January 1962. Age ten.

We had a death threat in our neighborhood. Unusual in January.

Not much to do in Arctic weather except go sled riding on the Wilson street "hill.” It was an annual ritual for about 50 kids. The timing of the ritual was always about two days after a snowstorm. Lots of cars would pack the snow perfectly by then. In our eyes, it was an Olympic event. We waxed our cold steel runners and put on cold-weather defense clothing. Some kids wore football helmets, especially the ones who survived last year's Olympic event. 

The preferred approach was to run alongside the last house's yard and then hurl yourself onto the icy road and break the sound barrier while screaming down the hill. At the bottom of that hill was cinder spread at the right angle and a very sharp bend. It was there to keep cars from heading straight into a corn field. Our sleds would abruptly stop and throw us kids off, and then we would tumble into the corn field. It wasn't for the weak!   

This year, a single woman moved into the last house. She apparently came from a rough neighborhood in Chicago. About the second day of the Olympic death by sleigh event, we noticed No Trespassing signs on the side of her yard... right along our path to run and hurl onto our sleds. At first, we ignored the signs and continued to run as usual. After about two hours, she kicked open the front door and pointed a shotgun at us, yelling, "I'll shoot you all if you don't stop!" Buttface belched out a response, "If you do that, we will burn your house down!"   Kinda stupid threat when a hardened woman from Chicago is pointing a shotgun at you.

Being the bravest in the gang, I held up my hands and slowly approached her. "May we talk about this first before you shoot us?  She lowered the gun—probably because I was so handsome and charming. I pulled off my football helmet and flashed a charming smile. I told her that we thought those signs were for some bad people that she were afraid of. I told her to ignore Buttface because he wasn't right in the head and he was a harmless idiot. She said that she believed me... of course. I asked if I could come inside and get to know her. I asked her name and she softly said, "My name is Helen Capone." After a couple of long minutes, I told her my name and offered her protection because we had new Daisy BB guns from Christmas. She giggled for some reason. She gave me a hug and fixed me hot chocolate. 

At that point I knew I had won her trust.... of course Buttface was never allowed in her house. He had to stand guard outside the door. She took the signs down the next day. Miss Capone had a crush on me forever. I have always liked older women anyway. She was very pretty, even with the knife scar on her left cheek. I don't know who is “Baby Face Nelson,” but that's what she called me all winter. She liked Italian music and taught me how to dance, too. I was with her every Saturday, and she dressed up all pretty and wore evening gowns when I came by. 

I quit sledding the whole month of January. I think it was something called a love affair. Buttface froze outside, guarding the front door. Served him right. After all, he is an Idiot!  I always left her home smelling like perfume. Buttface never understood that and most likely never ever will. Maybe I'll tell you folks, more on Valentine's Day in February. 

Hug your kids and really love your neighbor!

Baby Face Nelly