The adventures of a Florida boy (part 16)

In the 1960s, kids ran as far and wild as their imaginations would take them

Jan 29, 2024

ONE OF AN OCCASIONAL SERIES: My boyhood was spent in Florida in the 1960s on an island called Coquina Key. My parents’ waterfront home overlooked a large expanse of Tampa Bay. Back then, parts of the island were undeveloped, which left plenty of room for climbing trees, digging forts in the sand, and swimming in shark-infested waters (though we didn’t give the latter much thought).
This is part 16 of a random and mostly lighthearted series that I might eventually combine into a memoir. I’m telling these stories to the best of my recollection and changing names and physical descriptions just because it seems like the right thing to do.

TRIGGER WARNING: This segment contains a description of a boy on a bike almost getting hit by a car.

The car stopped just in time

When I was 10 years old, I was a big fan of the 1960s pop rock band The Monkees. I fell in love with the group’s first album appropriately titled The Monkees and played it over and over on my record player, which was portable and could be carried around like a small suitcase. I also loved the band’s TV show. Back then, most kids between the ages of 8 and 15 adored The Monkees.

The 1967 release of the band’s second album More of the Monkees was a big-time event for a super-fan like me. For several months in advance of the album’s debut, I saved every cent of my weekly 25-cent allowance and even picked up pennies I found in the road. Eventually I scrounged more than two dollars in coins that I kept in a plastic sandwich bag. (This was so long ago, plastic sandwich bags were a relatively new invention.) I then called my local Kresge’s dime store and asked how much the album was going to cost. I was told $1.99 plus tax for a grand total of $2.03. I carefully counted my coins.

$2.40.

I had enough! With plenty leftover to buy a celebratory Coke and a bag of Lay’s potato chips. I had a good life!

On a Saturday morning around 9, I asked my mom if I could ride my bike to Kresge’s to buy the album. It was about a three-mile journey on roads that usually didn’t have much traffic, so my mom thought nothing of it. As I’ve described in previous episodes, things were different back then. I rode my bike all over the place by myself when I was as young as 7. And by all over the place, I mean miles, not just up and down my street.

Back then, most kids my age were in great physical shape. We ran, swam, played crazy games, and spent most of our time outdoors. We were like miniature Olympians. When I was 10, I could ride my bike 3 miles without so much as breaking a sweat. I thought nothing of it.

It was a sunny day in early February 1967. In many areas of the country, it would have been snowing. But on this day in Florida, it was about 75 degrees. For a Floridian, 75 degrees feels cool and crisp. It doesn’t really start to feel hot until it hits 90, which it sometimes does in early April.

I took off on my bike at full speed, streaking across Coquina Key like a man on a mission. I had about two miles to go to reach one of two bridges that crossed over to the mainland, then another mile to the Kresge’s. All told, it would take me twenty minutes to get there.

Man, I was excited!

But halfway there, it suddenly dawned on me that I had forgotten to bring my money.

Stupid !

Without even glancing to see if a car was coming, I made a looping U-turn across the street.

I heard the terrible screeching of brakes.

I turned to see a large sedan heading straight for me. It was driven by a woman who appeared to be around 40. To this day, I can picture the expression on her face, which was so contorted it barely looked real.

The rear of her car spun to the left, which might have been what saved me. The front bumper missed me by less than a foot. I then had to swerve my bike to miss the rear bumper, again by less than a foot. The car slammed to a halt. I skidded for a few feet before stopping my bike about twenty feet down the road.

I expected her to get out of her car and yell at me for being so reckless. Instead, she rolled down her window, twisted her head around, and asked me if I was okay.

“Yes ma’am,” I said. And I added, “Sorry.”

She simply nodded and then drove slowly away.

Being a kid who grew up in the 1960s, the car incident barely fazed me. Heck, I had spent my childhood swimming in shark-infested waters, climbing 100-foot trees, huddling in underground forts that could have collapsed at any time, and frequently being chased by snarling dogs. At the time, the car thing didn’t seem worse than any other.

I pedaled home, got my money, and made it to Kresge’s before 10 a.m. And then I zoomed back with my album, a Coke, and a bag of chips and spent the rest of the day listening to such classic hits as “She,” “Mary, Mary,” “I’m Not Your Stepping Stone,” and “I’m a Believer.”

I remember “She” had these lyrics:

Sheeeeeeeeeeee told me that she loved me,
And like a fool I believed her from the start

And as boys, we of course twisted the lyrics to:

Sheeeeeeeeeee told me that she loved me,
And then she turned around and cut a fart.

I don’t find this to be the least bit funny today. Back then, it inspired hysterical laughter every time.

But I digress.

Though it didn’t make much of an impression on me when it first happened, the near-death incident began to grow on my mind. If things had been different that day, few of the adventures I’ve described in my “Florida boy” series would have occurred. Though I’m now 66 years old, what happened on that sunny day when I was 10 is the closest I’ve come to dying.

The woman who nearly hit me would now be almost 100, so she is most likely no longer among the living. But I often wondered about her. Did she still think a lot about the close encounter years later? Or did it rarely cross her mind? I’ll never know, but I’m guessing the former.

Regardless, what happened was not her fault. It was 100 percent mine. And in retrospect, I believe her quick reaction saved my life.

I owe her one, wherever she is.

The adventures of a Florida boy — past episodes

Promotional notes
I haven’t done an official book signing in a while, but on Jan. 20 I appeared at the Southern Author Expo in Greenville, S.C. Though I only sold seventeen books (disappointing, to be sure), I did meet a lot of nice people and gave away a ton of free bookmarks. 😀 People love a good, solid bookmark.
Books 1 and 2 of my teen fantasy adventure Dark Circles are now available. They are appropriate for readers 13 and older, but adults are enjoying them as much as young teens.

Book 1 (May 2023) is titled Do You Believe in Magic?

Book 2 (October 2023) is titled Do You Believe in Monsters?

Book 3 (coming March 2024) will be titled Do You Believe in Miracles?

Jim Melvin's Realms of Fantasy

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