we needed to adjust the darkening window shade in order to comply with the “No light visible” drill procedures.
Mrs. Newell lived in a house directly behind our bungalow. Our backyards were separated by a wire fence. She owned Skippy, a white, part Spitz dog with brownish markings on his back resembling a saddle. Skippy did not get along with most people who had occasion to meet him but he enjoyed my chatty backyard conversations and through the fence fur smoothing hand-patting sessions.
Mrs. Newell was getting along in years and found it increasingly difficult to care for her devoted companion. When she saw that Skippy was very contented with my neighborly affections, she offered to transfer his ownership to our family as we prepared to move to a new location.
1529 McKay Street would become Skippy’s new home and since there were few houses on the street, the empty lots became our fields of adventure. He would watch as I grew up playing marbles and mumble de peg, kick the can, and hide and go seek. He would follow our band of neighborhood friends who called a large willow at the bottom of the hill, “The Tarzan Tree”.
One by one, houses were built and the dirt piles from basement excavations disappeared along McKay Street. By the time the Street became a full neighborhood Avenue, Skippy had moved on to celestial halls and I had moved on to the Eighth Grade, leaving my carefree days of childhood behind.
I am fortunate to have McKay Street memories in my past. The warmth of those endearing years comes back when I see a group of children engaged in a serious discussion of fairy tales or hiding rules. I always hope those children have the companionship of a Skippy relative to complete their journey. All those relatives along with Aunts and Uncles who were real or honored as real have a way of making a journey much more enjoyable.