At twelve, I decided delivering newspapers had to be easier than mowing lawns and shoveling snow. My brief career delivering the free Community News in Ferguson proved otherwise—especially after I discovered a storm sewer near the beginning of my route.
There was a time when school lunch meant lunch ladies, compartment trays, tiny milk cartons, metal lunchboxes, and whatever happened to be on the menu that day. From my Roy Rogers lunchbox at Central School to spending part of Mom’s lunch money on warm French bread—and the rest on candy—this is what lunchtime was really like growing up in Ferguson.
In the summer of 1963, I wanted to prove I belonged with a group of Tampa Bay boys. That meant climbing onto a tiny maintenance platform beneath the Howard Frankland Bridge and jumping into the dark water below. I did it once. Once was enough.
For generations of American kids, one simple rule governed childhood: “Come home when the streetlights came on.” It was an era of bicycles, scraped knees, tree forts, neighborhood games, and a kind of freedom that’s almost unimaginable today.
Some of the best childhood memories don’t come from expensive vacations. They come from simple afternoons spent with the people who mattered most. This Richard Archives story remembers watching jetliners with Dad during America’s Jet Age.
Homemade popcorn balls, pillowcase sacks, and neighbors who knew your name. Halloween in Ferguson wasn’t candy—it was community.
Growing up in Ferguson, Missouri, the Penhale family lived right next door. Then, through an incredible series of accidents, all four family members ended up with their arms in slings at the same time—an oddity that reportedly caught the attention of Ripley’s Believe It or Not! But looking back, that may have been the least remarkable thing about this family.