In the Shadow of the Anselmo

Woolman Street with the Anselmo Mine headframe at the end of the street

We were 1950's free range kids. Woolman Street was our playground—we ran down the sidewalk and clambered up the steps to our small yards and porches to play. Cowboys and Indians, Hide 'n Seek, Red Rover in the street when the big kids would come out. Learning to ride a bike on the sidewalk was a feat given the cracked, uneven pavement caused by the blasting from the Anselmo Mine, whose headframe punctuated the end of the block.

My brother Jimmy and me on our porch at 919 West Woolman

We lived out loud, never knocking for our friends but shouting at the top of our young voices. "Maureen!" "Can Maureen come out to play?" Our parents calling us home at the end of the day. "Nancy, Jimmy, come wash up for dinner." Voices constantly competing with noise from the mine and daily train whistles.

My best friend Maureen O’Keefe and me in our front yard

Our stay-at-home moms kept loose track of us, staying in touch with one another to make certain that none of us had come to too much harm. When one of us split a lip or broke a bone, brothers and sisters would be sent to the neighbors while our mother hurried us to the doctor for stiches or splinting.

On the 4th of July the neighborhood fathers would band together to set off fireworks in the street as neighbors pulled up their chairs along the sidewalk. Sparklers lit up our faces as we oohed and awed at the skyrockets exploding in the darkening sky.

Jimmy and me ready for the parade in our 4th of July outfits, 1956

 It was on July 4, 2018, when I last returned Butte and stopped to visit my childhood.