Two friends that I was close to in grade school and junior high school lived next to Live Oak Park . As you may recall that park was actually three blocks long with the upper block just a thin section by the creek with a walk south of the creek. And there was a section of creek between Oxford Street and Spruce, where the creek was accessible. Doug French (not related to Roy or Mara) lived on Oxford only about two or three houses from the path. Bill Dempster lived in a huge redwood house on the corner of Glenn and Spruce, immediately above that section. The three of us tried many times to dam the creek on the upper block and plant fish in the pond. We once kept some bluegill alive there for a while, but our dams never lasted.

Our family moved to Arlington Avenue in 1949, so I entered Oxford in the fourth grade. And over the years I had many experiences in Live Oak Park from summer crafts,.exploring the creek and finally playing some night basketball in my high school years. That I recall was lively and always busy. But even as a teenager and now as an adult I appreciated those upper blocks where often you and perhaps a friend or two could look around and enjoy nature in quiet solitude. My first remembrance and introduction to the upper part of the park is a strange one.

The Mystery of the "Turk" in Live Oak Park

In the fourth or fifth grade, it was either Doug French or Bill Dempster who told me that he had found a "human turk" under a bush or tree near Live Oak Creek. They were both anxious to look at it and invited me along. I had visions of a dead man--perhaps in exotic Middle Eastern dress--lying under the tree. I had never seen a real Turk or anyone so exotic except in a movie or two. So off we went into a part of Live Oak Park that was not familiar to me. As we neared the spot, I grew more excited. Was this Turk going to be dead, or possibly alive? How did he get there? What should we do with him when we found him? Haul his body away? Call the police? As we approached the area I fully expected to see a white robe and sandaled feet sticking out from under a bush. However, when we reached the area, I saw nothing.

Either Bill or Doug pointed at something, and both started debating whether it was human or not. I crept closer and, to my great disappointment, saw that they were looking at a small pile of feces. One of them said it was a dog turd; the other argued that it had to be a human turd, because, he explained, "you can tell."

As we walked away I never mentioned that I didn't know what a "turd" was and had expected to see a "Turk." In any case, I also wondered why they would be so excited about seeing a turd under a bush, even it was a human's. The sight didn't do a lot for me. I was pretty certain that "turd" meant crap or feces but was so embarrassed that I didn't share their knowledge, I didn't ask them. Instead, I waited till evening and asked my father, who I thought knew everything.

"Dad, what does 'turd' mean?"

I will never ever forget his immediate answer.

"Why do you ask? Did one of your friends call you that and you wondered if it was a compliment?"

I don't recall what he said after that, but I assume he confirmed my clever suspicions of the true meaning of "turd."

Over the years I have told this story to a number of people, and they all loved the punch line.