The War for 'Normasis Hill'

By Jim Purcell

The 'War for Normasis Hill' is a fond memory from childhood. First off, "Normasis Hill" was so dubbed by a 5-year-old named James Urig, who lived the block over from my house. He was trying to say "Enormous" but it came out “Normasis.” Still, the name stuck and it was perfect because "Normasis" sounded much bigger to a lot of us kids than "enormous." I think I was seven when all of this began.

The "hill" started as a pile of earth and sand dumped illegally in the backwoods of Howell Township, down the dirt road from my house in about 1972. Originally, the mound was about 20-feet high and 50-feet wide and had a sloped face. It was an impressive site to a bunch of kids a shade over or under 4-feet tall.

Immediately, the kids found a perfect use for it: Playing war! The teams were fairly stable with minor variation: the 'Evil Empire' consisted of the dread and diminutive Jimmy Calendrello; his steadfast companion, John Urig; his cousin, Freddy Sorino, and this overgrown kid whose name I can't remember. He looked something like Frankenstein if the monster was a kid (though without the tell-tale surgical marks on his head, green complexion or bolts in his neck).  The Empire would usually begin up top. Meanwhile, the 'Rebel Forces' of Johnny Hunter (an impressive rock-throwing ally) and his brother, Hugh, would usually join my neighbor, Paul Fiquet, and myself trying to take the high ground from this 'evil foursome' with some regularity. We didn’t fight this war every day, but we never went a week without a new battle. Nothing would dissuade us from our mission, and we’d prove our bravery throwing ourselves into a hail of rocks, though sometimes it was more falling, bleeding and screaming.

Here is how the battles of Normasis Hill were waged: Kids would climb up top, with a lot of big rocks (yes, rocks) and throw them down on anyone trying to climb up on their strategic heights. They would be thrown hard. Meanwhile, the kids at the bottom of the hill enjoyed a generous supply of rocks all around, while the defenders of the hill had to bring their supply with them (rationing raised its ugly head). So, the defenders of the hill had a strategic position, but swapped it for a limited supply of ammo. It was unsaid that kids aimed for the legs with the rocks, but it was generally done. Nevertheless, now and again, there was a face shot.

So, the attackers took one of two routes: They would wait-out the enemy, in World War I trench-warfare mode. This was logical. Always worked and made perfect sense. But, it was boring. So, ultimately it came down to four screaming kids running up the face of Normasis Hill throwing rocks as hard as they could at the four kids up top. In the meantime, the defenders up top would be throwing both sand and rocks down on the attackers. Once up top, if anyone made it there (after all, rocks really, really hurt when you were nailed with them. A shot in the head was off the hook pain), the fighting became hand-to-hand and kids were either taking swings at one another or throwing each other as best they could off the top, wrestling style. At the end of these battles kids were dirty, bloody, bruised, tired as heck, aching and sometimes had sprains or the occasional small break. It was glorious! There wasn't a better feeling out there.  And, with a nod to our mothers’ warnings, no one had their eye put out.

This felt like play to me, even though there was some fighting in it. It was like playing a sport or something like that. Even if someone beat another boy, the first boy wasn’t looking to really injure or harm anyone. It was kids being kids. Most of them were kids from very screwed up homes in my neighborhood. So, we became each others’ frustration outlet.

For a couple moments I was Col. William Travis fighting Gen. Santa Anna’s soldiers at “The Alamo” ... or Gen. George Patton kicking German ass across the countryside during World War II.

Then, after the obligatory name calling and posturing, we would go home for dinner around dusk. We did this for a couple years, between 1972 and probably 1976. It was great. Other kids played war by running around with sticks. We played war beating the hell out of each other and hitting ourselves with rocks. It was not like when I was bullied or beaten by my family or the kids at school. At home I might be nobody and a punching bag for my old man and brother. But, here at the Hill, I was frigging Audie L. Murphy, hero of World War II. I was already getting beat up, what’s a few bruises and sprains when I was doing something I loved?

Then again, as we all knew would happen one day, the game became boring and felt like kid stuff, despite the generous amount of blood and thumping that took place.  For a little while, we tried using BB-guns, but it wasn’t the same.

When did you ever see little boys getting bored with bloody mayhem? It can happen. Then, Normasis Hill started being used as a dirt bike jump by the kids really into that back then, which were few. Nevertheless, sovereignty of the hill had passed hands and that was it. When they were done with it, who knows when -- I think that was it for a while.

Of course, the kids became high-schoolers and Normasis Hill, now a good deal smaller from its long and arduous service, became nothing more than a rise in the ground of four or five feet. Kids used it to smoke weed and get drunk or occasionally score with their girlfriends there during good weather. It was nothing like the glorious days of hard-fought battles by munchkin troops, though.

The Hill taught me a lot. It taught me I can fight back and maybe win. It taught me I could be brave against the bad guys. It gave me permission to stop groveling when confronted by people, in and out of my family.

Many years later, when I was an adult, I strolled down that old road, past the blackberry bushes that no longer produced any blackberries, into the woods (that looked so much smaller now) and found my way to the hill again.

It was not a hill or a mound or even much of a rise anymore. It had become 'Normasis bump on the ground.' In a way it was sad but in another way it was a very proud thing for that little hill. It had been the playmate of nearly every kid in my large neighborhood for so long, and unselfishly, that this one-time illegal clop of dirt turned out to be almost a surrogate parent for some of us kids. The hill was there to entertain us and be a rallying point for years. Many of us had some of the best times of our childhoods there, and it was all because someone didn’t want to pay dumping fees on the dirt and sand at the dump on Preventorium Road.

This was a case where, literally, one man’s trash was a kid’s treasure. Placed in the middle of a nearby, dense woods, we could scream our heads off for ours and the only ones that were going to hear us were the birds.

Anyway, that was the War of Normasis Hill. Don't know who started it. Don't know who won. But, it was a campaign fought long and hard, with a lot of joy in the kids’ hearts.

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