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Summer Fun On The Cheap

The Source

Summer’s coming, money’s tight and the sun is shining, so if you’re looking for something a bit ridiculous to do around Jacksonville as the weather warms let me throw a few suggestions out there. Some are legal, several are moral, and very few will actually get you killed. I’m not a naturally adventurous person. My idea of taking a chance is putting ketchup on my hotdog during a mustard-prone Chicago baseball game, but I’ve been blessed to teach some delightfully free-spirited students over the years and I attended IC with a group who were just this side of insane. One of the most remarkable young men I taught was named Jeff. He didn’t have a lot of spare cash to throw around on dates so he used his imagination to do things a bit differently. Jeff couldn’t afford fancy restaurants so he took his date through the McDonald’s drive-up . . . backwards. While the other kids at the Triopia prom that year can barely remember where or what they ate, Jeff’s high school sweetheart still recalls the look on the face of the lady at Ronald McDonald’s window when Jeff’s trunk backed into view. My friend Dave was a college buddy. Whenever the springtime temperature rose above 90 degrees in IC’s Gardner men’s dorm, Dave would sleep in a tree. I don’t mean he built a tree house or had any sort of special structure. He’d find a tree in the front yard of Ellis Hall, climb into its lower branches and had somehow taught himself to hang on while snoozing. I think that he was related to the South American sloth. I once knew a guy who’d take his sack lunch, a wicker lounge chair, and eat his meal on the Jacksonville Square. This would have been “Square One,” as opposed to the current landscaping. He said that watching the traffic buzz circles around our town roundabout was a delightful way to spend his lunch hour. Then there was this group of boys who did their own cheap version of Wet ‘n Wild Orlando. The four were all in the Triopia play, and we rehearsed at 6 p.m. each evening. As soon as school was out, they’d load in one car, run to Springfield to go down the waterslide a couple of times, then dash back, still wet, to play rehearsal. They’d change into their swimsuits while driving through Jacksonville, a practice that startled more than one semi-truck driver, paused at the stoplight of Diamond and Morton. This insane quartet now consists of two lawyers, one insurance man, and a cop so I’ll omit their names. When they move me to the home I can use this information for blackmail. I knew a lively group of girls who’d have what they called a “fast food potluck.” They’d buy a meal on item at a time all the way down Morton Avenue, and then when they’d get to Community Park they’d have a picnic. The trick, they said, was to buy the drink first and leave the French fries until the last stop. This same group of slightly out-of-whack ladies would often to into the old Lukeman’s on the square and try on men’s suits. The older clerks were confused, but Bill Costello thought it was pretty neat. Then there were the crazy twins. Scott and Steve were two long, lank young clowns who were fun to be around as long as you didn’t turn your back on them. They were to do an interview exercise for my speech class so they went around Jacksonville stopping people on the street, explaining their project, then asking the respondents what it was like the first time they tried to ride a bicycle. So far, so tame. But then they spliced an intro onto the front of their tape saying, “We asked Jacksonville citizens was it was like the first time they. . .” . . . uh. . . how do I put this? It had something to do with intimate relations. Well, you know. Fill in your own bicycle answer and then imagine the responses. “Well, I kept falling off.” “Mom and Dad were there to help me.” “It was in the yard in front of my house.” And I fondly recall very talented former student who would take his buddies to the Amtrak station in Springfield. Three of them would sit in the station as a train approached and talk excited about the celebrity who was coming to Springfield. When the trained slowed to stop they’d shout, “There he is! He’s on this one!” The crowd at the station would naturally become curious and even excited trying to discover the name. Meanwhile, the fourth member of this imaginative quartet would sneak around the station and mingle with the folks getting off the train. When his friends saw him they’d shout, “There he is! I can’t believe he came to Springfield!” Meanwhile the unwary bystanders would get out their cameras and start clicking at the celebrity with no idea who in the heck he was. The ringleader of this group is now a well-respected local minister. Looking for ways to have fun around here on the cheap? Have at it! You might become a lawyer or member of the clergy.