Where the heck is Peters’ Creek?

Last week, I belatedly learned of the death of a high school classmate, Jack Peters. I did not hear of his death until after the funeral was done. I would have attended even though we had not seen each other for years.

That reason, in part, is the time so long ago that we spent together swimming in a creek behind his parents’ farm. It was known to all of us as “Peters Creek.”

The creek was halfway between Clifton and Chebanse. At the time, U.S. Route 45 ran parallel along the Illinois Central train tracks. Both crossed the creek about a half mile north of the Peters farm. We Clifton kids went to school with Jack and were always welcomed at the farm.

We would all ride our bikes to the creek regardless of the weather (rain excluded) and enjoy the creek, be it fishing, swimming or skating in the winter. We would even play our form of hockey with tree branches for sticks and beer cans for a puck. Obviously, none of us went on to play real hockey.

For several years we would ride our bikes on the edge of Route 45 despite the traffic. The motorists were kind and gave us a break as we pedaled those 3 miles. But then we were given another road, the start of construction of a two-lane highway that would later become part of Interstate 57. It was only a half mile from our previous route and crossed Peters Creek as well.

Since the highway was far from finished, we had a couple of years of private usage on our way to our favorite recreation site. We rode our bikes without fear, merely going around the barricades. We found that the creek at the new crossing had an added attraction.

Normally when you stood up in the water, it barely reached your waist. However, there was the need for excavation for the new bridge, and the water under the bridge was now over the top of your head. Finally, you could dive and really swim.

One might wonder what our parents thought of these expeditions. But in that time, kids were allowed to wander away from the backyard without the fears that surround us today. However, some days were too cold for swimming, and we would be told not to go in the water. Normally we would find things to do like build a fort out of the fallen branches in the forest that surrounded the creek. Also, if we were to violate the no swimming today rule, the stink of the water would immediately give you away on your return home.

Of course, we never brought swimming suits - just strip down and jump in. Then one day as we were entering and exiting the water next to the bridge, we heard traffic over the new bridge that was followed by honking. We stood there in our naked selves, in full view of the passengers in the cars passing over the bridge on this newly opened highway.

The passengers had a clear shot of something neither side wanted to share. We dived into the bushes and retrieved our clothes. Our swimming had some serious limitations after that.

Jack’s passing brought back a rush of memories of how kids got to play more freely in those pre-teen years. There were no club sports, and except for Little League baseball, there were no sports teams for kids our age.

As the years went by, and I had returned to the area to practice law, I got the urge to move to the country and build a home. We found a 10-acre patch on a creek about three miles east of the very bridge under which we had swum. Turns out it was the same creek, three miles downstream!

But now it had an official name as it wound its way to the Iroquois River. It was called Langan Creek. I needed Google Earth to make sure the spelling was right, but I have never learned the derivation of that name.

So that brings me back to the mid-1950s, the Peters and those several boys who swam, skated and explored with me. Most of us are still alive, but spread out over the country. We had Jack in Iowa, one in Florida, two in northern Illinois, and three of us who returned to the area of our youth.

But what is most amazing is the career paths these young boys took in their adult lives. Jack spent his working years in agriculture and feed production, as well as being an avid horseman. Two of us became lawyers, both practicing in Illinois. One became a high school superintendent, one a career electrical contractor, one became an international civil engineer, and one would become the mayor of Clifton.

Not bad for a bunch of boys wandering through the woods and diving into a dirty creek.

One interesting occurrence took place with the career of the mayor. Bob Frooninckx, as mayor of Clifton, helped put a sewer plant into operation and finally stopped dumping Clifton village sewage into Peters Creek. No wonder we smelled a bit.

Thanks to the entire Peters family in allowing us so many years ago to learn life in nature. It will always be Peters Creek to me.