Bike Rides and a Hideout with Ray Rohrer

Ray Rohrer and I were unlikely friends. I was a quiet kid just trying to please everyone. Ray was a real tough acting kid who could cuss like a man. We went bike riding together often, and he would brag about all of the bad things he had done. He told me his front tooth was broken in a fight he had with a big kid from Villa Park. Later, I found out it was broken when he fell off his bike. He was the quintessential loudmouth. When he was around he was in charge and dominated all the conversation. He had a much older brother, Dick, who still lived at home and was always bossing him around, so I guess he was just getting even by acting tough with everyone else. He loved to tell dirty jokes, which I didn’t understand at all, but I got a lot of my sex education when he explained them. He also showed me my first “eight-page bible” featuring Popeye and Olive Oil. I was astounded by what I saw. Once we went to the big woods behind Swanson’s on our bikes and rode along the creek, carrying our bikes where we couldn’t ride. I was exhausted and wanted to go back, but he said to stop being a weeny. We were nearly to Coaltown Road, when he showed me his hideout—a cave in the side of the hill in which he had installed a floor made of flattened-out cardboard boxes. There he produced two corn-silk cigarettes he had rolled in newspaper, which you wet with your tongue before you lit it so it burnt slowly. I tried one. It was really strong and burst into flames at one point. He also taught me to cuss which amused him no end. I think he hung out with me to make himself look tougher by comparison. I liked and admired Ray Rohrer’s toughness but even more so, his badness.