This is the story of a couple of teenage boys just trying to explore their world, have some fun, and stretch the boundaries of what a teenager should be willing to do in the name of excitement.
It was 1969. Ardell, a shy and not-too-bright ninth-grader,
was friends with Jethro, another ninth-grader who lived all the way across
town. They occasionally spent weekends together, exploring the woods, fishing
in the creeks and ponds, and, from time to time, getting into a bit of
mischief.
One particular weekend, Jethro was over at Ardell’s house,
and the two set off to explore the woods near the limestone quarry that had,
quite literally, helped build the city of Leeds. The quarry had been the town’s
focal point ever since the cement plant opened in 1907. On weekday afternoons,
the entire town would feel the earth-shaking boom of explosives as
workers blasted limestone from the ground. But on weekends, the place went
quiet—and that’s when local kids came out to play.
The area behind the quarry featured what the kids called the
“cement creek” (pronounced “see-mint”), a drainage channel where water was
pumped from the quarry to prevent flooding. Beyond the creek was a dump site
filled with waste from the plant: piles of cement dust, chunks of clinker, and
discarded ropes and cables. Kids scavenged these ropes for creek swings and
other homemade contraptions.
That day, Ardell and Jethro stumbled across a group of older
neighborhood boys hanging out near the quarry. One of them had managed to sneak
down into the quarry and walk off with a box of blasting caps and—more
shockingly—a piece of dynamite.
Now, it didn’t look like the dynamite you’d see in cartoons.
This was more like a thick soup can, with two holes bored through the center to
allow for threading the blasting caps and securing it in place for use in
quarry drilling.
The older boys let Ardell and Jethro hang around while they
tied blasting caps to trees, dropped them into holes, or stuck them in tin cans
before detonating them with a 9-volt battery. They exploded about twenty-five
blasting caps before someone suggested blowing up the dynamite. But after
arguing about who was brave (or stupid) enough to do it, they chickened out and
stashed the remaining blasting caps and dynamite in a sinkhole near the Leeds
water treatment plant.
End of story, right?
Wrong.
Ardell and Jethro stayed behind and pocketed about twenty
blasting caps. They spent the rest of the afternoon blowing up tin cans and
tree stumps—until a kid named Kent (or maybe it was Kenny) wandered up. His dad
worked at the cement plant, and when he found out what Ardell and Jethro had,
he freaked out and ran home.
Nothing happened immediately. Ardell and Jethro figured they
were in the clear.
Then Monday rolled around.
At school, Ardell bragged about the blasting caps and
dynamite to two other buddies—both named Manny, one a cousin and the other a
classmate. When those three got together, trouble usually followed. They wanted
to go “blow something up.”
The trio headed to the other side of the small mountain near
the water treatment plant and found an old oak tree with a hollow at the base.
They inserted a blasting cap into the dynamite, shoved it down the hole,
stretched out the wires, crouched behind a tree, and handed the battery to
Ardell.
BOOM.
The blast was massive. It echoed across town. Flaming chunks
of oak flew through the air and landed in the brush, instantly igniting the dry
woods.
The boys panicked. They tried in vain to beat down the
flames, but the fire spread too quickly. They bolted and ran all the way to
little Manny’s house. When they arrived, Aunt Thelma—Ardell’s aunt and Manny’s
mom—was staring out the kitchen window.
She turned and asked, “Y’all know anything about that big
explosion?”
The three boys swore they had no idea what she was talking
about.
Once again, they figured they’d gotten away with it.
But remember Kent (or Kenny)? He had gone home Saturday and
told his dad that Ardell and Jethro had a box of blasting caps and a stick
of dynamite. Kent’s dad told someone at the cement plant. That person told
the police.
The very next morning, Ardell and Jethro were pulled from
class by Principal Jerry Oxford. Waiting in the hallway were two police
officers. The boys were escorted outside, put in the back of a police cruiser,
and driven up the dirt road near the Leeds water treatment plant.
“Okay, boys,” one of the officers said. “Take us to the
dynamite.”
Stunned and speechless, the boys walked the officers—and a
cement plant employee—through the woods to the stash in the sinkhole. No one
said a word. Once the explosives were retrieved, the cops didn’t arrest them.
They didn’t call their parents. They didn’t even give them a lecture.
They drove Ardell and Jethro back to school like nothing had
happened.
But of course, it had happened—and word had already
gotten out.
Their parents knew. Principal Oxford knew. Punishment was
waiting. But first came the humiliation.
Back in class, Mrs. Holt asked Ardell to tell the class what
had happened.
“I’d rather not,” he replied.
“I insist,” she said. “We’re not leaving this room until you
tell us all what happened.”
So Ardell told the story.
From then on, kids in the hallway shouted “Dynamite!”
whenever they saw him. They’d yell it from school buses, from passing cars,
even from sidewalks near his house.
The nickname stuck. Dynamite followed Ardell for the
rest of his school days.
Jethro was never allowed to visit Ardell’s house again—but
the two remained lifelong friends.
And the kids who used to shout “Dynamite”? Most of them are
gone now, or too old to remember.
But Ardell remembers.
And looking back, it’s fair to ask: How did these kids
survive childhood without blowing themselves up—or ending up in jail?
Only God knows.