The Fight

It's still hot, way hot but I still would rather have the heat then the cold of the deep Utah winter. On days like today, in my youth, I would be down at the twin bridges in South Boise. I have written briefly of the canal the bridge spanned. On a day like today, sun boiling down and the temperature over a hundred degrees. The breeze would be hot, blowing hot air you could be soaking wet and by the time you were half way across the fields to home your clothes would be completely dry.

I have been working on a short story now for a couple of years about a fight I saw down at the bridges. The story has never come together the way I want the story to but the need to write the story keeps haunting me. When I was most active at the Twin bridges I was between 10 and fifteen. Of course a broken neck really put a kink in my swimming but I did still swim after the accident just not as much. Swimming after the wreck took a lot more planning.

The fight I want to write of really took place but there were a number of fights which occurred over the summers we swam the canal. And I am thinking the fight I will finally end up document, just might will might be a compilation of all the “duke outs” of the bridge. My brother and I road bike of course , bikes were the only form of transportation we had except parents, in those day and the only way we ever got a ride with parents to somewhere like the bridge was if they just happened to be going somewhere else and they happened to be going past the bridge. On the other had, the teenagers, the big kids, drove vehicles. Many times just clunkers but even the clunkers were a step above the bikes. The bridge drew older kids from all over South Boise from Broadway to the Barber Dam.

A spiking hot day in July had drawn the usual kids to the bridge. Me, my brother Ross and our best friends the Cantrells. We had got to the bridge later then usual that day. Old picks-ups and beaters were scattered round the banks of the canal hugging as many trees for shad as the truck owners could manage. Dennis Ward was there. Dennis was a senior at Boise High, sort of a local hero, played some football, wrestled State and had a quick wit. Everyone liked Dennis at least I know I did. Dennis' younger brother Kim was my age and Kim and I often hung out together. Frank Baratua was also at the bridge that day. Frank was not a regular and he was a bit of a bully. Frank had thrown me over the side of the bridge more then once. “Chucking” kids who wandered to close to the big guys was great sport . When your number came up you just had to be sure you curled into a ball before you hit the water. Northing was worse then an unprepare4d belly flop.

I wish I could remember what the fight was about but too much water has flowed under the bridge. When I remember most was the guys circling each other in the middle of the bridge surrounded by all the swimmers. The days was hot andf not a breeze moved the air. Dennis could actually box and he did the old dance and fob routine and Frank was a bit of a “windmill” fighter putting his head down and “windmilling\” into his opponent. I got the sense Frank fought a lot and this method probably worked for him more often then not. This form of intimidation did not work on Dennis who quickly stepped a side and sank a couple of good hits to Frank's head. Baratua stumbled, cursed but lunged again, Dennis threw

threw Frank to the rough planks of the floor of the bridge. Frank got up a red stream was coursing from Frank's nose. A couple more lunges and Frank had had enough for the day. Frank had come with a couple of other young toughs but they just followed Frank to his pick up. Frank revved the engine to his truck and spun out kicking up dirt and dust and yelling “ I coming back Ward”. Dennis just laughed and called after the fleeing truck, “Yeah, well you better bring a stick.”

I three or four other fights at the bridge as a kid but5 I don't think any were more memorable then this one.