Published in the Philadelphia Inquirer Magazine, August, 1999.

Although neither a boy nor a child of the city, I related entirely to the look of complete rapture on the face of the little girl in one of the pictures that accompanied the delightful story by Sidney B. Kurtz ("The way we played," June 20). Dress and Mary Janes notwithstanding, she had left her jump rope, hopscotch or game of jacks to join the boys.

Growing up in the Pittsburgh area in the '50s, it was not unusual for me to play ball or ride my bike in a dress. My father frowned on my appearing in unfeminine clothing. However, I did have a mother who understood that, for games like ball (in its infinite variety), cowboys and Indians, or crack-the-whip, jeans were a better idea. Having not yet been deluged with the trappings of the technological age, we filled our days with exciting, imaginative play that required our parents to come looking for us when we not home by dark. It was so nice to be reminded again by Mr. Kurtz's article of the great fun we had as children.

Elaine R., Wynnewood

Tremendous article; it brought back a lot of memories of growing up in Mount Airy (1100 block of Slocum Street) in the 1960s. Some comments: We played "dead box," only we called it "bottlecaps" for obvious reasons. Also, let's remember stepball, wallball, halfball, spongeball and wire-ball.

There's one other. On the back of the rowhouses were telephone lines running about a foot from the brick. We used the space between wire and brick as a basket for basketball.

Richard C., Philadelphia

I knew Sidney B. Kurtz was on the level when he wrote "fireplug" rather than "hydrant." His article ("The way we played," June 20) brought back so many memories of my block in South Philadelphia, a block where my father was born and where he still lives.

We were fortunate enough, my brother and I, to inherit a legacy. We were able to bedevil the same old ladies in the corner house with the same games that my dad and his friends played when they were kids: halfball (Who ever heard of "stickball"? Get a life, Brooklyn!), pimpleball, Russia (a ball game played against the house's front wall), "roofing-it" and "going under the plug." (My dad is still remembered fondly by his buddies as the Depression-era inventor who created a tool capable of bypassing the lock on "the plug.")

Oh, I love my suburban garden, my own parking spaces, the smell of the white pines on a misty September morning. But I'd be willing to negotiate all of it for a week of milk-box scooters, skinned knees and a bottle of that acid-green soda they used to sell at Bob's.

Adeline T. Newtown Square

I've been sharing tories of these games with my 13-year-old son, and in fact he and I have been on a quest to find a usable pimpleball, but so far, no luck.

You were so right, it's what we did, it's what we enjoyed, and in our neighborhood it helped establish your social status.

Bill C., Pennsauken, NJ

Sidney B. Kurtz is the author of a family memoir, The Jewish Rectangle: An American Adventure. He lives in Pennsauken.

Other works of Sidney B. Kurtz