When I was young, there was a golf driving range near the elementary school in Glenolden. At the very end of the property, there was a creek and then a huge, steep hill which supported a set of train tracks. The creek went through a stone tunnel into Glenolden Park where we watched fireworks every Independence Day.
Being in our youth a friend or three went with me to the park to play in the creek. We went into the tunnel and whistled, yelled, hooted and hollered to hear the great echo. Once we were through the tunnel, we decided to climb the steep hill to the train tracks. Continue reading Different Times