Memories of “The Blacks,” an empty field at end of Sun Valley: “There’s nothing like it anymore”

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the second of a two-part series about growing up in Sun Valley on Cheyenne’s east side in the 1980s and two of the childhood landmarks there. You can find his first part, about Three Tunnels, at http://bit.ly/2H9bGfU. 

BY RICHARD JOHNSON

If you grew up in Sun Valley in the 1980s, you knew of the empty field at the end of 12th Street. It’s now known as Sunrise Point, but in our day it was known as “The Blacks." It was our unofficial park with no rules. 

In 2020, if you post, “What stories do you have about The Blacks?” Most think you’re being a racist. In the Eighties, it meant you were headed to Sun Valley to do hoodrat stuff. 

All the fun things in life happened here. Guns, mud bogging, fireworks, motorcycles, BMX, catching snakes, broken bones, having sex on the hood of your car  and dead bodies. The signs said, “No Trespassing,.” but no one paid attention. 

The best gossip I’ve been able to find in regards to the name is a Sun Valley developer in the 1970s had the last name Black. He probably owned the land and people probably just started, “et’s go to ‘The Blacks’!” We never asked where the name came from because that’s what everyone called it. 

Everyone that grew up there that I’ve spoke to was bummed when the new developments started. I remember standing on the top of 12th Street on Aug 2, 1985 and seeing how badly Dry Creek flooded. When people moved into the area and there were no storm sewer drains, we knew everyone was screwed

We played in all those ponds and creeks for years. It’s no wonder you need pumps and your basements flood.

It was amazing the stuff you’d find dumped out there. The worst story was posted on my thread by my friend and her sister: 

“I remember finding a dead body back there. Yep. Hands head and feet had been removed, and it was pretty decayed, but it was a person at some point.”

Her sister replied, “Too vivid of memories, and we were way too young to have seen that. Hell, our own kind of ‘Stand by Me.’”

My stories weren’t as jacked as that. I got this text: “Member that one time I made you shoot a bird and then made you feel bad. Ha ha.” 

I remember in 1992 my best friend and I were watching the LA Riots and wanted to throw Molotov cocktails. We went to The Blacks and I stomped out weed fires while he threw gas-filled jars over my head. 

It wasn’t just the youth out there starting bonfires, throwing keggers, and smoking their first cigarette. 

One person wrote, “My dad started the field on fire shooting off 4th of July fireworks, and a couple making out in a car extinguished part of it with their clothes.”

A common theme among Sun Valley people who grew up in The Blacks was jumping every kind of machine off the hills. Dune buggies, motorcycles, BMX, riding mowers, etc. 

One time Chucky stopped to make out with his girl on top of the hill and Jerm jumped a motorcycle right into them, breaking his leg.

This is how several stories went:

“It was that sunken area of Sun Valley and was hilly, so we could hide down in there with a small bonfire. One time a neighbor must’ve called. We heard sirens coming and got the heck out of there. We’d burn a few pallets and got crazy stupid with the cars one time. I was trying to see who could pull the hill up to the train tracks. My VW Rabbit was no match.”

Getting chased was our weekend activity. Banging on cars or people getting frisky and have them chase us around the fields. 

The cops were not immune. My best friend would find the cop car hiding out, waiting to catch someone, and he’d moon the cops just to get chased. We’d make it back to his house and sit on the patio and watch the high beams out in the dark trying to find him.

The Blacks were a place for families as well. 

My parents loaded up the ’86 Caravan and took us out there and taught me and the neighbor kids how to drive. Here was another story shared with me. 

“Snowmobiling, getting pulled on tubes behind the '79 Blazer. My dad driving his tractor down there to pull out all the guys mud bogging,  zooming around in the dune buggy. Walking our dogs out there. I think I spent half my childhood out there.”

You could always catch animals. Crawdads, tadpoles, snakes. Here is what our parents would come home to: “Um, filling my mom’s window wells full of water to put our tadpoles.”

My best friend used to take his grandpa’s tractor mower and cut baseball diamonds out of the weeds. One time he got 12 Taco John’s cups and made a golf course when he found some clubs in a neighbors garbage. I still can’t drive, but I learned. 

Another person summed it up like this: “Motorcycles, mud bogging, baseball games, snake hunting and mice hunting to feed ’em. The mean guy at Lincoln Valley junkyard who shot us with salt rock. Firework wars!!! I got Sun Valley tattooed on me.” 

My best friend summed it up best.

“I miss ‘The Blacks.’ I was thinking the other day how lucky we were to have a place like that. There’s nothing like it anymore.”

            Richard Johnson is a former City Council member from Cheyenne’s east side.