| Tammy Christensen |  |
| Tammy Christensen | |
Alpine
is a small town of approximately 200 residents. It’s nestled on the
east side of the coast range about 30 miles north of Eugene. When Alpine was
a thriving logging community in the 1940s it boasted a grocery store, tavern,
gas station, post office, boarding house, and dance hall. By the mid-1970s
the dance hall, or "the old cement building" as we called it, was
long abandoned. The boarding house was torn down. The gas station was turned
into a maintenance garage for a local long-haul truck driver. Only two businesses
remained; the tavern served a steady clientele and the store somehow survived.
Except for purchasing a Fudgecicle or orange soda, there wasn’t much
for a kid to do downtown.
Neither
was there much to do at home. Alpine did not have cable television, VCRs,
personal computers and Game Boys in 1976. Kids, especially during the long
summer days, were forced to create their own entertainment. Sometimes this
included swimming in the creek or hiding under the bridge after throwing mud
balls at passing cars. Other, less delinquent, activities included tag, hide-and-go-seek,
king of the mountain, and work-up. But nothing special ever happened to kids
in Alpine—not until the summer of '76. That's when Alpine hosted a grand event.
. . . . .
Doug
and I are unlikely friends. He's male and I'm female. He lives in the huge
town of Eugene, while I live in Alpine. His parents are rich and, well, mine
are not. Doug has beautiful blond hair and blue eyes. My hair and eyes are
nondescript and their colors depend on the lighting around me. Doug and I
are certainly different. However, some things tie us together—we are
both 13 years old and share a common history. Our mom’s went to school
together and his grandparents have always lived across the street from me.
This
summer Doug is staying a whole month with his grandparents. After a week,
we have exhausted the games we play during his weekend visits. We are tired
of playing table football and chasing and hiding from Buddy, his grandma's
black cocker spaniel. We've walked to the elementary school multiple times
and visiting the store is useless because neither of us has money. Then we
develop and great plan.
Montreal is hosting the 1976 Olympics this
summer. Doug and I decide to host our own Alpine Olympics. We spend one day
planning and preparing for traditional events such as high jump and long jump,
and nontraditional events such as swing bailout, monkey bar crossing, and
running to the top of Shrigley Hill and back. We spend three days making a
gold and silver paper "medal" for each event. A bronze medal is
unnecessary since Doug and I are the only athletes. Now, the Alpine Olympics
are ready to begin.
. . . . .
I won the gold in Swing Bailout because
Doug was afraid to jump from the swing. I only received the silver in the
Shrigley Hill run. The race was neck and neck until we reached the top of
the hill and I saw the signpost had been vandalized. I stopped to grab the
marker that read "Alpine 2 mi." and ran back home, all the while
afraid that I'd get caught. I don't remember the results of the other events.
In the summer of 1976, something special
did happen in Alpine. And I can assure you, nothing as exciting as the Alpine
Olympics has been seen in my hometown since - at least in my mind.