When you are raised in a small community you have a totally different outlook on life. My little town was called Huntington, named after a famous railroad man. It reminds me very much of the old community of Orenco (Oregon Nursery Company). It boasted a population of 800. My high school had about 75 students and I graduated with a class of 17.
While the street were relatively safe, as a child you learned to be very careful, not talk to strangers and would get in big trouble if your roller skates took you down town to the front of the pool hall.
We did have a policeman. His name was Ralph. He lived with his wife in a small house on main street that used to be a store. He was old and they were childless. As I remember he was a tall thin man with a slight stoop. But tall is very relative when you are a little girl. And we never saw him during the day…there didn’t seem to be a need. The fact that our little community actually had someone like him was amazing.
He did not drive.
We had no police car.
I don’t think he had a badge.
We did have a fire engine but the only time it was ever used as I was growing up was when the school house burned…to the ground.
Small town America.
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