My fear of the dark and the things that move at night, mostly fueled by my imagination, has stayed with me over the years. In my youth, I often dreamed of being chased by devils, monsters, aliens, and ghosts. These nightmares were likely triggered by my older siblings watching scary movies—films that would have been more appropriate for me if I had slept through them between the ages of 3 and 6.
I can still recall how, for several weeks, it seemed every time I closed my eyes, I experienced two particularly frightening dreams. In the first, I was chased by various monsters to the edge of a cliff and fell helplessly into a bottomless pit, a pool of lava, or an ocean filled with sharks. It’s safe to say I had an excessively active imagination!
However, saving the worst for last was the Devil, clawing at me while he heinously chased me, laughing all the while as he tried to poke my eyes out and drag me off to some unknown, very hot location. Both experiences ended with me waking up in a cold sweat. Well, that is until I came to the realization that I was the sole master of my dreams and took charge of my dreams’ destiny. If I were being chased by a monster or falling, I would just become Superman, who could fly and was almost indestructible, well, that is as long as he didn’t run into Lex Luther holding a piece of Kryptonite. The Devil was no problem as he was no match for St. Michael or Jesus. Hey, come back here, you scared-y-cat!
I have never shared my real-life fears, and only a few people know about them. An event changed me from that day onward, leaving me with one physical reminder and some internal phobias that I encounter every time I step into a park or a secluded path alone.
During my youth, I loved visiting a place called Cobbs Creek Park. My friends and I would play games like tag and hide-and-seek, play two-touch football and baseball, sled down the Nut-Cracker hill, and search for frogs, toads, crayfish, nightcrawlers, and worms for fishing. It was a truly explorative, learning, and joyful environment for a kid and his friends.
At the bottom of Nut-Cracker Hill, just beyond the outfield of the baseball diamond, Cobbs Creek flowed. It served as a friendly border between different areas, separating Southwest Philadelphia, Mt. Moriah Cemetery, and, at its furthest point, Yeadon.
If you climbed the several stone structures known as Indian Rock, you would find a natural lookout point that offered views in both directions along the winding path below. This path meanders for quite a distance, with the only obstruction being a cave-like opening that indents the ground across from a grove of bamboo. Stepping stones provided a way to cross to the other side—a journey we made hundreds of times as kids.
One day when I was 12, my brother Larry, who was 13, joined our friend Ed, also known as “Butchy,” who was 14. Both of them have since passed away. Our best friend, Bob, was also with us; he was 13 at the time and the oldest of his siblings. At that point, his parents had a total of 11 children. Bob needed to bring his two younger brothers, Steven, who was 6, and Paul, along with their friend Jimmy, who was 7. We asked them to wait on the Yeadon side of the path while we climbed to the top of Indian Rock. Bob, who was experiencing severe growing pains, noticed that his siblings and their friend had wandered off a bit. He then asked me to go back, retrieve them, and meet him at the stepping stones.
I had gathered my group, and as we rounded the base of the path, we came across a group of about 10 to 12 older high school students wielding sticks and various makeshift weapons. They clearly seemed to be looking for trouble. At first, I wasn’t overly concerned, but I quickly realized I had underestimated the situation.
I advised the younger kids to avoid making eye contact, stay quiet, and, if anything went wrong, to stick to the path, run as fast as they could, and head across the creek toward home. Unfortunately, just as we passed a few feet away from the group, the youngest child panicked and called out for his older brother.
In an instant, everything changed. Four of the older kids started approaching us, and I quickly pushed Paul and Jimmy, urging them to run. However, Steven just froze in place. I had to push him and yell for him to follow his brother. Then, I turned around, leaped, and executed a cross-body block, grabbing one of the kids and knocking two of them down in the process.
The redeeming moment came on a day when my older brother Joe let me wear his leather jacket, which was too big for me. It engulfed me, allowing me to curl up like a turtle in its shell, mostly covering my head. My brother Paul deserves credit for running the four blocks home to tell our father, who quickly rounded up my two older brothers and my brother-in-law Ed to come to our rescue. I had suffered a broken pinky and quite a few bruises. Larry and Butch were incredibly fast—they outran everyone and made it across the creek. Bob, the oldest brother, had to fish out Paul’s friend Jimmy after Paul and Jimmy jumped into the creek to cross before getting caught. Bob, who couldn’t run, was knocked down and took a few hits, but just when the cavalry arrived, the group scattered like the cowards they were.
To this day, I still feel a bit uneasy when walking alone in parks or fields. However, I’ve learned not to let that single moment rob me of my joy. There is safety in numbers. The character instilled in me by my WWII Military Police Army Sergeant became evident during that experience. I didn’t shrink in the face of danger or potential death; instead, I took charge and faced the challenge head-on, even sacrificing myself for the others in my care.
After ensuring my safety, my father asked, “What did you learn?” I replied, “Not to cross the creek alone anymore!” He responded, “Hopefully, there will never be a next time, but if there is, grab a rock or a stick and fight back as if your life depended on it.” When I asked why, he explained, “Because the police will be able to track them down and hold them accountable.” I have had several defining moments in my life, but this one shaped my character and continues to influence how I confront challenges head-on to this day.
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