Nah (and the few who did simply shook it off and continued playing). We weren't a bunch of wussies back then. By today's standards the sharp metal playground equipment of my time would have been labeled as super dangerous. Not only that, but the local playground (in the town park) was situated in a heavily wooded area, on the side of a hill, with dirt/rock ground (no "soft" base), the equipment was either bored into tall pine trees or granite boulders (don't swing too high or go under the V-shaped merry-go-round bars), and was surrounded by tall, dense manzanita bushes, tons of sticky bear clover ... and a few abandoned mine shafts. The 1-acre playground here was an adventure in itself.
Incredible that is. My brother was one time hanging from a thick pronged hook off of a field soccer goalpost and got deep cleaves wounds. From soccer in the early seventies.
I was about six or seven years old. I was at our small-town playground with my older sister and brother (they were about eight and ten). I loved the slide. It had a relatively large amount of air from the bottom of the slide-itself to the ground below.
One time I climbed to the top and I thought it'd be great fun to ride the slide sitting and facing backwards, and not holding on at all at any time. I started sliding down backwards with my hands held high over my head until I slid off the slide at bottom, hit the ground and broke my collar bone.
I can't remember how my sister and brother let my parents know and/or got me home. But I have no bad memories of any of it. Ha. :)
Shuhak 