This is my fourth article for Lede. Since it seems I’m going to stick around for a little bit I thought this was a good time to introduce myself. You’ve met “Bridge Bitch,” but now it’s time you met me.
Hi! I’m Kim and I grew up in Warwood in the 1980s, and it was awesome. This is why (with photos).
For most people, this sign for Route 2 North basically meant it was the way to Weirton. But for those of us who lived in Warwood, it pointed the way home.
We told time by a whistle.
Centre Foundry’s noon whistle in the summer meant it was time to head to the pool. When I was in high school, if the 7 a.m. whistle blew and I was still at home, it meant I would have to sprint to catch the school bus. If the 9:30 p.m. whistle blew and I wasn’t at home, my parents had better already know where I was.
Dairy Queen? We don’t know her.
When I was a kid, this was a bread store. When I was in late-grade school and junior high, it was called The Little Bear. Some kids went to Dairy Queen for ice cream. We went to Little Bear for slushies. I got so many Slush Puppies from there, it’s a wonder my skin isn’t tinged red and my brain still frozen.
We rode bikes, roller skated, skateboarded, ran and walked up and down Richland and Hazlett avenues. I had a friend who lived a block from me on the south end, who had a crush on a boy from the north end. If I added up the miles we put on riding our bikes from her house past his house and back I think it would equal a trip around the world.
Weird fact: most of us either lived on Warwood Avenue or on a street above it, but we seldom spent time on the avenue. We walked it to school but came home Richland Avenue. Not sure why, but that’s how we rolled.
Warwood is the place to be
All about us you can see
Redheads blondes and brunettes
We are everybody’s pets
C’mon. If you went to Warwood Crade, er … I mean Warwood Grade School in the 1970s and 80s, you knew that poem.
The North versus the South wasn’t just a tv miniseries.
I grew up in south Warwood, which is 1st to 7th streets. We had beef with north Warwood, which was 16th to 26th streets. Not sure why we feuded; it didn’t take much. We would challenge each other to fight at Garden Park or the Plaza. Never our turf, always the middle of Warwood.
The kids who lived in center Warwood thought we were crazy since they were convinced they were truly the cool ones, what with their short walks to school, the plaza, and the pool. We ignored them because, well, they didn’t know the struggle of walking 10-plus blocks to school in all weather. If the north and south ends agreed on anything, it was that the center kids were spoiled and their opinions didn’t count.
When I went to Warwood Junior High, there was a black railing that ran the front perimeter of the school. We’d sit on the rail before and after school and socialize. On the first day of ninth grade, I was sitting on the rail with a couple of other girls. At the time, we didn’t know what happened to the guys over the summer, but suddenly they were four inches taller, had muscles that weren’t there in eighth grade, hair in new places, and not a squeaky voice among them. It was a glorious time.
This was the meeting place, and not just for the “fights” between north and south Warwood that never really happened.
After school, it was time for pepperoni rolls from Suzy Q. We bought penny candy (and some of it really was still a penny) at Ben Franklin’s.
Everyone shopped for groceries at Kroger and everything else at Heck’s, and a date consisted of a movie at the Warwood Twin and then pizza at Pizza Inn. Pizza Inn was also where we all ended up after the school dance and home football games.
You played PacMan, Donkey Kong and Centipede at Heck’s, and Tron at Kroger.
But even with all the aforementioned memories, my best memories were made hanging out with my friends at 3rd Street. It was where the south Warwood kids hung out and there were a bunch of us. Joey, Tracey, Jeannie, David, Michelle, Lori, Cynthia, Laryssa, Kris, Karen, Kelly, Kelly, Kevin, Mike, Mike, Mike, Troy, Tina, Brian … I know I’m forgetting people, but you get the idea. We rolled deep. We played a lot of T-ball and a lot of basketball. Rode bikes a lot. When one of us was in trouble (read: north Warwood feud) we had each other’s backs. Don’t get me wrong, we fought among ourselves, but all-in-all, we were ride-and-die and to this day, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for one of my “gang.”
Just don’t make me listen to “Eye of the Tiger.” Ever.
