Turning southwest from the front door of our house would lead to a street that wound around Luther Lake and eventually to Ridglea Hills Elementary School. Knowing that, the innermost part of my being was instinctively repulsed at the thought of learning something whenever we turned in that direction. If you turned to the northeast, however, the golf course awaited, and Camp Bowie Blvd., the heliport at Western Hills Hotel, Howard Johnson’s and any number of good things. Because of the steepness of the hill, and my penchant to go down it on something I had hammered together with wheels and boards…….. that direction was also associated with death (my own).

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Soon you would be inches above the pavement, its heat radiating up, encompassing you, the air would rush by until you could think it was the wind, the world on either side would turn into a blur and life would hum in an excited adrenaline twang.

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It was not necessary to know what evil was in his heart to assume he was sinister. My mother never spoke his name without disdain, so the mark was firmly on him. My aunt, who taught third grade forever, and was an authority on bad children, would nod knowingly when my mother told a Richard Ellwell story. That’s all it took.

But then we did start at the top….at least I thought it was the top.

When you are young you don’t really question very much or very deeply.

The top might be the pinnacle of success or it could simply be a rise on the rolling plains.