Beer-can hill

In my youth days, Indian Rock on Poteau Mountain was a get-a-way place where we used to go spend a day. Or even a night, for those who were brave enough. Another place was beer-can hill.

Not at night, probably, but some of us used to go spend at least a few hours, or an afternoon. It’s a place where Larry Pennington and I used to “sneak off,” for lack of a better description. That was long before the days of the Hamilton Homes and the Montclair addition. Nothing was there behind Larry’s house, on Hwy. 128, but a field of tall grass leading up to beer-can hill, which was across the road from old Harvey Stadium and across from where Bill Warner lives now. There was nothing there but a few rocks to climb on the hill. How it got its name is a mystery to me, although I suppose someone could sneak up there to drink a beer or two, without their dad, or parents, knowing a thing about it. Larry probably wouldn’t like it if I gave away our little secret, but we sure didn’t go up there to drink beers. All we did, back in those days, was to go up there and smoke a few cigarettes. You know, something horrible like that, just something we weren’t supposed to be doing, or just something we thought we might be getting away with.

It was one of those things that was seemingly harmless fun.