BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 12
Our shabby little house had wooden floors, except the kitchen and bathroom.
Those were linoleum. It was one of only three houses on a long stretch of road. The
exterior was in tacky gray shingles, with a tarpaper roof. Frames on the windows and
doors were white.
Our “block”, from one cross street to the other, was nearly a quarter mile. Behind
the house was a huge field. I can only guess now. I sure as hell won‟t ever go back to
Michigan to measure the damned thing for you, but I‟d call it a good ten acres or more.
We used to run across to the next road to the west, Hathaway Street. A very old, very fat
lady lived there. We called her Granny Ryan. That woman was alive for only one
purpose, as close as I could figure it.
She baked cookies. All the time. You could go to Granny Ryan‟s house nine
days a week and she had fresh cookies. If I have to explain to you what an angel it made
her in my eyes, you must‟ve been born at the age of twenty-five. An old woman with an
endless cookie supply? To my way of thinking, Granny Ryan‟s house was a synonym for
Heaven.
Maybe I should‟ve paid attention to the street at the south end of ours, which was
technically three blocks long, although it covered half a mile or more. My street ended at
Sober Street. That‟s a condition, being sober, I really tried like hell to divest myself from
starting at age fifteen and until age fifty-one. Talk about persistent! That‟s me, alright.
The first road to the east was Hungerford Street. The only reason it was at all
important back then was because Grandma and Grandpa Thurston lived two blocks north
of us on Hungerford. I can‟t tell you if Grandma still lives there. If she‟s still alive, I
believe she‟d be 116 years old, but I no longer see Willard Scott on TV, so I have no
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