Clay D. Land: Where have all the Flexy Racers gone?
I live in the neighborhood where I grew up. And sometimes when I walk my old stomping grounds, memories come rushing back. This past Christmas morning I had such an experience. With college-age children, Christmas mornings at my house are not what they used to be. But Santa still stays busy in the neighborhood, particularly at the old homes nearby that have become reoccupied over the years with new families and young children. I decided to take a walk to witness first-hand the fruit of Santa's labor. Expecting to see yards and adjacent streets bustling with excited children, I was astonished that on my two mile walk I did not encounter a soul. I thought metaphorically, "Where have all the Flexy Racers gone?"
The "Flexy Racer," a year-round sled on wheels, was manufactured by S.L. Allen & Co. in Philadelphia from the 1930s until the early 1970s. As a young boy in the late 1960s, I had the "300 model," an engineering marvel consisting of three polished flat wooden boards approximately four feet long connected to two wooden side rails and a metal front bar, sitting on top of four 6-inch diameter wheels with two forward handlebars for steering and braking. In the standard operating position, the racer laid flat on the stomach, facing forward while grasping the steering handles. Many of the more experienced racers soon learned the sitting position in which the racer sat at the rear end of the Flexy, using his feet to steer. Whatever your favorite position, the uses for this sled on wheels were limited only by your imagination.
During the summer months, we'd leave the house shortly after breakfast and not return until supper time. Lunch would typically be provided at the house to which we happened to be closest around noon. The Flexy alternated with the bike as our mode of transportation to momentous matches of backyard football, whiffleball, "HORSE," "Around the World," "21" or "kick-the-can." But the Flexy was more than just transportation. It provided excitement and sometimes danger.
Six inches off the pavement barreling downhill, you became an Indy racer, feeling every bump in the road at what seemed like 200 miles per hour. Detouring off-road down a bumpy trail and holding on for dear life over a natural or hand-made jump, you became a dirt bike motor-cross champion or even a famous daredevil like Evel Knievel. We raced. We crashed. We got scratched and bruised. We laughed. We cried. Yes, we played. Although we typically rode with only one racer per Flexy, we were not alone. We competed and planned and imagined together. We evaluated risks, which we then encountered. And we accepted responsibility for the outcome. We cheered each other. We consoled each other. And we cajoled each other as we tried to outdo each other. We experienced the ecstasy of victory and the agony of defeat. At the risk of being accused of engaging in nostalgic hyperbole, I do believe we grew up on those Flexy Racers.
On my recent Christmas morning walk, as I pondered the absence of outside activity and remembered my Flexy Racer days, I wondered what those neighborhood kids were doing this Christmas morning. I know my neighbors dote on their children, especially this time of year. And from every indication, Santa's generosity has not subsided over the years. I suspected that most of those kids were inside their comfortable houses with presents far more expensive than my old Flexy Racer -- the latest IPhone, the hottest app, the most graphic X-Box game, the always useful iTunes gift card, the miraculous iPad, Apple anything, electronic everything.
Those houses were no doubt exploding with excitement from grateful children and joy from parents who had not only made their offspring happy but had equipped them for the sophisticated, modern world. After all, being glued to a screen filled with electronic images for hours at a time has become an essential part of 21st century life.
As I finished my walk, I had to admit to myself that these technology-abundant kids would be justified to consider my old Flexy Racer a quaint antique. How could it possibly compete with a single electronic device that enabled them to communicate with a tweet, or a post, or even an old-school email; that allowed them to engage, or perhaps more importantly disengage, with a mere click, or touch, or voice command; and that permitted them to escape all alone to their favorite music, movies, books, games, and the most up-to-date news? All of this was available to them without having to endure a bleeding cut, a painful bruise or drop of perspiration.
With these high-tech Christmas gifts, they encountered no face-to-face confrontations and had no need to make face-to-face compromises. With no face-to-face anything, they could avoid much of the social anxiety that naturally occurs when you must actually interact personally with another human being. (Their parents could worry about obsessive/compulsive disorders after the holidays.) These amazing products of human ingenuity placed the world at these children's fingertips without forcing them to physically enter it. No wonder the neighborhood streets and yards appeared empty on my recent Christmas stroll.
As I entered my house to find my college-age children in perfect harmony with their own electronic devices, I awakened from the imagined glory of my youth. But the vacant yards and streets still bothered me. While I certainly appreciate the progress we have made in many areas since my Flexy Racer days, I also believe deeply that something has been lost along the way. Call me old-fashioned, but I do yearn for the day when my neighborhood is once again filled with Flexy Racers (maybe ridden by children while wearing earphones connected to their electronic devices).
Clay D. Land, a former Columbus councilor and state senator, is chief U.S. district judge for the Middle District of Georgia.
This story was originally published January 2, 2016 at 12:00 AM with the headline "Clay D. Land: Where have all the Flexy Racers gone? ."