Before I begin talking about Tarzan swings, there is something you should know

about me and my brother, and most of the guys we hung out with, and that

is.....we were reckless.

I suppose you could substitute the word reckless with stupid and still be

correct, but we certainly, if nothing else, lacked good common sense (a trait

that still haunts me today).  

I could give you many examples of our reckless behavior and I will in the

following paragraphs, but I'll start with this one.

Near my house was a woods. It was about a mile long and maybe four blocks

across, with a stream that ran though its center. Many interesting things

happened in that woods that will be discussed in future writings, but today's

tale will concern three events that transpired there. The first (and, for that

matter, the other two) points out the reckless/stupidity factor.

A four lane bridge crossed the woods at its center. At its height, it stood

about 40 feet above the stream below. The bridge's underside had three curved

concrete arches. They ran the length of the span on both sides, and were about

18 inches wide.

My brother and I, and one or two of our mentally challenged friends, would crawl

across those arches on our stomachs, inching up through the pigeon poop on the

incline, then gripping the cold concrete as we slowly negotiated the downward

slope. The entire time, due to the shortness of the surface's width, a few

inches of our shoulders, sides, and legs hung off in the air.

When bridge climbing began to lose its appeal, we moved on to other means of

idiotic behavior, one of which was swinging through the air on ropes.

It started with us using the vines wrapped around some of the trees in the

woods. We found out the hard way that most tree vines were not sturdy enough to

support a well fed, medium sized boy. We'd always test them first by giving them

a few good yanks, but ,invariably, the first vine swinger would find himself in

the dirt below, still grasping the tree part.

Many heated discussions would follow these attempts concerning the merits of

woods vines versus jungle vines. We came to the conclusion that the jungle

vines, used by Tarzan, were of a more sturdy, dependable nature that the ones

found in small woods. We decided to ignore the trees, heal our bruised bodies,

and try making our own swing.

This brings us to the second event, our homemade Tarzan swing.

In the woods, there were plenty of thick branches from which to secure a rope.

Our problem was that we couldn't find a rope. None of our parents had one to

spare, and we were too impatient to save up the money to buy one. There was one

thing, however, that our parents had plenty of..... that was clotheslines.

Since no one had a dryer back then, all our wet clothes were hung outside on

clotheslines. I found it quite humiliating to constantly have my underwear on

display for the entire neighborhood to see. I would sometimes wear them wet just

to avoid the embarrassment. Anyhow, a few of us decided a clothesline would do

just fine as a rope substitute. So we grabbed some off my mother's washing

machine and headed for the woods.

We found a good sturdy branch overlooking the stream. The tree was climbed and

the clothesline wrapped around the limb. After it was tested thoroughly, much

like the vine testing, I decided to be the guinea pig for its first launch.

 I stood on the hill ten feet above the stream, clothesline secured in both

hands. A warm summer breeze buffeted my face. I felt empowered, much like an

astronaut must feel shortly before lift-off. I gripped the clothesline hard and,

with the encouragement and cheers of the gang behind me, swung out.

I was directly over the stream when the clothesline broke. I fell the ten feet

and landed on my right side in the 6 inch deep water. I lay there in a daze for

a few seconds, not fully comprehending how I came to such a fate. When the

reality of the situation (and the cold water ) brought me to my senses, I yelled

for my brother to go get my dad.

My brother and friends ran off to fulfill my request and soon it was just me and

the cold running water in the silence of the woods. I lay there for awhile fully

expecting my life to flash in front of my eyes at any moment. After a minute or

two however, I realized I wasn't really hurt. In fact, besides being somewhat

wet, I felt fine.

I got up, wrung some water from my shirt and pants, and walked home. I actually

made it to the front door as my father was leaving in a panic (it turns out he

was in the shower when my brother burst in) . When he saw that I was fine and

was, in fact, just a bit wetter than he was, he smiled in relief. It was only

later, when he discovered we had used clothesline, that he got pissed-off.

The next summer we found the best Tarzan swing of all time. It was also in the

woods, but farther up and away from the stream. Someone in our gang heard of it

by word of mouth. Several times we looked for it to no avail. The stories about

the swing were of mythical proportions. One day we decided it must be found at

any cost. When we finally did come across it, we knew the rumors were true. It

was the Holy Grail of Tarzan swings.

It was constructed of thick rope on the huge limb of a monstrous tree. The

daredevil that climbed that tree and out on that limb, to secure the swing, must

have been very brave indeed. The rope hung high above a muddy ravine. It was

accessed from the starting point on a high hill overlooking the barren area.

The swing was useable in two ways. One could swing straight out and back in the

standard Tarzan swing mode. Or one could (with a running start) swing out in a

roundhouse circular fashion and swing around the perimeter of the ravine. That

last function is what gave that swing its A+ rating.

It also had a stick knotted at its base. The user could use the stick as a hand

grip or sit or stand on it. That was the beauty of the swing. It was

multi-functional.

At the far edge of the ravine, and directly across from the swing's launching

point, sat a tree stump. It was not high enough to impede one's swing. It was

however, a good place to stand if one wanted to hitch a ride on the swing at its

apex. I must say at this juncture, that every boy who attempted to join his

companion on the swing (myself included) at its halfway point failed miserably.

Usually the attempt would result in a collision that would cause both to fall in

the mud. Sometimes just the stump guy would fall and the swinger would be left

twisting in space several feet above the ground. Other times, the stumper would

simply misjudge his jump and fall butt first into several inches of mud. It just

never worked, yet every time we used that swing someone would stand on that stump waiting to be humiliated.

The novelty of that swing never wore off. On any given summer day, you would

find as many as twenty boys gathered around that ravine.

At some time, over the course of the harsh winters, the rope became too rotted

We moved on to other equally reckless endeavors, but as the years passed that

swing did become the stuff of legends. Often, when my brother and I, and old

friends, get together, we talk of its awesome wonder.