Having grown up in Wheat Ridge in the ’50s, ’60s, and ’70s, I have many wonderful memories embedded in my heart. If I could go back and do it again, I would. We were right in the middle of the baby boom generation, post WWII and the Korean War. There was a serious increase in population after the troops returned from war.
Memory Lane, in this case, is 44th Ave., from Youngfield east to Wadsworth. At that time, 44th was still rural, if not just good old plain open country. Fruitdale Elementary was composed mostly of children living along or near 44th Ave.. Fruitdale got its name from the agricultural roots dating back to the 1800’s. The fertile soil became a mecca for fruit growers. Then in the late 1800’s to early 1900’s it slowly changed over to produce farming. Many truck farms appeared. My great Grandfather came to Colorado right at the turn of the century. Buying acreage just off of 44th Ave. and Indiana St. Building a house of all eastern hardwoods, brought here by wagon. The house still stands. As does his brother’s house just east of there.
This is not unique to the people that decided to call the valley home. Dad was born in that house, as were his siblings. They had a truck farm growing and selling vegetables for their livelihood. Dad actually had a driver’s license at the age of 14 to deliver their produce to various markets to the east. Their next door farming neighbors were the Becerra Family. Abner Becerra being closest in age to Dad. Abner went on to open Abner’s Market at 44th and Vivian. The original market on the north side of 44th. Like many other markets, it was an open air market. A true feeling of country. At 44th and Tabor was Smiths Market. Then at Miller St. and at Pierce St., the Claxton family markets. Never a shortage of fresh Colorado produce.
In 1948 Dad and Mom bought a piece of land at 44th Ave. and Vivian across from Abners Market. Dad, his brothers, and my Grandpa built a small 3 bedroom house there. I believe Mom said they bought the land with a $500 loan from Dads great Uncle John Wesley Hall. They hand dug a well. Did all the electrical, plumbing, and framing themselves. When the property was first purchased, Vivian St. was just a lane. And the land from 44th south to Clear Creek was all carnation fields. Wheat Ridge, or as it was known then as Vasquez, was the carnation capital of western states. Eventually small sections of land were sold off as more houses were built and Vivian St. became a gravel street. I grew up in that house till I was in sixth grade, when Mom and Dad, needing a bigger house, moved to 44th and Robb, just east of the Baugh house.
But my greatest memories come from that first house on Vivian St. We had the freedom of country kids. We had chores. We abided by household rules. We respected our elders. Our phone was a party line. Our first phone number was Harrison 26050. One neighbor, Mrs Huber, raised goats and tied up 75% of the party line time.We eventually had a round screen black and white television, watched only after dinner. We had a single fuel oil stove in the living room for heat. On cold winter days all modesty went out the window as we would rush to get dressed in front of the stove. Most of our food was home grown, or home raised. If additional groceries were needed Mom would send us over to Abners to pick up items. Frequently, not having the money at the time, Abner, and his meat man Herb Edwards (originator of Edwards Meats), would carry a tab to be paid when Dad was paid. We had a milk cow named Jacquie. A name I talked Mom and Dad into using to honor my school crush, Jacquie Ferguson. Needless to say she didn’t feel overly honored when I told her we named our cow after her.
Even with a television, most of our time was spent at school, then outside to play. Be home for dinner, then back outside. Vivian Street was an entire world to us. We had what became the Vivian Street gang. Made up of kids of our own ages, much like the Little Rascals. Raised with the same values and full of joy. Janice Ryan, one of those kids, still lives on Vivian, and attends the same church as us. She taught me to ride a bike in an alfalfa field where Edwards Meats stands today. Daily baseball games in the very same field. All the kids were allowed to play regardless of age or skill. We would venture as far as Clear Creek on exploratory missions, way before there was a greenbelt. As time went on and school friendships were made we expanded our territory. Even going as far as two lane Youngfield. I spent much time with my buddy Ed Becerra, (Abner’s son). I would help him sort pop bottles as one of his chores. Then off we would go exploring the world.
The original Prospect Park was a series of small green buildings on the west side of Youngfield, now covered by I-70. That was the community meeting place. It was where we signed up to play baseball. The teams were called Clear Creek Red Hats. It was also where I signed up for dancing lessons to impress my crush, Jacquie. However I had to alternate the dances with a competitor, Ed Becerra, who also had a crush on Jacquie.
Dad and his brother George had a haying business, mostly in North Park. So usually Mom would bring us home for practice and a game. Then back to North Park we would go. Usually only two months of the summer.
Dad, being quite an entrepreneur, delved into many different ways to earn a dollar. He and Mom even bought a burger shack and had it set at our place. Opening The Little Giant Drive-In. Best burgers and malts on earth! Dad and his brother set up a Christmas tree lot. Always supplying a fresh tree for the school and each of us four kids classes. All Colorado trees were cut ourselves. They had a firework stand and in the slower season, Dad would take the job of a milkman, working crazy hours.
The kids in these attached photos are solid in my memories. I can still name most. Many I went on to graduate with. Some of these kids’ parents also went to Fruitdale School. Families along 44th Ave. were mostly blue collar, lower income, hard working families. In later school years it was referred to as Goat Hill. Smaller, older homes. I chuckle today as to how many of the kids from up on the hill preferred to hang out at our house. Mom always made everyone feel welcome with homemade goodies always on hand.
What a wonderful way to grow up. I am thankful every day for that early beginning in one of the best times to be alive.
Marte Hedde will be back in the January issue with more on the history of Wheat Ridge.
