Back in the mid-1950’s, there was a TV series called “Topper” about a sophisticated but stuffy fellow named Cosmo Topper who purchased a home in Los Angeles from the estate of a deceased, young, fun-loving couple named George and Marion Kirby.
The Kirby’s had died in an avalanche while skiing, along with a St. Bernard named Neil, who had tried to save them. Mr. Topper soon realized that his new L.A. home was haunted by the ghosts of the former occupants along with Neil. To his amazement and consternation, Topper finds out that he is the only person that can see and hear the ghosts. Neil, the St. Bernard, loves martinis, as do his wacky owners, the Kirbys, and a running gag is the invisible dog lapping up the drink.
The comedy series was a big hit on TV, as I recall. We watched every episode until the show ran its course in 1955.
Several years later, my family uprooted itself from Monterey Park, California and moved up to Ben Lomond, California in the Santa Cruz Mountains. The community in the Redwood-forested mountains featured small town living, great natural beauty, and the sound of lumberjacks doing their thing with chain saws. It was paradise for my brother Terry and I, who were up for any adventure, and we spent many a day exploring the forest, shooting birds with BB guns, knocking bee hives out of trees, and getting zapped by poison oak.
Good times.
The Santa Cruz Mountains are drained by the San Lorenzo River, which meandered very near my grandparents’ home where we lived for a year or so. Terry and I quickly met a number of local kids in the area who clued us into a variety of fun things to do in the area, particularly along the river. Our closest friend was named Mike Eddy, and he lived in a house right up against the river. Several years previous, the river had flooded big time and the Eddy’s house had been inundated by muddy river water to a depth of about five feet in their living room. The Eddy’s didn’t have a lot of money, so they weren’t able to repair the flood damage. Consequently, upon visiting their home, one would notice two things: the “flood” line on the interior stucco walls and the unmistakable smell of mold.
The biggest attraction for young boys in the area was a spot in the river, just down the road from our house, where a small, natural rock dam created a very nice pool of water, maybe 10’ deep, where kids could swim and goof off away from the prying eyes of parents.
The place was known by local as “The Rope”.
The reason for that moniker was that, overhanging the natural pool, was an enormous Sycamore tree with a huge hawser rope hanging from one of the branches. With some effort, and the help of a long stick, the rope could be retrieved by brave kids and be used to swing out over the pooled-up river and drop into the water in front of your buddies and the young, teenybopper girls watching you from the sandy shore.
The natural set-up of The Rope was not optimal, as one had to climb a steep slope near the Sycamore, fetch the rope, and then run sideways on the cliff before heading off into space. This meant that the trajectory swung laterally around a pivot point (the tree), causing the daredevil to quickly arrive at the drop point before crossing over the rock dam and returning to the base of the huge tree. My brother Terry and I were young, dumb, and foolhardy so, of course, we needed to master The Rope.
The problem was that, on the initial efforts, we were scared a bit and hesitant to let go of the rope at the right time (i.e. above the deep part of the pooled river). After that point, if you hadn’t let go, your fate was sealed, as you could not let go over the rock dam, and the arc of your trajectory would take you right back to the trunk of that enormous Sycamore, where you would smash into solid wood. Ooooh, that hurt! Picture a zip line without cushioning or helping hands at the end point…
After taking our lumps, we learned how to negotiate The Rope satisfactorily and stole some fancy moves from the “regulars”, like diving into the pool (headfirst) or doing a somersault after letting go of the rope. It was sort of a right of passage there on the San Lorenzo River; all of our local guy friends were adept at it. This proved useful up in the little town of Ben Lomond, a few miles up the road, where there was a man-made dam in the river at a small public park in the center of town. This popular swimming area also had a “rope” where local guys could show off in front of the scores of adults and kids who watched from the beach. Letting go of the rope and merely dropping into the river was considered child’s play, so we felt proud of ourselves for being newly-minted “professionals”.
Good times.
Back to the original Rope…
As I recall, it probably took us 5 or 10 minutes to walk from our home over to The Rope. That journey, in bare feet and bathing suit, caused us to pass by a good-sized property that had an orchard of Granny Smith apple trees. We would occasionally jump the fence and grab an apple on our way. However, that property was guarded by an enormous dog who didn’t take kindly to trespassers and apple thieves. The dog, a huge St. Bernard, was named “Burp” and we all got chased by him from time to time, running for our lives and scrambling in terror over the fence before his massive jaws could grab our asses.
According to the locals, that dog was the movie actor dog named “Neil” in the Topper TV series. He was retired from show business but, even without the martini cocktails, still had some get-up-and-go left in him.
As I said… good times.