Article Text
My childhood friend Susie was an ideal daytime companion. She lived just across the alley and one house down, was always ready to play and, best of all, had access to the neighborhood’s first window air conditioner.
On sweltering summer days in 1950s southern Indiana, her mother let us escape indoors. We didn’t simply sit in the cooled room—we planted ourselves directly in front of the unit and let the cold air blast us. Outside of movie theaters advertising “It’s COOL inside,” air conditioning was a rare luxury.
Susie happily played dolls beneath a shade tree, rode bicycles and joined nearly any daytime adventure. Overnight visits were another matter. She accepted plenty of invitations to sleep at my house, but once bedtime arrived, homesickness inevitably won.
Our mothers would arrange a late-night exchange halfway down the alley. Mine appeared in a hairnet, with a coat over her nightgown and a flashlight in hand, while Susie’s mother came from the opposite direction to retrieve her. Despite repeated attempts, Susie never managed to spend the entire night away from home.
She was fearless in other ways, especially around animals. Horses were her great passion, and small toy horses lined her dresser. She even persuaded me to help clean stalls at a nearby stable so she could earn free rides.
Her favorite game was Horses. One of us became the horse while the other held jump-rope reins. When Susie yelled “Whoa,” those reins could cinch painfully tight around my waist. When it was her turn to be the horse, she threw herself into the role—whinnying, pawing the ground, tossing her head and galloping away.
That devotion to animals eventually led her straight toward a skunk.
An older neighborhood boy had received a baby skunk that was supposedly de-scented. The little black-and-white animal escaped its cage and began roaming nearby.
Susie and I were making mud pies in my backyard when she spotted it. Believing she had found a cat, she moved closer and softly called, “Here, Kitty Kitty.” I followed at what I considered a much safer distance.
The animal retreated into the garage next door, where it became cornered as Susie approached. Within moments, everyone learned that the skunk was not nearly as de-scented as promised.
I smelled the spray just as Susie screamed. Demonstrating the limits of childhood loyalty, I immediately ran into my house. Susie began vomiting and crying as she hurried home for help.
Her mother later said she bathed Susie and washed her hair repeatedly. The contaminated clothes had to be burned, and the odor remained inside the garage for days.
From then on, both of us treated skunks with considerable respect. Susie never lost her sense of humor, though. Years later, after hearing the story again, she laughed about her failed sleepovers and said, “I told my kids I got lots of invitations to stay all night, because everyone knew I’d never really DO it!”