Historical Fiction

I'm searching for an image of the twin Bridges across theRiidenbaugh at Boise Ave and Law Street--I'll post when found...mls

The year was 1959 or maybe it was 1961. It was the middle of July stinking hot in the afternoon. It must've been around 2 o'clock that's when all the big kids , the teenagers,started showing up at the bridge on the Ridenbaugh canal. We had been there (my brother and me and our best friends John and Tom) since lunch. My brother and I are doing chores and take off for the bridge where we spend the afternoon swimming staying out of the way of the big kids.

The canal water flowed dark green, deep in cold and not too swift, not dangerously slipped and no under toes where we swam. The cold water felt like a blessing these hottest days of the year but we would jump off the bridge and swim to shore. We had our own little spot on the bridge the teenagers come out on the other side of the cars as they parked in the shade of the trees on the northwest side of the bridge. The smoke cigarettes can sometimes have beer. If the teenagers liked you they might give you one of their smokes, in those days we called them cigs. That's okay if they didn't we had our own hidden away that we stole from the Town & Country market couple miles up the road.

The feeling on the bridge that day was tense something was going on I wasn't sure what. There is about five guys over by the cars hanging out. These were kids I didn't recognize. Their drinking beer and yelling now and then and laughing like goofs. We just kept ourselves and watched. It wasn't long before Buddy Parish drove in on his Norton motorcycle. Buddy was one of the big kids from our neck of the woods. He lived on a farm not too far from the bridge. But he was a minor celebrity. He played high school football and wrestled it was good, farm boy. He was a junior or senior something like that. He had a job as a couple times a week at the bridge swim for about a half an hour and head back to work. He parked his motorcycle not far from the commotion in the shade of the trees and walked towards the bridge. He acknowledged the small crowd as he passed, it was obvious he knew them and also obvious he did not want a lot to do with them. Buddy made a wisecrack-- Buddy was always making wisecracks are usually pretty funny and sometimes got him into trouble—and suddenly the crowd got quiet. But the atmosphere around the bridge electrified. Buddy seemed oblivious to anything walking toward the bridge. He walked over to our side of the bridge but both hands on the rail and over the side swimming under the bridge and climbing up on the opposite side of the bridge.

Four or five of the teenagers wandered onto the edge of the bridge. In the middle of the group was a big guy named Baratoua. Baratoua was big and muscular and seemed mean. He said something the Buddy who smirked and shook the water from his body purposely dousing Baratoua. That was enough Baratoua reached out to grab Buddy's arm but Buddy had been expecting something and spun around catching Baratoua with a near haymaker . Baratoua staggered but quickly got his balance and attack Buddy. Buddy did a quick sidestep and Baratoua stumbled onto the bridge Buddy quickly followed. Baratoua was twisted with anger and began circling on the bridge. Buddy, also circled, Baratoua giving Baratoua Buddy's best goofy smile. Baratoua lunged at Buddy both arms swinging wildly fists clenched in adolescent hammers of rage. Buddy sidestepped again pounding Baratoua in his side with a good punch to the head.Baratoua cursed and raised spun around and charged Buddy one more time. Baratoua missed entirely and Buddy came down on Baratoua like a summer storm.

The fight was over as quickly as the fight had begun. A couple of Baratoua's lieutenants helping him along. Baratoua suddenly start turned toward the bridge and screamed at Buddy, “You better have a stick the next time I see you, Parish!” Buddy laughed and replied, “yeah, think you're the one better have a big stick.”

I had seen Buddy fight a couple times on the bridge. He was good. Buddy was kind of a hero.

I talked to my buddy Dennis tonight. Dennis lives in Salt Lake Valley now Dennis is from my hometown and I texted him tonight. It was great visiting with Dennis about the old days, about the days we would spend on the bridge, crossing the Ridenbaugh canal.