Aw, aren't they cute! This is George Webster and Don Maxwell, back when we were called Pat and Todd. We were probably around five years old at the time.

It's a typical posture for Pat--I have to call him Pat here--just exactly as I remember him, sturdy and ready for action, and with one of his galoshes unfastened.

A few years later, Pat saved me from being beaten up by Dick Moore, an older kid who lived down the street and who wasn't always kind to us littler ones. One morning after Pat's family had moved to another neighborhood Pat phoned to say he was coming to play. I went out in front to wait for him, and that's where Dick Moore (we pronounced the name like "more" and it was always "DickMore," the two words together) found me and decided to beat the hell out of me--probably just for the hell of it. He was like that. He started pushing me around the front yard and as he was shoving me back against the maple tree my Dad had planted there, I saw Pat coming around the corner and up the street. I saw him start to run, but then Dick Moore knocked me down and pounced on me. I have a very clear picture of what happened next. Dick Moore was sitting on my stomach, with his knees digging into the muscles of my upper arms. He said, "I'm gonna bash yer face in" and I was getting scared because, unlike Gus Keller and some other big kids, Dick Moore never said something he wouldn't do. He drew back his right hand--somewhat dramatically, I thought even then--to bash my face in...

Just as that fist started toward my face, Pat Webster suddenly came flying headfirst over the hedge and smacked into Dick Moore, knocking him off to the side. It was the most dramatic, glorious moment I've ever experienced. Pat flying over the hedge exactly like Mighty Mouse! Dick Moore knocked flat! Wonderful!

The two of us, Pat and I, started beating on Dick Moore then and chased him around the maple tree several times, and finally he ran home. That was the last time he ever messed with us little kids, ever.

This picture was taken on the sidewalk in front of our house on St. Albans Road, in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. The view is to the east, although we always said up the street, because of the gradual slope. My recollection is that my mother took the picture, although I don't remember her using a camera any other time.

One thing seems odd in the photo: we're wearing apparently identical coats that button from the left, as women's do. (The image is not reversed; I can tell by the houses in the background.) Oh, well, the coats are probably no odder than the knickers our moms dressed us in during the first grade.

Back to the story about Pat--sorry!--George Webster.

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