YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS UP!
By 1954, it had been nearly two years since new people moved into the nice old two story house across the street from our home. By total coincidence, they were the family of the president of the newly formed Kingsford Chemical Company. They had moved to Iron Mountain from far away Pennsylvania with their three children. The two oldest were boys and within the approximate age cluster of my older brothers, but the youngest was a girl my age. In the summer of 1952, my father had helped her father build a playhouse over in their back yard. The building was a beautiful petite structure with plenty of room for a couple of little kids. I certainly thought their five year old daughter and I had become friends while we watched the playhouse being constructed by our fathers for the better part of maybe two summer weekends. When the playhouse was finished, she invited me into the playhouse, but the girl my age mandated I take my pants down before she would allow me to sit at the table with her. I showed her my little thing, and then she showed me her crack. After the brief displays, she was as happy as if we’d been properly introduced. We pulled up our pants and played around a small table inside the little playhouse for a while. I went home and cannot remember ever talking to her again.