Jul 2, 2016 4 min read

Yes Virginia, we were young at one time!

Times were different and I was raised in a mining town like many others living in Washington County. It was a good distance from my home into Hills Station, as it was then called. And we tended to scoff at the more modern name of Lawrence.

Most free time was spent on the baseball field or at the ponds along Hahn Road talking about the merits of Joe DiMaggio versus Ted Williams, with Stan Musial occasionally slipping in.

One thing for sure, they were the three best and even today I’m not sure today’s players can match them.

Oh yes, I almost forgot the days spent just fooling around on garbage dumps or slate dumps with my Mossberg .22. At the time, we didn’t realize or appreciate the fact that they were probably the most carefree enjoyable days of our lives.

It was an era when no one paid much attention to a 12-year-old walking along the road with a rifle.

Massacres weren’t heard of but the country had just come out of a war causing us to hold a grudge against those of oriental ancestry, or those having a German name like Block.

I never understood why but my mother would invariably remind me as I left the house, “Don’t shoot the robins.”

She didn’t realize it at the time but she was making all other birds fair game. To this day I would never shoot a robin, along with most other birds. The exceptions are geese, turkeys and, rarest of all, pheasants.

I remember watching in awe as the men loaded up their cars, rifles in hand, as they headed to the mountains of northern Pennsylvania for the upcoming deer season.

There was Jim with his 94 Winchester in 30-09, Fred with the .30-40 Krag, but most fascinating of all was Mr. Miller with an old 1886 Winchester in 454-70.

For some reason, that particular rifle held my attention more than any other. To this day I have always coveted one but have never been able to afford this the smoothest of Browning’s’ designs.

My father had hunted deer but was too busy supporting a family, so I never made it to the deer camp in my younger days.

We did have the privilege of chasing bunnies and ringnecks with our Iver Johnson champion 16 gauge.

Of course one didn’t hunt small game all summer but we did look for groundhogs with either the 16 gauge or our .22. Believe it or not, a favorite place for such jaunts was to walk the rail road tracks along Valley Brook Road in Peters Township.

We would walk along the tracks occasionally shooting groundhogs a then take a break in Duckworth’s’ Dairy Bar. Later we would walk back home with our guns. Try that today!

A lot of time was spent down at the pond which is on the Hill Station side of the railroad tunnel that is reached from Hohn Road.

As I said earlier, we talked baseball but must admit we were at the age where much of our conversation was about girls.

We got bored talking about girls and started to talk big fish we saw but couldn’t catch. There was the trip when I caught a huge carp and carried it around showing it to all my friends.

I don’t know why but I still remember that fish like it happened yesterday. It probably was less than 10 pounds but to a 12-year-old, it was a trophy.

Later, after many dates, I met Eileen and we married at a young age.

Now responsibility had set in but there was one more thing that happened that changed my life. My brother-in-law borrowed $69 dollars from me and couldn’t pay me back.

So he did pay me back but not in money. Instead he gave me his 94 Winchester in 32 Special, and I now owned a deer rifle. I just had to go deer hunting. Next week I will continue the tale I hope you enjoy it!

George Block writes a Sunday column for the Observer-Reporter.