"The presidential race will be broadcast on radio today. Probably won't be hearing my soap operas today," said my grandmother to my granddad. He was gathering up his cigarettes and lunch heading out to the job. He worked as a carpenter. There were several projects around town these days. He would drive out to seek a day's work. His reputation was such that he seldom came back home before dark.
I stayed with my grandparents during the week since my folks both worked. Clyde's birthday was this month of November. He'd be ten. Mine was a few months off. I'd be six. Clyde was my uncle. He always made a big deal out of it telling me to do this and do that. I'd listen because, as he told me, I was supposed to respect my elders.
"Uh, uh," he'd say if I didn't listen. "Remember what your momma told you. Respect your elders. Since I'm your elder, 'cause I'm four years older and being an uncle to boot, you gotta listen to me."
"Yes sir," I'd say. Inside I thought it didn't exactly sound right but he was older.
"No need to sir me, nef."
It was rainy out that Tuesday. Clyde pulled the puzzle from beneath the bed. It was half together on a large board granddad had brought home. It was the perfect foundation for the puzzle. The pieces we had interlocked so far revealed a rabit, Clyde told me it was a hare, running or jumping over a turtle, which Clyde insisted was a tortoise.
"That's a rabbit!" I insisted.
"Nef, listen to me. I know what I'm talking about. It's a picture of the Tortoise and the hare in a race."
"It's a rabbit. Hairs can't race. Hair grows on your head."
"NOt that kind of hair, dummy. This critter in the puzzle can be called two things. A rabbit or a hare, H-A-R-E. In the race he's a hare."
"Oh. And he's a tortoise in the story?"
"Now you're gettin' it"
"But why don't they just say turtle and rabbit?"
"So's kids like you would be able to ask dumb questions," he said shaking his head.
"So in the race on the radio, is one of them I's a hare?"
"You need so much learnin'. No. It's Eisenhower. He's running against somebody named Stevedore, I think. They'll be runnin' all day on the radio."
"Not much space on a radio. Seems like it'd be over in no time."
"Once again I gotta learn ya. They don't run on a radio. They are running across the country. That guy on the radio will be telling us how far they've gotten. It lasts all day 'cause they have to go with'em. Now results from Kentucky, now from Forida. See? They got a lot of ground to cover in one day."
"Wow, they're gonna be tired tomorrow."
We went back to putting pieces of the puzzle together. The rabbit, oops, hare, was just behind the tortoise who was crossing the finish line. My piece placement revealed the loss by the hare.
"How'd he lose?" I asked. "Rabbits are faster than turtles."
"Yeah, it didn't make sense to me either when I first put this thing together. Daddy said the rabbit was lazy and slept along the way. He slept long enough for the slow turtle to make it to the finish line first."
"Why'd he sleep?"
"Daddy said he was too confident 'cause he could run so fast. Figured he had it in the bag."
"In the bag?"
"Oh yeah, you're a kid. It means he knew he'd win. He didn't worry about it. The turtle didn't let the rabbit's speed worry him either. He just kept moving at his slow pace."
"Do you suppose Mister Steva... Steva.. What's his name again?"
"I don't know Steva something. What about him?"
"Do you spose he'll win like the turtle?"
"Nope. Daddy says Eisenhower's got it in the bag."
"That means he'll win right?"
"Yeah."
"Sounds like he's over competent."
"Daddy says this is real life. Everybody knows who's going to win."
"Why they racing then?"
"It's a four malady. Every four years the country goes to the poles to cast a vote."
"Why would you throw votes at poles? Are they the poles holding up the string at the finish line."
"Well yeah."
"Seems like the finish line will be all cluttered up with votes so's they couldn't get across. I don't get it."
"You don't have to. One of them does. Being first across the finish line makes one of 'em president. I guess the clutter makes it more yellable."
"Yellable?"
"Yeah, you know. When they get closer to the end the crowd jumps up and yells. The more clutter, the more difficult, the more yells. Sheesh, don't you know nothin'?"
"So who's winning now."
"It's too early to say. They got a lot of stae lines to cross."
"They have to run through the string at each state?"
"Yup. Each one has two poles connected by a string. The winner runs through that line of string breaking it and then on to the next one."
"Wow. I'd be tired after the first one. That's a lot of running."
Tired of the puzzle we found some mercury and put a few drops on some dimes.
"Look how shiny that dime is," he said holding it up to me.
"Can I try it?"
"Yeah. Just put a cuple of drops on this one. It's real dull."
I tipped the bottle. It spilled over the dime and onto the floor. Rolling silver beads crossed the floor to the heater's grating on the floor.
"Look out!' Clyde yelled. "Now look what you did."
He tried to pick them up. They rolled along the wooden floor. Several rolled together forming larger globules. Clyde started bumping them together. WE both giggled as they made a larger ball of mercury. Since we couldn't pick them up he lifted the floor furnace grating and rolled it under. He gave me the you-better-not-tell look. We returned to our shiny dimes with their slippery feel.
We ate lunch not too long after that, then took a nap. When we woke we went back to the puzzle.
The radio annoucer was still talking about the Presidential Race. "The candidates are still neck and neck as the polls close here in the east."
"Sounds like they use the poles line to hang clothes on, too," Clyde said. He grinned at me as I nodded my head with this new information.
"How's Eisenhower doing in this close race?" Asked the voice on the radio.
A different voice answered, "He's doing just like we thought. He's the favorite and his votes are piling up pretty fast. Of course it's too early to tell but I'm predicting he'll be our next President."
"Do you think Stevenson will drop out of the race if he doesn't get as many votes as he thought?"
"I don't get it, Clyde," I said. "If his votes don't pile up at the finish line he won't have as many to push out of the way. It'll be easy for him to get across first."
"He needs more at the end. It's how much he can get through at the end that gets him across. Remember the more votes the more yelling. The more yelling the better the chance."
"I'll never understand elections."
"Yeah, you will," he said. "Stick with me, nef. You can't go wrong with me teachin' ya."
He smiled at me. It was that smile I would come to know with ever stretch of the truth he would utter.
"Alright you kids. Time to get ready for bed," my grandmother said.
"What about the race? Is it over yet. How can they run all day?" I asked.
"Honey, they're going to be running way into the night. You gotta go to bed. You'll find out who won in the morning. WE all know who's going to win. It'll be President Eisenhower tomorrow."
"Clyde," I said after the lights were turned out.
"What, nef?"
"I don't think Eisenhare will win."
"Why not?"
"He's over competent."
"Oh stop thinking about that puzzle. That's a cartoon. This is real life. You can see in the pictures of Eisenhower. He's no hair."
I could sense the crooked smile in the dark.
My Mind
This is my mind
Friday, January 20, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Your mission, should you accept it...
"Lieutenant, get your bags packed. I need you to go with me to San Francisco."
My CO had called me into his office to tell me this.
"Yes sir. What are we going to San Francisco for?" It was the first I had heard of it.
"It's a committee meeting about transportation. We leave at zero six hundred."
"Yes sir," I said. My hand shot to my forehead in a salute that was acknowledged. It was my dismissal. In an about face I walked from his office closing the door behind me.
"Hey, sarge. Do you know what the captain means by a committee meeting concerning transportation?"
The sergeant smiled. "You'll find out."
"It must be important."
"Very important, Leiutenant," said the sergeant whose grin grew even wider.
"Wonder why he chose me to go. I've only been here for a week."
"Lieutenant Franks usually goes but he is tied up. Left you. You'll enjoy it, Lieutenant." The sergeant chuckled when he said that.
Someithing's not right, I thought to myself. He's enjoying this too much.
"Hey, Lieutenant! Take some civies with you. You'll be gone three days. Give you some time to see some of San Francisco."
"OK. Thanks, sarge."
"You bet."
Returning to my rack I pulled my suitcase from the closet and packed. I began to worry about the assignment. I'd only been out of OTS for a few months. I'd had two weeks leave, which I'd spent at home in Charleston. Then I'd driven straight to Panama City, Florida, for my first posting. The Drone Squadron. I found out it was an elite squadron of a few good men. We manned radar scopes giving directions to pilots, essentially we told pilots where to go. Some of them warranted that even after they were on the ground.
It was our job to fly those jet jockies into oncoming enemy fighters at three hundred miles an hour. We took our boys straight into the path of hostile fighters so they could shoot them out of the sky. The other scopers used computers which were beginning to monopolize the enemy encounters. As I said, we were an elite group. The last of a dying breed. Split second decisions on the ground with the aid of protractors and grease pencils provided hit or miss for jets screaming into the path of the oncoming enemy. Jet on jet practice. Real lives in rocketing tubes of jet fuel. It was nerve wracking.
So this new assignment, even if only 3 days--actually 7 days with travel there and back--was a welcome relief. The night went quickly. I was up and ready on the flight line by 05:30.
"Which plane is ours?" I asked the airman at the desk.
"That one near the hangar. The preflight check is goin on now."
"Thanks," I said dropping my bag by the window. It was an old prop. No jet for us. A huge carrier with four propellers, two on each wing, sat beside the hangar with several airman checking clipboards.
"That's a mighty old plane," I said to the airman.
"Yeah, it's been around a while. That's the one they use on this transportation run."
"It's big."
"Yeah, space is a premium on this run. Goes out empty. Comes back full. You'll be a little cramped coming back."
"What are we bringing back?"
"It's up to the commanding officer to tell you that. Need to know."
"Must be an important run."
"I'm told it is of utmost importance."
'Wow,' I thought to myself. 'A new looey chosen to go on an important mission. A hush-hush mission. I wonder what the heck it could be.' I was nervous and excited to be on my way.
"Oh, there you are." It was my CO.
Saluting, I said, "Yes sir. Lieutenant Croucher reporting, sir."
"Yeah, yeah," he said returning my salute. "Let's leave the formalities for important occasions. We're going to be together for several days. No need to be saluting every time we meet. Got it?"
"Yes sir," I said as my right hand rose smartly to my forehead. "Sorry, sir. It's automatic."
"That's fine. Why don't we go ahead and board."
Several fresh looies were filing in with bags at their sides. The CO introduced everyone before we headed to the plane. The engines were cranking to life as we started up the ladder to the opening. Wind from the roaring props blew my cap off. Down the steps and after it I ran. I made my way against the force of the props cap in hand returning to the ladder.
"Hurry up, Lieutenant. We need to get this plane underway. Flight plans, you know." The CO was casual about it just as he had said.
I found a seat on the bench against the side of the plane. The bay was huge and very empty. We felt every bump along the runway. Without cushions that wooden bench was most uncomfortable as our rear ends bounced unmercifully. We spoke in shouts since the engine noise vibrated throughout our open bay. We stopped at the end of the runway. After a few seconds the engine volume increased and the old crate began to bounce along the stretch of asphalt before us. Our luggage jumped in rhythm to our plane's progress. Finally we felt a lift and a slight turning as the air took us up. I wanted to toss a few cookies but managed to retain them.
The sky welcomed us into the bright morning. Up we flew to our cruising altitude on a heading of WSW. Our mission had begun. The CO moved into the pilot's cabin closing the door. We began to chatter amongst ourselves. We had problems hearing each other since the engines were so loud. The bay we sat in was extremely cold. Our flight was without the simple amenities of heat, food, water and quiet. The topic of our shouting was what our mission was. After continually saying WHAT? and HUH? we decided to rest our voices. Earplugs were used, at least those who had them.
After several hours of goose bumps and chattering teeth the CO emerged from the cockpit.
"OK. You need to get into the seat restraints. We've finished the first leg of our trip. We will be landing in Houston in about forty minutes. We'll be staying overnight, so take your bags with you to the BOQ. I'll show you where to get the best steak in Texas this evening."
He returned to the cockpit. He looked warm.
We landed in Houston about an hour later. We caught a tram to the BOQ and found our billets. The CO kept his promise. We had steaks and many beers. We asked what our mission was. He was evasive but promised that all would be revealed in the proper time.
We stumbled back to our rooms. At the desk the CO asked for our attention.
"We will be leaving at zero-seven-hundred. Don't be late. If you aren't ready we'll have to leave you. Our flight plan is a tight schedule."
"Yes sir, no problem, sir," I slurred along with everyone else.
Nest morning the take off held the added burden of a hangover. Vibrations and loud engines were magnified as our CO watched us. He laughed as we became airborne. One of us lost his breakfst.
"You'll be cleaning that up, Lieutenant," said the CO laughing. He joined the pilots and closed the door to the cockpit.
We headed California way. After about 4 hours the CO emerged. He stood in front of us and began to yell above the engines.
"I know you have all been curious. Our trip will include a comlete tour of the base. It is the first thing on the agenda. Be prepared to make a full report on our tour if it is required in the future. Our ETA is about 30 minutes so get yourselves together and be on good military behavior. Make me proud." He smiled, winked and returned to the cockpit.
A squeal of tires, a bounce sending us a foot off our benches and a second squeal of tires announced our arrival on terra firma once again.
As we came to a stop at the far end of the runway, our CO stepped toward us.
"Hand me my bag, Lieutenant," he said pointing at the black leather one in the corner.
With bag in hand he announced, "We have a tram coming to pick us up. Let's line up outside."
We all grabbed our bags and descended from the plane. We stood in a line along the tamac as the tram apporached. We lifted our bags into the luggage train and climbed in.
Everyone was seated when the tram took off.
"All right people. We begin our tour of the base. We are on the runway at this time. Over there, see the huge siler thing, that's the water tower. Over to your right is the BX. If you need toothpaste or anything else, that's where you can buy it. In front of us you will see the bus which will take you wherever you want to go. You will want to ride that bus to the BOQ and claim a room. And thus endeth the tour of the base. You are on your own until 3 days hence at zero-six-hundred. Go out. Sight see. Enjoy your time in San Francisco."
Puzzled looks spread across every young face. The CO just smiled. As we came to a stop he waved at another captain near the flight office, then hurried over. We didn't see him again for three days.
Our time in San Franciso was a hoot. We rented a car and drove across the Golden Gate Bridge into Sausalito. We vistied the park and hippy filled Haight-Ashbury. We road the vertical streets of the city, which was an adventure to a person from the low country of South Carolina. At night we drank and danced at the local clubs and at the OC. After three days we wearily packed our bags. We downed dramamine to ward off any air sickness we might encounter as we made our way to the flight office. The airman behind the desk checked our names off the light manifest. Lugging bags to the tram we climbed in. The CO was waiting at the plane.
"As you get on you will notice the bay is packed solid. Your benches are there but you may be a bit cramped. Our mission is complete, ladies and gentlemen. Our flight will commence in a few minutes."
He was bright eyed and bushy tailed compared to all of us suffering from excess. He laughed as he signed the manifest and returned it to the airman.
"All right! All aboard. Find a seat and strap in."
Everyone sat and strapped. While the plane rolled down the runway we looked at the freight in front of us. The engines reached their max, we lifted from California soil and winged our way to the east.
'Shit,' I thought as the writing on the boxes began to unfuzz. "Is that what I think it is?"
I yelled above the sound of engine drone.
"What do you think it is?" asked the CO.
"It looks like it spells COORS," I yelled.
"It is, Lieutenant. It is!" he yelled back.
Back in the day, Coors was not sold east of the Mississippi River. Our ride home was packed to the rafters with crates of COORS beer. I had never seen so much beer in one place before. The CO never spoke of our mission to san Francisco again. We took the hint. We never mentioned it again either, at least not until we had drunk a six pack of Coors in our barracks that night.
My CO had called me into his office to tell me this.
"Yes sir. What are we going to San Francisco for?" It was the first I had heard of it.
"It's a committee meeting about transportation. We leave at zero six hundred."
"Yes sir," I said. My hand shot to my forehead in a salute that was acknowledged. It was my dismissal. In an about face I walked from his office closing the door behind me.
"Hey, sarge. Do you know what the captain means by a committee meeting concerning transportation?"
The sergeant smiled. "You'll find out."
"It must be important."
"Very important, Leiutenant," said the sergeant whose grin grew even wider.
"Wonder why he chose me to go. I've only been here for a week."
"Lieutenant Franks usually goes but he is tied up. Left you. You'll enjoy it, Lieutenant." The sergeant chuckled when he said that.
Someithing's not right, I thought to myself. He's enjoying this too much.
"Hey, Lieutenant! Take some civies with you. You'll be gone three days. Give you some time to see some of San Francisco."
"OK. Thanks, sarge."
"You bet."
Returning to my rack I pulled my suitcase from the closet and packed. I began to worry about the assignment. I'd only been out of OTS for a few months. I'd had two weeks leave, which I'd spent at home in Charleston. Then I'd driven straight to Panama City, Florida, for my first posting. The Drone Squadron. I found out it was an elite squadron of a few good men. We manned radar scopes giving directions to pilots, essentially we told pilots where to go. Some of them warranted that even after they were on the ground. It was our job to fly those jet jockies into oncoming enemy fighters at three hundred miles an hour. We took our boys straight into the path of hostile fighters so they could shoot them out of the sky. The other scopers used computers which were beginning to monopolize the enemy encounters. As I said, we were an elite group. The last of a dying breed. Split second decisions on the ground with the aid of protractors and grease pencils provided hit or miss for jets screaming into the path of the oncoming enemy. Jet on jet practice. Real lives in rocketing tubes of jet fuel. It was nerve wracking.
So this new assignment, even if only 3 days--actually 7 days with travel there and back--was a welcome relief. The night went quickly. I was up and ready on the flight line by 05:30.
"Which plane is ours?" I asked the airman at the desk.
"That one near the hangar. The preflight check is goin on now."
"Thanks," I said dropping my bag by the window. It was an old prop. No jet for us. A huge carrier with four propellers, two on each wing, sat beside the hangar with several airman checking clipboards.
"That's a mighty old plane," I said to the airman.
"Yeah, it's been around a while. That's the one they use on this transportation run."
"It's big."
"Yeah, space is a premium on this run. Goes out empty. Comes back full. You'll be a little cramped coming back."
"What are we bringing back?"
"It's up to the commanding officer to tell you that. Need to know."
"Must be an important run."
"I'm told it is of utmost importance."
'Wow,' I thought to myself. 'A new looey chosen to go on an important mission. A hush-hush mission. I wonder what the heck it could be.' I was nervous and excited to be on my way.
"Oh, there you are." It was my CO.
Saluting, I said, "Yes sir. Lieutenant Croucher reporting, sir."
"Yeah, yeah," he said returning my salute. "Let's leave the formalities for important occasions. We're going to be together for several days. No need to be saluting every time we meet. Got it?"
"Yes sir," I said as my right hand rose smartly to my forehead. "Sorry, sir. It's automatic."
"That's fine. Why don't we go ahead and board."
Several fresh looies were filing in with bags at their sides. The CO introduced everyone before we headed to the plane. The engines were cranking to life as we started up the ladder to the opening. Wind from the roaring props blew my cap off. Down the steps and after it I ran. I made my way against the force of the props cap in hand returning to the ladder.
"Hurry up, Lieutenant. We need to get this plane underway. Flight plans, you know." The CO was casual about it just as he had said.
I found a seat on the bench against the side of the plane. The bay was huge and very empty. We felt every bump along the runway. Without cushions that wooden bench was most uncomfortable as our rear ends bounced unmercifully. We spoke in shouts since the engine noise vibrated throughout our open bay. We stopped at the end of the runway. After a few seconds the engine volume increased and the old crate began to bounce along the stretch of asphalt before us. Our luggage jumped in rhythm to our plane's progress. Finally we felt a lift and a slight turning as the air took us up. I wanted to toss a few cookies but managed to retain them.
The sky welcomed us into the bright morning. Up we flew to our cruising altitude on a heading of WSW. Our mission had begun. The CO moved into the pilot's cabin closing the door. We began to chatter amongst ourselves. We had problems hearing each other since the engines were so loud. The bay we sat in was extremely cold. Our flight was without the simple amenities of heat, food, water and quiet. The topic of our shouting was what our mission was. After continually saying WHAT? and HUH? we decided to rest our voices. Earplugs were used, at least those who had them.
After several hours of goose bumps and chattering teeth the CO emerged from the cockpit.
"OK. You need to get into the seat restraints. We've finished the first leg of our trip. We will be landing in Houston in about forty minutes. We'll be staying overnight, so take your bags with you to the BOQ. I'll show you where to get the best steak in Texas this evening."
He returned to the cockpit. He looked warm.
We landed in Houston about an hour later. We caught a tram to the BOQ and found our billets. The CO kept his promise. We had steaks and many beers. We asked what our mission was. He was evasive but promised that all would be revealed in the proper time.
We stumbled back to our rooms. At the desk the CO asked for our attention.
"We will be leaving at zero-seven-hundred. Don't be late. If you aren't ready we'll have to leave you. Our flight plan is a tight schedule."
"Yes sir, no problem, sir," I slurred along with everyone else.
Nest morning the take off held the added burden of a hangover. Vibrations and loud engines were magnified as our CO watched us. He laughed as we became airborne. One of us lost his breakfst.
"You'll be cleaning that up, Lieutenant," said the CO laughing. He joined the pilots and closed the door to the cockpit.
We headed California way. After about 4 hours the CO emerged. He stood in front of us and began to yell above the engines.
"I know you have all been curious. Our trip will include a comlete tour of the base. It is the first thing on the agenda. Be prepared to make a full report on our tour if it is required in the future. Our ETA is about 30 minutes so get yourselves together and be on good military behavior. Make me proud." He smiled, winked and returned to the cockpit.
A squeal of tires, a bounce sending us a foot off our benches and a second squeal of tires announced our arrival on terra firma once again.
As we came to a stop at the far end of the runway, our CO stepped toward us.
"Hand me my bag, Lieutenant," he said pointing at the black leather one in the corner.
With bag in hand he announced, "We have a tram coming to pick us up. Let's line up outside."
We all grabbed our bags and descended from the plane. We stood in a line along the tamac as the tram apporached. We lifted our bags into the luggage train and climbed in.
Everyone was seated when the tram took off.
"All right people. We begin our tour of the base. We are on the runway at this time. Over there, see the huge siler thing, that's the water tower. Over to your right is the BX. If you need toothpaste or anything else, that's where you can buy it. In front of us you will see the bus which will take you wherever you want to go. You will want to ride that bus to the BOQ and claim a room. And thus endeth the tour of the base. You are on your own until 3 days hence at zero-six-hundred. Go out. Sight see. Enjoy your time in San Francisco."
Puzzled looks spread across every young face. The CO just smiled. As we came to a stop he waved at another captain near the flight office, then hurried over. We didn't see him again for three days.
Our time in San Franciso was a hoot. We rented a car and drove across the Golden Gate Bridge into Sausalito. We vistied the park and hippy filled Haight-Ashbury. We road the vertical streets of the city, which was an adventure to a person from the low country of South Carolina. At night we drank and danced at the local clubs and at the OC. After three days we wearily packed our bags. We downed dramamine to ward off any air sickness we might encounter as we made our way to the flight office. The airman behind the desk checked our names off the light manifest. Lugging bags to the tram we climbed in. The CO was waiting at the plane.
"As you get on you will notice the bay is packed solid. Your benches are there but you may be a bit cramped. Our mission is complete, ladies and gentlemen. Our flight will commence in a few minutes."
He was bright eyed and bushy tailed compared to all of us suffering from excess. He laughed as he signed the manifest and returned it to the airman.
"All right! All aboard. Find a seat and strap in."
Everyone sat and strapped. While the plane rolled down the runway we looked at the freight in front of us. The engines reached their max, we lifted from California soil and winged our way to the east.
'Shit,' I thought as the writing on the boxes began to unfuzz. "Is that what I think it is?"
I yelled above the sound of engine drone.
"What do you think it is?" asked the CO.
"It looks like it spells COORS," I yelled.
"It is, Lieutenant. It is!" he yelled back.
Back in the day, Coors was not sold east of the Mississippi River. Our ride home was packed to the rafters with crates of COORS beer. I had never seen so much beer in one place before. The CO never spoke of our mission to san Francisco again. We took the hint. We never mentioned it again either, at least not until we had drunk a six pack of Coors in our barracks that night.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Glovely to meet you
"There's going to be a fight at recess over near the 8th grade class under the oak!" R--- yelled at me as he ran along the breezeway.
"Who's fightin'?" I yelled back picking up my pace in the direction of the crowd of students mulling around under the oak.
"You know, D--- and J---. He went too far this time and J--- swung at him." I heard a voice in the crowd say.
Another voice popped up, "Ole Droopy Drawers caught 'em and told 'em they could finish it out here with the gloves." Ole Droopy Drawers was the moniker we students had given the phys ed teacher whose actual name sounded much like it.
"When does it start?"
"Any minute now..."
"Hey, there they are. Droopy's got the gloves and the guys are dressed out."
"All right you kids," shouted Droopy, "form a circle big enough for these two bucks to pelt it out."
He threw the gloves to J--- and D---. "Put 'em on boys. You’ve been wantin' to have it out for a long time. Now's your chance, with official sanction. I want a clean fight with no dirty punches. You keep it up til one of you gives up or one of you is down. I will declare the winner unless I feel it is a tie." He helped the slower one with the glove's laces.
I turned to one of my classmates and asked, "What is this all about?"
"Oh, you know. Her." He pointed to the slim brunette standing at the back of the crowd. She slipped behind the oak tree. She was red faced and crying. I noticed after the first punch was thrown that she had disappeared.
I remember the first day. We were brand new 8th graders and scared out of our minds. The stories we had heard about the initiation of grammar school kids entering these higher grades were frightful. Paint and mud and other noxious substances were smeared on the new kids the year before at the moment they stepped on the bus. Not one of us was looking forward to our turn. However, this year those antics were dispensed with. I guess the parents and teachers put a stop to it somehow because it didn't happen to one of us that year nor to any other new student from then on. That was one of the experiences that made me realize that nothing is really as bad as one imagines, no matter how scary the stories of a new unknown territory.
Well, J---'s first reaction to the petite brunette was totally unlike him. His eyes went, oh,
so big and drool emerged from the corner of his mouth. He looked like the aftermath of a skillet/skull encounter. This goofy smile crept over his face. He stepped an inch above the ground and floated over to her. I lost track of him as I made my way to my class. She was looking at him with fluttering eyes and he was gasping out words of no relation one to another. I shook my head as I left him behind.
This girl was from a different area and had attended a different grammar school. She was new to us. She was a real eye opener for J---. He'd never met anyone who had such an affect on him. He was a totally different boy, uh, man. First love truly does alter one. He was definitely altered and never the same again. They saw each other between classes and everything was hunky dory until D--- stepped into the breezeway.
He had gone to the same grammar school as this young girl and had always considered her his. This he made known to my friend after she walked off to class. D--- waited until she was gone, then came over to voice his thoughts on this budding romance.
"You stay the hell away from my girl!"
"Your girl? She doesn't seem to know that. She's been very friendly with me."
"Maybe, but you better keep your distance or I'll make you."
"Oh yeah?" J--- said leaning towards him.
"Yeah!" said D--- leaning into J---.
They pushed one another double handed in the chest as boys are want to do until their friends made the effort to pull them apart. "Stop it guys. You'll get into trouble."
"You better keep your distance, buddy."
"I'll do what I want, BUDDY."
Yup, I remember how it all began. A feast for the intellect. And, now, it had finally made it to the "ring" of shouting students. They each had their gloves on. Droopy blew the whistle and stepped back into the crowd. The roar of this growing crowd lifted and the two boys began to circle each other. Did I denote a touch of fear in each of them?
"Come on, boys, quit dancin' in there and lets see some punching. You've been threatening each other for a long time. Get on with it!" The coach was really getting into the spirit of this thing. He wanted to see some boxing.
Wait, I did detect a touch of fear in D---'s eyes. He was big and had never really had anyone accept a challenge. This was out of the ordinary and it could be seen that he was not happy about it. J--- was smaller, but wiry, and had been hitting the weights for a couple of months so he was a taut spring ready to lash out. His face showed no fear only determination to end this.
The first punch was finally thrown to the yells of "kill 'im" "murder 'im" "come on J---" "come on D---" "fight, fight, fight"
Nothing original in the crowd's encouragement. J--- landed a punch and D--- staggered back. He'd tasted his own blood now. He stepped back to the middle and threw his first punch, a lucky one, which glanced across J---'s flattop causing him to fall to the right. Thinking he'd hurt him D--- stepped in to land another but was caught with an uppercut that laid him out. Droopy's whistle blew and he edged J--- away stepping to D---. "You all right, son?"
"Yeah, he didn't hurt me."
"You fellas ready to call it quits?"
"NO!" They yelled in unison and the crowd of students cheered them on with renewed vigor.
"All right. Rest a minute and collect your thoughts. Wait for the whistle and come out punching."
They stared at each other with renewed anger. The whistle sounded.
They jumped at each other and threw punches non stop for almost a minute. Neither landed a blow of significance, each warding off the other's lethal swing. They backed off and waded back in with spirit. Punches flew and punches were blocked for another minute and the whistle blasted.
"Once again, you boys had enough?"
"NO," said J---. "I want to end this here."
"No," said D--- with reluctance in his voice.
"All right, one more round. Then you have to shake hands and let this go."
The whistle blew. D--- stepped into a left hook. He dropped. Droopy ran in to separate them. "How do you feel?"
"I'm OK. Lucky punch."
"Ready to stop?"
"No."
"Get up then. One more minute."
D--- got up lifted his guard and began swinging. J--- blocked and countered. They were a whir of gloves zipping here and there with sounds of leather on leather buffeting the air. Body punches popped grunts of pain from both of them. The sweat poured off them like a fountain. With each new punch the jolt splattered the first row students. Some were pelted with sweat mingled with blood that flowed from both boxers’ noses. It's true that blood does set of the crowd's frenzy to see more fleshly destruction. This group was no different.
The boxers were beginning to show their exhaustion as the punches came slower. The weight of the gloves began to show. Their movements had lost the spring and velocity. Sweat mingled with the dust they churned up plastering patches of dry grey dirt amid thin layers of mud. Their chests were heaving to capture air as the whistle blew. Droopy stepped between them. They lowered their arms and smiled with relief.
They looked at one another and broke out in grins.
"OK, boys, you did all right by yourselves. I declare it a draw. Now, you need to hit the showers before your next class." Looking at us, he said' "All right, boys and girls, the show is over. You can go to your classes now."
We separated to go to our individual classrooms. The excitement was high amongst the spectators. I looked back at J--- and D--- who had provided the moment's entertainment. They were headed to the showers each with his arm over the shoulder of the other. Their ordeal was over. They had a new respect for one another. I'd like to say they became best friends but they didn't. They never fought again, though.
That fight was the only one under the supervision of a teacher I witnessed. If a student had a beef with another, it was handled after school. I don't know if Ole Droopy Drawers got into trouble for that little exhibition but it was never repeated at school again. It has become legend with the students of our graduating class. Each reunion year that fight is discussed.
The girl? She gained notoriety as the girl two students fought over. J--- met someone else who eventually took him down the church's aisle. D---? He never claimed this girl as his again and met another a few months later.
What did it all mean? Nothing really. It was one of life's lessons for the participants and for the spectators. No moral, or lesson, learned other than life is really....uh, life is...well, life…
Yeah, it is isn't it?
"Who's fightin'?" I yelled back picking up my pace in the direction of the crowd of students mulling around under the oak.
"You know, D--- and J---. He went too far this time and J--- swung at him." I heard a voice in the crowd say.
Another voice popped up, "Ole Droopy Drawers caught 'em and told 'em they could finish it out here with the gloves." Ole Droopy Drawers was the moniker we students had given the phys ed teacher whose actual name sounded much like it.
"When does it start?"
"Any minute now..."
"Hey, there they are. Droopy's got the gloves and the guys are dressed out."
"All right you kids," shouted Droopy, "form a circle big enough for these two bucks to pelt it out."
He threw the gloves to J--- and D---. "Put 'em on boys. You’ve been wantin' to have it out for a long time. Now's your chance, with official sanction. I want a clean fight with no dirty punches. You keep it up til one of you gives up or one of you is down. I will declare the winner unless I feel it is a tie." He helped the slower one with the glove's laces.
I turned to one of my classmates and asked, "What is this all about?"
"Oh, you know. Her." He pointed to the slim brunette standing at the back of the crowd. She slipped behind the oak tree. She was red faced and crying. I noticed after the first punch was thrown that she had disappeared.
I remember the first day. We were brand new 8th graders and scared out of our minds. The stories we had heard about the initiation of grammar school kids entering these higher grades were frightful. Paint and mud and other noxious substances were smeared on the new kids the year before at the moment they stepped on the bus. Not one of us was looking forward to our turn. However, this year those antics were dispensed with. I guess the parents and teachers put a stop to it somehow because it didn't happen to one of us that year nor to any other new student from then on. That was one of the experiences that made me realize that nothing is really as bad as one imagines, no matter how scary the stories of a new unknown territory.
Well, J---'s first reaction to the petite brunette was totally unlike him. His eyes went, oh,
so big and drool emerged from the corner of his mouth. He looked like the aftermath of a skillet/skull encounter. This goofy smile crept over his face. He stepped an inch above the ground and floated over to her. I lost track of him as I made my way to my class. She was looking at him with fluttering eyes and he was gasping out words of no relation one to another. I shook my head as I left him behind.
This girl was from a different area and had attended a different grammar school. She was new to us. She was a real eye opener for J---. He'd never met anyone who had such an affect on him. He was a totally different boy, uh, man. First love truly does alter one. He was definitely altered and never the same again. They saw each other between classes and everything was hunky dory until D--- stepped into the breezeway.
He had gone to the same grammar school as this young girl and had always considered her his. This he made known to my friend after she walked off to class. D--- waited until she was gone, then came over to voice his thoughts on this budding romance.
"You stay the hell away from my girl!"
"Your girl? She doesn't seem to know that. She's been very friendly with me."
"Maybe, but you better keep your distance or I'll make you."
"Oh yeah?" J--- said leaning towards him.
"Yeah!" said D--- leaning into J---.
They pushed one another double handed in the chest as boys are want to do until their friends made the effort to pull them apart. "Stop it guys. You'll get into trouble."
"You better keep your distance, buddy."
"I'll do what I want, BUDDY."
Yup, I remember how it all began. A feast for the intellect. And, now, it had finally made it to the "ring" of shouting students. They each had their gloves on. Droopy blew the whistle and stepped back into the crowd. The roar of this growing crowd lifted and the two boys began to circle each other. Did I denote a touch of fear in each of them?
"Come on, boys, quit dancin' in there and lets see some punching. You've been threatening each other for a long time. Get on with it!" The coach was really getting into the spirit of this thing. He wanted to see some boxing.
Wait, I did detect a touch of fear in D---'s eyes. He was big and had never really had anyone accept a challenge. This was out of the ordinary and it could be seen that he was not happy about it. J--- was smaller, but wiry, and had been hitting the weights for a couple of months so he was a taut spring ready to lash out. His face showed no fear only determination to end this.
The first punch was finally thrown to the yells of "kill 'im" "murder 'im" "come on J---" "come on D---" "fight, fight, fight"
Nothing original in the crowd's encouragement. J--- landed a punch and D--- staggered back. He'd tasted his own blood now. He stepped back to the middle and threw his first punch, a lucky one, which glanced across J---'s flattop causing him to fall to the right. Thinking he'd hurt him D--- stepped in to land another but was caught with an uppercut that laid him out. Droopy's whistle blew and he edged J--- away stepping to D---. "You all right, son?"
"Yeah, he didn't hurt me."
"You fellas ready to call it quits?"
"NO!" They yelled in unison and the crowd of students cheered them on with renewed vigor.
"All right. Rest a minute and collect your thoughts. Wait for the whistle and come out punching."
They stared at each other with renewed anger. The whistle sounded.
They jumped at each other and threw punches non stop for almost a minute. Neither landed a blow of significance, each warding off the other's lethal swing. They backed off and waded back in with spirit. Punches flew and punches were blocked for another minute and the whistle blasted.
"Once again, you boys had enough?"
"NO," said J---. "I want to end this here."
"No," said D--- with reluctance in his voice.
"All right, one more round. Then you have to shake hands and let this go."
The whistle blew. D--- stepped into a left hook. He dropped. Droopy ran in to separate them. "How do you feel?"
"I'm OK. Lucky punch."
"Ready to stop?"
"No."
"Get up then. One more minute."
D--- got up lifted his guard and began swinging. J--- blocked and countered. They were a whir of gloves zipping here and there with sounds of leather on leather buffeting the air. Body punches popped grunts of pain from both of them. The sweat poured off them like a fountain. With each new punch the jolt splattered the first row students. Some were pelted with sweat mingled with blood that flowed from both boxers’ noses. It's true that blood does set of the crowd's frenzy to see more fleshly destruction. This group was no different.
The boxers were beginning to show their exhaustion as the punches came slower. The weight of the gloves began to show. Their movements had lost the spring and velocity. Sweat mingled with the dust they churned up plastering patches of dry grey dirt amid thin layers of mud. Their chests were heaving to capture air as the whistle blew. Droopy stepped between them. They lowered their arms and smiled with relief.
They looked at one another and broke out in grins.
"OK, boys, you did all right by yourselves. I declare it a draw. Now, you need to hit the showers before your next class." Looking at us, he said' "All right, boys and girls, the show is over. You can go to your classes now."
We separated to go to our individual classrooms. The excitement was high amongst the spectators. I looked back at J--- and D--- who had provided the moment's entertainment. They were headed to the showers each with his arm over the shoulder of the other. Their ordeal was over. They had a new respect for one another. I'd like to say they became best friends but they didn't. They never fought again, though.
That fight was the only one under the supervision of a teacher I witnessed. If a student had a beef with another, it was handled after school. I don't know if Ole Droopy Drawers got into trouble for that little exhibition but it was never repeated at school again. It has become legend with the students of our graduating class. Each reunion year that fight is discussed.
The girl? She gained notoriety as the girl two students fought over. J--- met someone else who eventually took him down the church's aisle. D---? He never claimed this girl as his again and met another a few months later.
What did it all mean? Nothing really. It was one of life's lessons for the participants and for the spectators. No moral, or lesson, learned other than life is really....uh, life is...well, life…
Yeah, it is isn't it?
Monday, January 16, 2012
Branded.
"Nuts! Hot nuts! You get 'em from the peanut man! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!"
"It's the Hot Nuts, man!" Folly pier was jumping that night. "How 'bout another beer?" I was yelling to my old friend. We'd come to the pier to drink and check out babes. The drinking was winning at this particular stage of the night.
"Thanks, man," R-- yelled at the bar tender. He slid two paper cups of suds his way. I reached over to grab mine. "Next round's on you!" R--- yelled at me. The band was loud and raunchy as they ploughed into their version of Barnacle Bill the sailor.
"Be glad they aren't playing Super Grose!"
"What? What do you mean Super Gross?"
"When the perform they guarantee one of three ways. For the regular fee, they perform like they are tonight. For a little extra, they perform in bathing suits which would be fine for the beach, but if they are paid their highest fee they appear on stage Super Gross."
It was difficult to hear over the performers on stage and the listeners joining in below.
"Still don't know what you mean by Super Gross," I shouted back.
"Super Gross? They perform in jock straps!"
Whether that was true or not I don't know but it made a good story. We laughed. Some beer spewed out of my nose.
"That would be hilarious. It would be too raunchy for Charleston and the Bible belt though.'
We continued to laugh quaffing our drafts. R-- finished first. He looked at me as I gulped the last of mine.
"Yeah, we need another," I yelled pulling some ones from my pocket. Manipulating my way through the mass of bodies, wriggling toward the bar with money in hand I finally grabbed the railing and pulled my way through.
"Two drafts!" I yelled at the man drawing beer into cups and pitchers. He nodded my way. He was constantly pulling on the lever filling cup after cup, sliding them to customers. He finally slid mine over and lifted the bills from my hand. I grabbed them turning to tough it through the crowd. R---'s sloshed on my shirt as I was drinking mine. There was no way to know who bumped me that hard. It was like walking through a buffalo stampede.
"Here ya go!" The boys on stage were hitting the beat to Baby Let Me Bang Your Box as I offered R--- his cup.
"You only got me half a cup?"
"Got bumped on the way. See my shirt?"
"You got more in the other cup. How come I didn't get that one?"
"Next time you can go. Then you get the cup that's fuller."
He took it, downed it, then headed for the bar.
"Get me one too!"
He nodded then was lost in the mass of drunken beach bums.
I'd finished mine by the time he returned handing me a half full cup.
"What happened?"
"Spilled some!" he yelled. His upper lip was covered in foam.
"Yeah, sure," I said. When my half cup was gone, I started toward the bar.
The trip to and from the bar was made with no mishaps this time. I handed him a cup as the band quieted down.
"We gonna take a break now. Ya'll drink up now. Back in fifteen." Dave Clark of the Hot Nuts turned away from the mike after his announcement. The band slipped outside to catch a smoke and a quick snort of hootch. Their red jackets were soaked through with sweat. Theirs was a hyper performance making use of the entire stage. The energy from the performance was reflected in the audience on the dance floor.
R-- and I turned toward the ocean and leaned against the rail.
"Lookit," I said. "Think it's high tide?"
"Looks pretty close don't it?" R--- said leaning over the rail.
"Watch out, brother," came a voice followed by a hand grabbing R--- by the collar. "You don't want to be falling over."
R--'s brother had seen us. "How you doin', Slick?" he said to me.
I lifted my near empty cup in his direction. "Drinkin' just fine."
"Bands coming back on stage. You boys be careful. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
That left the field wide open. We laughed and waved as he left.
"Do you think we could jump over the rail?" R-- asked when his brother was out of range.
"We might but do you wanna get you clothes all wet. Plus, you know you're a little drunk, don't you?"
"Of course I am. I wouldn't consider it if I weren't."
"Well, let's don't and say we did."
"OK." He turned toward the stage. "Let's get another beer and see who's here. Maybe pick up a chick."
"Yes, let's"
As the band started up with My Din-A-Ling we got a beer and began to walk around the pier between the dance floor and the tables.
"Wow, would you look at that! Ain't she something?" R-- said.
I looked where he pointed. There was a girl about 5'2" with deep blue eyes and red lips framed in deep chestnut hair drifting in the sea breeze. A vision unaffected by beer goggles. She was being chatted up by a pimply faced bruiser in a black leather jacket.
Being slightly tipsy...naw, we were three sheets to the wind...we made comments as we passed.
"Look at him," I said.
"Now don't judge a book by its cover," R---said.
"He looks like a farmer," I chipped in.
"But thinks he's a lover," R--- finished up.
Pimply face looked up at that. He said something to Miss Universe and walked away. R-- and I thought nothing of it. We were just enjoying the beer buzz and excitement all around.
Something tapped my shoulder. I turned. There was pimply face.
"Whadid you say back there?"
"We were just funnin'," I replied.
"Well, I didn't take much fun in it. All I can say to you is you better find some friends because I'm telling you that I want you over that end of the pier in 10 minutes. If you ain't there I'm coming lookin' for ya. Not alone neither."
Startled by this I said, "OK." He turned and walked off.
"Hey, R---. Where do you think your brother is?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Weren't you listening to that guy?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"I think he means it. I think we need C-- and his friends behind us when we meet this guy."
"You think?"
"Yeah."
OK. I'll go find him."
After about five minutes R-- came back with his brother and five of his friends.
"What did you two do now? You gonna get your asses kicked? Good thing we were here. Show us the way. We'll back you up."
R-- and I started toward the back rail of the pier with his brother and frineds in tow. Pimply face was there with a couple of guys in leather jackets. In the back ground we could here the first refrains of Roll Me Over.
"Hey," I said. "You wanted to see us?"
"Yeah," pimply face said eying the six bruisers behind R-- and me.
"Well, I want you to know that we apologize for what we said to you. We were only mouthing off. We've had a few beers and were just joking around. You Ok with my apology?"
"Well, yeah," he said looking at R---'s brother and friends. "Yeah, I do. We been drinkin' too. Ain't no use gettin' all worked up over something so stupid. I accept."
He and his friends nodded and walked off toward the exit.
"You know, I oughta beat the shit outta you myself, Rickey. You chicken shit bastard. You should have waded into him, not apologized. You chicken shit."
"Well, C---, I couldn't see any sense in getting R--- and me beat to a pulp over a few words said in jest. We weren't itchin' for a fight. We just came to have fun."
"I still oughta beat the shit outta you. If you weren't Clyde's nephew I probably would."
With that he and his friends left still calling me chicken shit. In his eyes I still register as chicken shit. To me it was just stupid. Killed the rest of the night for me, though.
R--and I left as the hot Nuts ripped into Bang Bang Lulu. The cold air had a sobering affect as we walked to the car.
"It's the Hot Nuts, man!" Folly pier was jumping that night. "How 'bout another beer?" I was yelling to my old friend. We'd come to the pier to drink and check out babes. The drinking was winning at this particular stage of the night.
"Thanks, man," R-- yelled at the bar tender. He slid two paper cups of suds his way. I reached over to grab mine. "Next round's on you!" R--- yelled at me. The band was loud and raunchy as they ploughed into their version of Barnacle Bill the sailor.
"Be glad they aren't playing Super Grose!"
"What? What do you mean Super Gross?"
"When the perform they guarantee one of three ways. For the regular fee, they perform like they are tonight. For a little extra, they perform in bathing suits which would be fine for the beach, but if they are paid their highest fee they appear on stage Super Gross."
It was difficult to hear over the performers on stage and the listeners joining in below.
"Still don't know what you mean by Super Gross," I shouted back.
"Super Gross? They perform in jock straps!"
Whether that was true or not I don't know but it made a good story. We laughed. Some beer spewed out of my nose.
"That would be hilarious. It would be too raunchy for Charleston and the Bible belt though.'
We continued to laugh quaffing our drafts. R-- finished first. He looked at me as I gulped the last of mine.
"Yeah, we need another," I yelled pulling some ones from my pocket. Manipulating my way through the mass of bodies, wriggling toward the bar with money in hand I finally grabbed the railing and pulled my way through.
"Two drafts!" I yelled at the man drawing beer into cups and pitchers. He nodded my way. He was constantly pulling on the lever filling cup after cup, sliding them to customers. He finally slid mine over and lifted the bills from my hand. I grabbed them turning to tough it through the crowd. R---'s sloshed on my shirt as I was drinking mine. There was no way to know who bumped me that hard. It was like walking through a buffalo stampede.
"Here ya go!" The boys on stage were hitting the beat to Baby Let Me Bang Your Box as I offered R--- his cup.
"You only got me half a cup?"
"Got bumped on the way. See my shirt?"
"You got more in the other cup. How come I didn't get that one?"
"Next time you can go. Then you get the cup that's fuller."
He took it, downed it, then headed for the bar.
"Get me one too!"
He nodded then was lost in the mass of drunken beach bums.
I'd finished mine by the time he returned handing me a half full cup.
"What happened?"
"Spilled some!" he yelled. His upper lip was covered in foam.
"Yeah, sure," I said. When my half cup was gone, I started toward the bar.
The trip to and from the bar was made with no mishaps this time. I handed him a cup as the band quieted down.
"We gonna take a break now. Ya'll drink up now. Back in fifteen." Dave Clark of the Hot Nuts turned away from the mike after his announcement. The band slipped outside to catch a smoke and a quick snort of hootch. Their red jackets were soaked through with sweat. Theirs was a hyper performance making use of the entire stage. The energy from the performance was reflected in the audience on the dance floor.
R-- and I turned toward the ocean and leaned against the rail.
"Lookit," I said. "Think it's high tide?"
"Looks pretty close don't it?" R--- said leaning over the rail.
"Watch out, brother," came a voice followed by a hand grabbing R--- by the collar. "You don't want to be falling over."
R--'s brother had seen us. "How you doin', Slick?" he said to me.
I lifted my near empty cup in his direction. "Drinkin' just fine."
"Bands coming back on stage. You boys be careful. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
That left the field wide open. We laughed and waved as he left.
"Do you think we could jump over the rail?" R-- asked when his brother was out of range.
"We might but do you wanna get you clothes all wet. Plus, you know you're a little drunk, don't you?"
"Of course I am. I wouldn't consider it if I weren't."
"Well, let's don't and say we did."
"OK." He turned toward the stage. "Let's get another beer and see who's here. Maybe pick up a chick."
"Yes, let's"
As the band started up with My Din-A-Ling we got a beer and began to walk around the pier between the dance floor and the tables.
"Wow, would you look at that! Ain't she something?" R-- said.
I looked where he pointed. There was a girl about 5'2" with deep blue eyes and red lips framed in deep chestnut hair drifting in the sea breeze. A vision unaffected by beer goggles. She was being chatted up by a pimply faced bruiser in a black leather jacket.
Being slightly tipsy...naw, we were three sheets to the wind...we made comments as we passed.
"Look at him," I said.
"Now don't judge a book by its cover," R---said.
"He looks like a farmer," I chipped in.
"But thinks he's a lover," R--- finished up.
Pimply face looked up at that. He said something to Miss Universe and walked away. R-- and I thought nothing of it. We were just enjoying the beer buzz and excitement all around.
Something tapped my shoulder. I turned. There was pimply face.
"Whadid you say back there?"
"We were just funnin'," I replied.
"Well, I didn't take much fun in it. All I can say to you is you better find some friends because I'm telling you that I want you over that end of the pier in 10 minutes. If you ain't there I'm coming lookin' for ya. Not alone neither."
Startled by this I said, "OK." He turned and walked off.
"Hey, R---. Where do you think your brother is?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Weren't you listening to that guy?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"I think he means it. I think we need C-- and his friends behind us when we meet this guy."
"You think?"
"Yeah."
OK. I'll go find him."
After about five minutes R-- came back with his brother and five of his friends.
"What did you two do now? You gonna get your asses kicked? Good thing we were here. Show us the way. We'll back you up."
R-- and I started toward the back rail of the pier with his brother and frineds in tow. Pimply face was there with a couple of guys in leather jackets. In the back ground we could here the first refrains of Roll Me Over.
"Hey," I said. "You wanted to see us?"
"Yeah," pimply face said eying the six bruisers behind R-- and me.
"Well, I want you to know that we apologize for what we said to you. We were only mouthing off. We've had a few beers and were just joking around. You Ok with my apology?"
"Well, yeah," he said looking at R---'s brother and friends. "Yeah, I do. We been drinkin' too. Ain't no use gettin' all worked up over something so stupid. I accept."
He and his friends nodded and walked off toward the exit.
"You know, I oughta beat the shit outta you myself, Rickey. You chicken shit bastard. You should have waded into him, not apologized. You chicken shit."
"Well, C---, I couldn't see any sense in getting R--- and me beat to a pulp over a few words said in jest. We weren't itchin' for a fight. We just came to have fun."
"I still oughta beat the shit outta you. If you weren't Clyde's nephew I probably would."
With that he and his friends left still calling me chicken shit. In his eyes I still register as chicken shit. To me it was just stupid. Killed the rest of the night for me, though.
R--and I left as the hot Nuts ripped into Bang Bang Lulu. The cold air had a sobering affect as we walked to the car.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
As opposed to?
Some mornings I got up compelled to write. These last few, not so much. Things came tumbling out on occasion. The last few days have not been so. The words hide. The ones that come don't group so well. There is no idea behind them.
Consider the word, story. If there is no idea there is no story. Memory is another. They jumbled in one upon another clammering to be brought to light. Now I look behind every tree in the forest of my mind without finding a one. Having to hunt for them was never necessary. One after another they came running and jumping screaming me! me! me next! Not even an echo of such screams bounce around.
Since they are not there I have nothing to write. Perhaps it is over.
Consider the word, story. If there is no idea there is no story. Memory is another. They jumbled in one upon another clammering to be brought to light. Now I look behind every tree in the forest of my mind without finding a one. Having to hunt for them was never necessary. One after another they came running and jumping screaming me! me! me next! Not even an echo of such screams bounce around.
Since they are not there I have nothing to write. Perhaps it is over.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Hope? Change? or simply a dream?
Ladies and Genlemen, The President of the United States.
**applause**
As your President I have had to deal with so many problems handed down to me by my predecessors. I've made decisions which many of you do not support. That's because you don't understand my vision for America.
Since I took office I have undergone a change, a crisis of conscience if you will. I have seen the problems we have unleashed upon the world and wish to apologize to all the countries of the globe. I tried in the beginning to simply apologize to those leaders but I wasn't taken seriously by them. So, now, I have come up with the only solution that will prove how serious I am.
I have placed upon each and everyone of you the burden to prove how sincere I am.
As of tomorrow I ask each citizen to pack his or her belongings and prepare to be moved to other parts of the world. It is only right that we should give up our land to all those who have suffered through the mistakes made by those in office before me.
Each of you will receive a ticket to the land we deem you should live. I have had my hand picked staff check into the ancestry of every citizen. Those with known ties to certain countries will be moved there provided they will be accepted. Those with no known ancestry ties will be sent where ever they might be accepted.
There wil be no further protection from the United States government because we, too, as citizens will receive our tickets as well.
I know this will inconvenience everyone, but it is only right to offer up our land and our country to those who will provide a more honest and civilized occupation.
By righting the wrongs of past administrations we give up our homes in return for hope of peace in the world.
I am certain the new occupants of our homes will insure world peace by our generation's sacrifice.
You will have a week to comply. I am certain you will find your new countries to be more upstanding and honest with you now that America will no longer exist. The world at large will breathe a sigh of relief. You will all be welcomed with open arms because of your sacrifice.
We have brought too much harm to the world as Americans. Now is the time to take up the placards of foreign countries demanding a more benevolent country establish itself as the beacon of hope we once were.
Those living in this country illegally can begin to claim the vacated neighborhoods and factories. May you all bring life to this great land that will prove the present owners sacrifices were not in vain. You will have the chance to pave the way for new hope and change. May peace now reign on our planet.
What the... What a dream. I woke up in a cold sweat. Geez, I am so glad this was only a dream. A really stupid dream.
**applause**
As your President I have had to deal with so many problems handed down to me by my predecessors. I've made decisions which many of you do not support. That's because you don't understand my vision for America.
Since I took office I have undergone a change, a crisis of conscience if you will. I have seen the problems we have unleashed upon the world and wish to apologize to all the countries of the globe. I tried in the beginning to simply apologize to those leaders but I wasn't taken seriously by them. So, now, I have come up with the only solution that will prove how serious I am.
I have placed upon each and everyone of you the burden to prove how sincere I am.
As of tomorrow I ask each citizen to pack his or her belongings and prepare to be moved to other parts of the world. It is only right that we should give up our land to all those who have suffered through the mistakes made by those in office before me.
Each of you will receive a ticket to the land we deem you should live. I have had my hand picked staff check into the ancestry of every citizen. Those with known ties to certain countries will be moved there provided they will be accepted. Those with no known ancestry ties will be sent where ever they might be accepted.
There wil be no further protection from the United States government because we, too, as citizens will receive our tickets as well.
I know this will inconvenience everyone, but it is only right to offer up our land and our country to those who will provide a more honest and civilized occupation.
By righting the wrongs of past administrations we give up our homes in return for hope of peace in the world.
I am certain the new occupants of our homes will insure world peace by our generation's sacrifice.
You will have a week to comply. I am certain you will find your new countries to be more upstanding and honest with you now that America will no longer exist. The world at large will breathe a sigh of relief. You will all be welcomed with open arms because of your sacrifice.
We have brought too much harm to the world as Americans. Now is the time to take up the placards of foreign countries demanding a more benevolent country establish itself as the beacon of hope we once were.
Those living in this country illegally can begin to claim the vacated neighborhoods and factories. May you all bring life to this great land that will prove the present owners sacrifices were not in vain. You will have the chance to pave the way for new hope and change. May peace now reign on our planet.
What the... What a dream. I woke up in a cold sweat. Geez, I am so glad this was only a dream. A really stupid dream.
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