At the funeral of Rabbi Bill Rudolph this week, I learned things I didn’t know. He was an athlete, a bicyclist, and a handyman. At the funeral of George Johnson, I learned that he not only played the guitar, but also could play the piano, the saxophone, and the cello. Who would have guessed?

What would one learn about me at my funeral? Not much, I would say. And that’s because I have kept most of my talents so well hidden.

Well, I am going to share one of them with you today. Do you know that I have an uncanny knack for finding things (just today, for example, I found both the lost vinegar and the lost pepper grinder)? I learned that I had this unusual talent at a young age, and immediately took advantage of it.

In the summer between third and fourth grade, I and a neighborhood friend Roger McKnight founded the Hessel-McKnight Detective Agency. The agency was so successful that, although we shut it down for the school year, we reopened the agency the following summer before closing our doors (OK, we didn’t really have any doors) for good.

I must admit that I don’t remember a lot about our many successes. I also don’t remember a lot about Roger McKnight. I think he was my age, although he might have been a year older or younger (probably younger; if he was older, it would have been McKnight-Hessel). I think we went to the same school, although I don’t remember him there, so maybe we didn’t (many kids in my neighborhood went to the local Catholic school). I remember he had blond hair, and we hung out a lot together those summers. But that’s all.

I have no idea what happened to Roger McKnight, because he and his family moved out of town. They probably moved (I remember it was to Oregon) right after we shut down Hessel-McKnight. No contact since then.

Our biggest case was our first case, as I recall. The vinyl lawn furniture in the backyard of a family down the street was all slashed. Our job was to find out who did it. We took the job with confidence. We decided that no adult would slash lawn furniture and that it had to be a kid. We then knew we needed to figure out who would have done such a thing. Was it a random attack, or was it done by someone who knew the family whose chairs were destroyed, and had a conflict with them.

I don’t remember the details. I know we talked to a number of people on the block. And I remember we decided who must have done it. And I remember that we confronted him and, after careful questioning on our part, he confessed.

I don’t remember who the slasher was, and I don’t remember his motive, or why he decided to confess. I only remember that the Hessel-McKnight Detective Agency had proven its bona fides, and went on to solve several other (albeit more minor) mysteries over the two years of its existence.

As you read this historical piece, you might have noted one other thing. We were about 10 years old, and we had the freedom to wander around our neighborhood from morning ’til dark at will. As did all the other kids. This would never happen today, as we all sadly know. But in 1950, it wasn’t even a question.

Well, except for one time, when it was a question. That’s when a traveling circus pitched its tents in the parkland on the other side of our street (Topton Way , Clayton MO, now the site of Clayton High School). It was a real circus, with rides, and a side show, and games, and animals. It was also very exciting, and right across the street.

A bunch of us spent a lot of time watching as the circus was being set up. It was a great adventure. But our parents weren’t so excited. When I say “our parents”, I mean everyone’s. We couldn’t understand what they were concerned about. We were very mature kids – probably 8 to 12 years old. And the circus folks were extraordinarily welcoming and warm and instructive. Everything a kid could want.

We were in disbelief, when we learned that our parents were most concerned about us decided to run away with the circus. When we crossed the street, they thought we might never be seen again. We were in disbelief.

That’s the way it was in Clayton MO in 1950. Them were the days.