Chapter 12 Finale

Trip Home in a Horrid Hudson

One of our last afternoons in Florida, Grandma took us to meet one of her sisters. I couldn't come up with her name if you stuck a gun to my ear. What I do remember is that she lived with her husband in an orange orchard in central Florida.

I had never heard of Grandma sister. Truth is, she had about three. You want their names? Good. One thing about the orange orchard sister and her husband is that they were very nice. Acted as if they enjoyed our visit. I couldn’t believe it either.

One thing I didn't care so much for was the fact that they had a chihuahua. A more scared dog I have never seen. That thing shook from the moment our car door slammed to… well, I don’t know. Hard to say. We left the thing shivering.

First off we got a tour of the orchard. A lot of trees, and big, too. All of ‘em planted in perfect lines. It was like Arlington Cemetery, in that you could see trees in lines from practically every angle. The trees were large, so I assumed it was an old orchard. I sometimes mystify myself with my smarts. The one important thing I don’t remember is whether or not there were any oranges on the trees. If they had been cashew trees, I would’ve remembered.

For Dennis, Larry and me it wasn’t all that exciting a get-together. Daddy and Grandma sat at the kitchen table playing canasta with Aunt and Uncle Orchardkin. Dennis and went outside for a bit until it started getting dark. Dark and gloomy. There was a heavy set of clouds on the horizon. I could tell you which direction they were coming from, but I’d just be making it up.

When we went outside the chihuahua was barking and when we came back inside it was still barking. I couldn’t believe that yapper wasn’t driving anybody else crazy. The four adults sitting at the kitchen table were just laughing and talking about family stuff that kids have absolutely no interest in. Dad was in a great mood. He was leaning back in his chair next to the electric stove. The chair was one of those neat looking metal ones with the with naugahyde-covered seat and back. I had no idea that the look would one day be considered retro. And, I was really into stuff like that.

Larry had pulled up a chair near Uncle Orchard and was listening to the conversation just like he gave a hoot. Larry was the polite one. Dennis and I just stood around acting like we couldn’t have been happier had we been touring an ice cream factory.

Wasn’t long before the dark hit us hard. Then the wind. Then the distant thunder. Finally, the lightning. I have yet to see anything like it. It was like someone had set up a strobe light outside each window. The peals of thunder were almost spontaneous. The electricity went out after one of the big booms. Uncle Orchard quickly grabbed some candles and set them up around the kitchen. Then they settled back down for cards.

The yappy dog was going crazy. Running all over the place. That thing could make itself so small I feel sure it could’ve edged itself under a door. The wind began rattling the windows and waves from the downpour smashed against ‘em. And, the lightning. Did I mention the lightning. Uncle Orc called it an electrical storm. I’d never heard of such a thing. I had been in thunder storms and seen snow storms on TV. But, electrical storms? Made no sense.

I was as scared as I have ever been up to that time. I would like to say that I was most fearful that Dad or one of my brothers would be struck by lightning. But, I was not near that noble… yet. There’s still hope. No, I was sure I was going to be hit on the spot. They say you never hear the one that gets you, and I was going to find out. Wouldn’t be able to tell anybody, but I sure find out.

Wasn’t long I was shaking about as much as the chihuahua. Just wasn’t yapping. The adults continued to laugh and cut up like nothing was going on. It was an act with one of ‘em. After several minutes Dad leaned forward and put all four legs of his chair on the floor. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’ve had about all of this I can take.” He then stood up and walked toward the living room. He didn’t get there before there was a near deafening boom. A blue ball, surrounded by an orange aura had come bouncing in from somewhere and lit on the stove. I was looking right at it when it hit when it exploded. About wet my pants.

Immediately after the boom, you could smell whatever the smell is after you fire a rifle. Ozone or something like that. A powerful smell. The store was scorched right near the front where Dad had been leaning in his chair. The timing of his departure had been most fortuitous, and I can go for a year or two without saying “fortuitous.”

It was so bizarre to see him sitting there laughing with everyone one moment, and then all of a sudden from out of the blue, he gets real serious and moves away from the area. Had he reacted three seconds later, he would’ve died. I know we hear that a lot from people. “If he I had waited two more hours, that would’ve been me on the bridge.” Sounds so sappy. “Yeah, and if I had stopped in the middle of the road while I was crossing it, the truck would’ve hit me.”

No, this was real and unexplainable. Spiritual is what I’m trying to say. Something urged Dad to get up at that moment and leave. I knew it to be God. God liked my Dad. Had there been any doubts before, they were completely dissolved there in that house in the middle of that orchard.

Crazy thing is, it didn’t seem all that miraculous to anyone else. “Boy, that was close,” Uncle Orc said, before he directed us into the living room. Well, he directed everyone else. I was already in the living room, lying face down in the middle of the floor. Mrs. Branton, my fourth grade teacher, had told us that lightning hits the tallest object. There was no one and nothing in that living room lower than Mark. Oh, except for the dog. That bubba had slid right under the couch. A mouse would’ve had a struggle to get under there, but not that chihuahua.

We left shortly after the rain did. There were tree limbs on the porch and around the cars. But, no structural damage to anything we could see. We left my Aunt and Uncle waving goodbye on the porch. Their electricity was still off, but I didn’t see that as much of a problem. I had lost much interest in things electrical.

Does anyone out there recall what it was that brought us to Florida? No one? It was a Hudson. A 1950 Hudson that Grandma said Larry could get for $50. For some reason, we didn’t see the thing till the day before we left. Talk about disappointed. The thing was a chalk blue. An artist would call it pastel. I called it chalk, because after you rubbed your hand across it your fingertips and palm would be light blue. Just like you were rubbing your hand across a used chalked board. Weird paint.

The car looked a lot like the 1950 Ford that Larry would later get. Only it was in worse condition. Oh, and it wasn’t made by Ford. Like I’ve said about four times, it was a Hudson. Hudsons were contemporary with the first Fords. After WWII they gave Ford and Chevy a run for their money. It wasn’t until 1957 that they more or less turned into Ramblers. The company joined Nash to become Nash Rambler. After that it doesn’t get pretty. That’s a bit of a history lesson that you didn’t ask for.

Larry’s new “badly used” car was a dilapidated giant. The upholstery was a ripped and smelly mess. There was apparently no big push to sell the thing, ‘cause no one had bothered to wash it. To this day I don’t know if Grandma was selling it to Larry or was just selling it for a friend. I was a kid, and didn’t need to know such things.

Once the papers had been signed and dated, Larry jumped behind the wheel and that thing belched and smoked all the way back to the rent house. And for only $50. The big question was– well, you know the big question. – Would the thing make it back to Texas? No bets were taken, because none of us had much money at this point of the trip. I realize it doesn’t sound like we spent all that much, but then Dad didn’t really have all that much to begin with.

The next morning we said our good-byes to Grandma and her dogs and headed out. Dad didn’t even want to wait for the cool of the evening. He was ready to go. I was to ride with Dad in the Bel Air and Dennis would ride with Larry in the Hudson. Dad would take the lead... like there was any doubt.

I would like to say that the trip home was without incident. But, I don’t think the Hayters ever took one of those trips. I do remember that when we started out, Dad was in a good mood. I was playing my plastic guitar in the front seat right next to him. I was strumming that thing just like I knew how. I was actually doing one of those Spanish tunes. You know, where the guitarist picks at the strings for awhile and then strums a bunch like it’s a chorus or something. That’s what I was doing. And, I did a lot.

I was in guitar strummer’s heaven. I had never seen Dad put up with so much nonsense. He wasn’t getting mad at me or anything. I was even halfway sensing that he liked what I was doing. I was apparently a natural. I was in the groove… oh, for about 15 miles. Then Dad turned to me and said, “Okay, give it a rest.” I didn’t plunk another string. I just set the thing in the backseat, never to pick it up again until we got home.

We were in the panhandle of Florida when Dad noticed that Larry was no where to be seen. He couldn’t believe it. Had he Larry somehow passed us? Should he speed up and try to catch him before he hits Alabama. Or, was he still behind us? Lagging… the big lagger. Dad didn’t know. I had my money on Larry being a Lagger, ‘cause I couldn’t see him passing Dad even if he could.

I didn’t offer my opinion to Dad, ‘cause he never asked. Unsolicited advice was not always greatly appreciated by Dad. I could understand. I was just a dumb kid. So, Dad sped up. We headed up the road at breakneck speed. Dad was passing cars right and left. And, this was on a two-lane highway. Scary is what it was. He drove like that for about an hour. The he stopped, pulled off the road and waited. Now he was getting testy. Finally, he turned the car around and headed back. Maybe Larry had car trouble and was waiting for Dad to come to the rescue.

So, we headed back at a fast clip. Dad was passing cars right and left. I had my body flush against the door. I figured we’d either have wreck, or Dad would blow his stack right there in the car. I wasn’t sure what all that would involve, but I’d heard of people doing it. A nervous breakdown, they called it. Breakdown. That can’t be good.

I don’t know how far we went before Dad stopped and turned around. He was fuming. How long could he do this? Back and forth. If Larry was in front of us, we’d never catch him. And, if Dad started back toward home, he’d have to drive twice as fast to make up time, assuming Larry had, in fact, passed us. We sat there in the car for about 30 minutes before Dad caught a glimpse of the chalk-blue Hudson puffing up behind us.

Larry no more pull over and climb out of the car before Dad was reading him the riot act. -- Do you know how worried I was? Why couldn’t you keep up? Don’t you know how to drive that thing. – Dad never really waited for an answer. He just kept yelling. I was probably the only one crying, but I’m pretty sure Larry and Dennis felt like it. When Dad finished venting, he ordered us all back into the car and we headed homeward. Dad slowed the pace a bit.

Later I talked to Larry about the episode with Dad and he told me that he just couldn’t keep up. Something about the clutch slipping on the Hudson. And, he said he could barely make it up overpasses and such. He’d floorboard it and the car would just roar and smoke, but, all the while, poke along.

I’m imagine Dad let Larry explain that to him at some point. Probably after Dad drove the car around Pasadena a bit. Larry didn’t keep the old Hudson long. I don’t remember who he sold it to. Might’ve traded it in on the ’50 Ford. I don’t know.

All I knew… or cared about was the fact that the Hudson was responsible for our trip to Florida. My first adventure outside Texas and Oklahoma. I liked outside Texas and Oklahoma. But, I liked getting home, too. Who doesn’t? And, when we got home we had stories to tell. Sharks and fireballs and dogfish and neat tasting beans and all the stuff that I left out. There was a lot of that. You probably did realize. Hey, I was thinking of you the whole time.

Chapter 12 (first continued)

Chapter 12 -- Grandma Pearl takes us for a ride.

During our first whole day in Florida, Grandma took us on a little tour of Tampa in her white Cadillac. She bought a new car every year. Always white and always a Cadillac. She was into real estate and thought it important to make an impression. I thought she was the richest lady in Florida. Hey, she even had rent houses.

Grandma looked natural behind the wheel of a swanky car. It suited her well. Her four passengers? I couldn’t help think that anyone who paid us any mind at all probably thought that the Lady of the Estate was taking her gardeners out to work at her beach house. Even as a kid I thought of stuff like that. I didn’t know the definition of “elite”, but I knew enough to know that it had nothing to do with me… or my family.

Late that evening, Grandma took us out to eat at a fancy foreign restaurant. Spanish, French, Romanian…? While Grandma was announcing our presence to a guy up front, Dad whispered to the three of us that Grandma was paying, so we could order anything we wanted. It was the first time and last time in my life that such a sentence was ever directed toward me. I was free to get anything I wanted.

Eventually, the host guy directed us to a large round table. He even helped Grandma sit down. That was just odd. Odder still was what happened next. The waiter came up and placed a menu in front of each of us. It was the first place Dennis and I had ever eaten that had menus. I’d only seen ‘em in movies. I was flabbergasted. We had a nice-dressed waiter and a tablecloth and more than one fork. And cloth napkins! And did I mention I could order whatever I wanted?

Dennis and I studied our menus. We couldn’t recognize all the weird names for food, but we could sure recognize “fried chicken.” Mom made great fried chicken, but it didn’t come from a restaurant. Restaurant fried chicken had to be the best ever. This was too good to be true… so Dennis slapped me and I woke up back in the rent house. (I’m only joking. We were still in the restaurant.)

Grandma and Dad ordered something-weird sounding. Even Larry went Bohemian on us. I don’t even think he knew what he was getting. The waiter finally looked over at Dennis and said, “And, for you, sir?” Called him a sir. We were just two underdressed kids. Probably had 50 cents between us. Dennis immediately gave me one of his looks. This one meant, “Is he talking to me?” I didn’t want to laugh in front of a super polite waiter, ‘cause I feared I might hurt his feelings. I managed to camouflage my laugh by pretending to blow my nose into my napkin.

Dennis went ahead and ordered the fried chicken with mashed potatoes and a salad. A salad! And he didn’t order the French Dressing, the kind Mom always bought. It was turning out to be one fascinating evening. I didn’t wait for the waiter to call me “Sir.” I immediately chimed in, “Me, too. What he said!”

Then the evening took a turn. Right in front of the waiter Dad let us have it. “No way! You’re here in this fancy French or Romanian restaurant and you order fried chicken? You can get friend chicken at home! What’s the matter with you two?”

Grandma instantly got after Dad for yelling at us. Then she told the waiter to get us the chicken. I should’ve felt good about that, but I didn’t. Dennis and I felt like clods. I can’t speak for Dennis here, but my sense of clodness was due to the fact that I couldn’t even order a meal right. The only bright side was the sense that I didn’t have to ever again worry about pleasing Dad. It was beyond my capabilities. I was just a stupid little kid. Fried chicken? What was I thinking?

When our plates came out, it was obvious that Dad had been right. When at a Romanian restaurant, never order the fried chicken. Maybe since the Iron Curtain came down they’ve improved a bit. But, back in the day, they cooked a vile bird. And, they didn’t cook it very long, either. That place could’ve really used Mom. Oh, and the salad was completely ruined. As bad as French Dressing is, whatever they used in that Portuguese place was worse.

At one point during the meal Dad had me get a spoonful of his freaky bean soup. Looked a little like hominy soup. I took a bite ‘cause I was too scared not to. The beans were delicious. Dad said, “See what you’re missing?”

Yes sir, I could see. Fifty years later, I can still see. I had an anything-I-wanted pass, and I blew it. I couldn’t even “want “right.


The next day we didn’t do much at all. I don’t believe we even saw Grandma. By late evening we were way bored. No television, no radio, no board games. Just a few gallons of grape juice.

We were sitting on the porch – There were no lawn chairs. We were ON the porch. – When Dad told us to hop in the car. He had seen a Drive-in theatre the day before and we were gonna go. And, we were getting popcorn and a Coke, too. I’m not making this up. Dad had gone bonkers. We lit off that porch like we were a tire crew at Indy.

Two Elvis pictures were showing that week. “Jailhouse Rock” and “King Creole.” I don’t remember much about either movie, other than Elvis found an excuse do some singing in each. Seems like “King Creole” had the better story. Didn’t matter. The popcorn was great and we didn’t have to drink grape juice.

The next morning I got my plastic guitar out and I was doing some serious Buddy Holly singing. Never was that big of an Elvis fan. Buddy Holly was the King as far as I was concerned. I didn’t even get to sing “It doesn’t matter anymore” before it was time to shove off to meet Grandma again. (“Now, you go your way and I’ll go mine. Now and forever till the end of time…” Buddy Holly rocked.)

This was to be a fun and exciting day. It was the day that Larry almost got eaten by a shark. “Almost” is such an important word. On it hangs both lost elation and avoided tragedy. What happened is that Grandma took us to the beach. Not sure where. The Gulf side of Florida. The color of the water was pretty much what you’d expect at Galveston, and the beach sand didn’t inspire me all that much. But, the waves. The sea was angry that day, my friend. Surfers would laugh at such a statement but for a kid who never saw much more than a two-foot wave, this was big stuff.

Dennis and I were a bit too scared to do much more than wade out a little ways. We’d get up to waste-deep, but that was about it. Larry was so much braver. He went way out there. So, far out that I worried for him. The worry turned to terror when a kid down the beach yelled that he saw a shark. And, he pointed to the area near where Larry was treading water. “See? Look right there. There it is again!”

Sure enough, there it was. I saw something. A big fin it was. Looked more like the fin on a sailfish to me. Of course, I didn’t know a sailfish from a mackerel. All I knew was that I heard someone yell “Shark!” and I saw a fin. Thought I did, anyway. Wouldn’t have doubted myself had that kid not yelled “Shark!” That made me see fins everywhere.

It really surprised me that Dad and Grandma didn’t get all that excited. I couldn’t get ‘em to budge. They couldn’t see anything. “Oh, Mark, it’s nothing to worry about. Now, go look for shells or wade.”

Dennis didn’t even see any fins out there, but I got him to wade out in the water with me and yell for Larry to come to shore. We did a lot of yelling, let me tell you. My big worry had to do with Larry’s bathing suit. It was red. I thought the shark might see the red and think it was blood. That would be, like, like really bad.

So Dennis and I yelled and yelled, and eventually Larry looked over and saw us jumping up and down in the water waving at him. That pretty much scared him. He probably thought Dad wanted him to come in so we could leave. So, he turned and headed in just before the shark was going to get him. Probably a nanosecond before. We saved his life. Mostly I saved it. It was like the “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” I couldn’t get anybody to believe me. Even Dennis didn’t have his heart in it while he was yelling. I could tell. Dennis was a better yeller than that.

Shortly after Larry made it to shore, we loaded up and left the beach. That evening we ended up on a big pier where we did some fishing. Mostly Larry and this girl fished. Seems Grandma tried to match Larry up with this girl she knew. I don’t know where from. I assume it was the daughter of someone she had dated. Maybe someone she sold a house too. Regardless, Larry stood there on that pier and did his best to impress the girl. I couldn’t blame him.

Everything went pretty well up until the time the girl reeled in a dogfish. I had never heard of a dogfish until that moment. An appropriately named fish, the dog. It looked almost as gross as you can get. I saw a weird eel once on Disney that had to be the grossest. Freaked me out. But this dogfish was just nasty looking. The looks had nothing to do with its name… I don’t suppose. It was the noise that slimy creature made when Larry grabbed it. The thing let off a gargly bark. It was so unnatural for a fish to make any noise, but the sound of that gargly bark about made me sick.

And, there was Larry, trying to impress his date. The girl had caught the fish, but Larry was bound and determined to take it off the hook. So stupid. Everyone in the Free World knows that when a slimy fish barks at you, you just cut the line. Larry would have none of it. He didn’t have gloves or anything. He ended up with muck all over his hands. Eventually somebody handed him a pair of pliers and he got the hook out. I didn’t see that part, ‘cause I was a few pilings over gagging.

I don’t know what Larry’s thoughts were, but I was a bit disappointed in Dad. Thought sure he would grab the dogfish, stick his finger down the throat and de-hook the demon. Dad was a noodler for heaven’s sake! He’d swim along the muddy banks of creeks in Oklahoma ,and go under water next to a stump and come up with a giant catfish. Anybody who’s not afraid of doing that is someone I want on my team. But, the only noodler in the family didn’t lift a hand to help Larry out. I assume he was trying to teach him a lesson. Either that or the dogfish was grossing Dad out, too.

I’m left to believe that Larry’s date was not all that impressed with my oldest brother. Or maybe she was, but hated to get more involved since they lived 1000 miles apart. That’s closer to the truth, I’m sure. Regardless, we never saw the girl again. I was glad of that ‘cause I knew that I’d never be able to look at her without thinking of that slimy barking fish. Isn’t it weird how things work out?

The next day there was more fun waiting for us. The excursion would come close to killing Dad, but, all in all, it was a worthwhile endeavor. I think any adventure is good if you survive it and, in doing so, you learn something from it. There are, no doubt, a few dozen exceptions to that, but the line reads well, doesn’t it? It’s true that, at the time, I would’ve rather been noodling for dogfish than to have to go through what we did, but that was only because I thought I was gonna die along with Dad.

And, that puts us on the second “to-be-continued” portion of Chapter 12. The chapter that won’t die. In a couple of days I’ll have us home. Hope to see you then.

Chapter 12

“The trip that almost wasn’t”

Chapter 12

One afternoon during the summer of ’59, Dennis and I were playing around in the front yard on Camille Street. Probably throwing the baseball around. We called it flies and grounders. – “Do you wanna catch flies or grounders?” – We did that a lot in the summer.

This particular flies or grounders was interrupted as Dad drove home from work. He was working the day shift, so it had to be around 3:30 in the p.m.

Dennis and I didn’t run over and jump in his arms or anything like that. We never did that with Dad. Didn’t know what kind of mood he’d be in, so we were a little leery of jumping on the guy. He would’ve probably greatly appreciated it, but we were just too scared to try.

We did wave to him and shout greetings. Dad waved back and then called us over. That scared us. “Something ain’t right? What’d you do, Mark?” – “Wasn’t me this time. Had to be you.”

The minute we saw Dad smile we picked up our pace. When we got there, he reached into his pocket and pulled out one of those Swiss Army knives. You know, the real thick knife with the red handle and the white cross on it? Must’ve been the insignia of Switzerland or The White Cross. And, the thing had a dozen blades. Maybe 100. There was a saw blade, can opener, screwdriver (both Phillips and flat-head), cork screw, punch, scissors, maybe a spoon or ladle, toothbrush… My mind is really digging here. Oh, yeah and about three knife blades. It was the most massive pocketknife I’d ever seen. Dennis is bound to still have it. Nobody would ever throw something like that away.

With that one knife a person would no longer need to go to the store. He could take care of his food, clothes and shelter needs with that one red-handled apparatus. And, for that one moment it was right there in Dad’s hand.

Neither of us had the guts to take grab it or to even ask to hold it. Dennis didn’t really need to. Dad held the knife for a few seconds and then handed it to my big brother. It was one of those moments where I was really proud for Dennis, but wouldn’t mind kicking him in the butt.

There was no visible sign of my kicking-him-in-the-butt thought, because I was smiling big, and acting as happy as if Dad had handed me the knife. – “Hey, Dad. You made the wise choice. Dennis is the better carrier of such a grand gift.” -- Heck of an actor.

Dad let me cry on the inside for about a minute before he reached again into his coveralls and pulled out a rectangular box. I knew it! Dennis was obviously his favorite, but I knew Dad wouldn’t completely forget me. I opened the box and found the greatest looking two bladed pocketknife I’d ever seen. Remember? Dennis had the prettiest looking more-than-two-bladed knife I’d ever seen. My knife had a faux ivory handle with an engraved picture of a deer’s head on it. Maybe an elk. The thing had a lot of horns.

I immediately thought I’d rather have the Swiss army knife, but, again, you couldn’t tell by looking. Dad told me that he thought Dennis could better handle all the tools on the Swiss knife. He was wrong as he could be, but only a death wish would’ve made me say something like that to him.

“Well, I just ran across these knives and wanted to get ‘em for you,” he said. “I guess, I’d best go and clean up for supper.” With that he turned and went inside. Dennis and I looked at one another for a fraction of a second. We knew each other so well, that it didn’t take much of an exchange of looks to know what the other was thinking. “What on earth was that all about. It’s June, a birthdayless month! We never got anything like this unless it was Christmas or our birthday. Nothing.” It made no sense at all. So, we ran into the garage to find some boards to stab.

That night Dad came into our room before bedtime. “Y’all enjoying your knives?” You bet we were. We even hugged him, which was way out of character for any of us. But, it went over well. We hadn’t pushed beyond the comfort realm of the father/son relationship. Things were spooky.

Then it hit. KaBloooey! As he turned to leave, Dad said, “By the way, boys, you’re not going to be able to go to Florida with Larry and me. Y’all had best stay home and watch after your mother.” What? What!?! Double whats.

I hate to do this to you readers, but we’re going to have to have one of those flashbacks about now. The difference between my flashbacks and the one you read in other books is that mine are pretty well announced. I tell you when I’m headed back. A lot of authors prefer you figure it out after a few pages. They’re so artsy.

So, let’s go back to March of ’59. Late evening. Dad called Dennis and me to the kitchen table. That’s where most of the serious planning took place in our house. “Boys, how would you like to go to Florida with Larry and me?” – It was one of the stupidest questions either of us had ever heard. Florida? And miss school? Okay, bro, it’s dance of joy time!!

We never said “yes”, but Dad knew right off that we were on board. He told us that come June we were all four driving to Florida. June? That’s after school. But, we were still on board. Oh, and he didn’t mean that we were actually all four going to drive separate cars to Florida. He meant that Dennis and I would ride while he and Larry took turns driving. That goes without saying to another kid, but some of you might’ve been confused.

Dad went on to explain that we’d be going to Tampa to visit Grandmother Pearl. Remember Pearl? The mother who left Dad? The tar and feather episode? Anyway, Pearl had found a good used car for Larry, and she said it was his for $50. You couldn’t beat a deal like that. So, the idea was to drive 1000 miles over there to get a cheap car, and then drive it back another 1000 miles. That’d make it cost a lot more than $50. You scratch this thing, and you’re gonna find that Dad just wanted to go to Florida. And, get this, back in March, he wanted Dennis and me along for the ride.

Go back up to June and he didn’t want us along. When we got the news we started crying. At least I know I did. I was too busy crying to pay much attention to what Dennis was doing. He probably kicked Dad in the wallies and started cursing a blue streak. (Uh, that’s a joke. That would be called “suicide by Dad.”)

Crazy thing is– You wanna know what the crazy thing is? – At no time did it register with me that Dad had given us each a knife to pave the way for him telling us we couldn’t go on the trip.

Dad just hit us with the “mom needed us” and “it was too expensive” excuse. Didn’t matter, ‘cause I had pretty well tuned him out after he said we couldn’t go. Reasons? What difference did it make? We couldn’t reason or argue with Dad. -- “Dad you’re all wet on this. Not thinking right. Now get out of here, till you start making sense.” -- This is the same man who got his ears boxed for telling HIS Dad that one of his suggestions was silly. No, Had we said that, Dennis and I would’ve had combined funerals… only because it would’ve been cheaper.

I don’t know if you’re aware, but the best part of any trip is the anticipation. I’ve been on only one excursion that turned out to be more fun than I imagined. And, I’m one great imaginer. In anticipating the Florida trip, Dennis and I had imagined some good stuff. We’d never been on a non-Oklahoma trip. This time we were going to Florida. Florida, for heaven’s sake! We would have to drive through Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama to get there. That’s three more states! Three more states that weren’t Texas or Oklahoma! We had been packed since the day we got the word of the vacation.. Now, we couldn’t go.

I cried myself to sleep that night. Hey, it would’ve been a big disappointment for me today, but back then it was one of those why-go-on-living moments. I sulked the next morning and let the sulk run into the afternoon. I would never recover from this. I decided right then and there to just runaway after junior high.

Mom got to witness our sulking… like she could’ve done something about it. Truth is, I never was real clear as to what influence Mom had over Dad. Didn’t matter. Dad was The Man. He told us we couldn’t do something, and there was no way we could even let him know how hurt we were. Strange relationship when you think about it.

We were in our bedroom when Dad came home from work that evening. We stayed there till right before supper. Before Mom yelled for us to come to the table, Dad stuck his head inside our room. “Hey, boys,” he said. We said, “Hello, Daddy,” just like we were glad to see him. Anything else might’ve led to some bad stuff.

“I’ve thought it over,” he said, “And, me and your mother think I should take you two with us to Florida.” I started crying again. Try to figure. This time I just ran right to him and threw my arms around his waist. I came up to just a few inches above his belt. I don’t believe Dennis showed quite the emotion I did, but then he was the older brother. He had to set an example of calm. – “That’s enough, Mark. You’re making a fool of yourself.” – I could still read Dennis’ look even through the big smile on his face. Like I said, we were close.

I don’t know how Jill and Alan felt about not getting to go to Florida with us. Surely they realized they were just too young to take such an awesome trip. I imagine Mom was the most disappointed that Jill and Al couldn’t go. That woman hadn’t had a break from kids in 20 years.

So, the four Hayter men loaded up and headed east in the late evening. The ’55 Chevy Bel-Air had no air conditioner, so night-driving was important. The plan was to drive the 1000 miles non-stop. I don’t mean we wouldn’t stop for gas, the restroom or a soda pop, but there would be no night at the motel. Larry and Dad would take turns driving, so one of ‘em would always be fresh. With Dennis and me, it didn’t matter if we were fresh or not. We weren’t gonna drive. However, I was determined not to let the driver be the only one awake. And, this was years before the Chevy Chase “Vacation” movie. On the road, I’d occasionally strike up a conversation with Dad or Larry to make sure there was no nodding off while driving.

Dad’s plan was for us to get to Tampa by late morning. We might’ve done it, too, if it weren’t for Louisiana. None of us knew how it happened, but we got bad lost. It was a lost that took us about two hours out of the way. I think if the road hadn’t eventually gone from paved to two ruts with grass growing between ‘em, we would’ve gone till we were swamp food.

We ended up in the second seediest place there is in Louisiana. Does it get any seedier? There were some bad looking people walking the dirt road. Bad ju ju just dripped. And, every thug we passed gave us a big once-over. No one would be driving out there unless they were lost or up to no good. Larry said it was the first time he ever noticed Dad being scared of anything. I’m glad he didn’t bring that to my attention, ‘cause the only the thing that kept me from crying was knowing that Dad was with us. Dad could take care of anything. Pity the fool who tried to mess with Faris Hayter.

At some point Dad turned the car around. It was in an area where there was no good place to turn around. Had we gotten stuck, this story, had it ever gotten told, would’ve been written by Truman Capote. It wouldn’t have had a good ending.

But, God didn’t let us get stuck, and Dad managed to get us back on to the paved road, and after a few hours later we ended up on the correct paved road. We were back in civilization and, once again, headed east.

We made it to Grandma’s house in mid to late afternoon. Grandma’s real-estate office was part of her house. And, the house smelled like cigarette smoke. Back then everyone had a greater tolerance for cigarette smoke. Dad smoked cigars and chewed tobacco all the way from Texas, but the minute we set foot in Grandma’s office/house the smell of cigarette smoke was captivating… in a bad way. It was normal cigarette smoke multiplied by three. Maybe seven. And, grandma had this cigarette cough that came out at the end of every sentence, and in the middle of every laugh.

But, before we heard the hacking cough we got to hear the yapping dogs. Poodles, peekapoos, rat terriers… I don’t remember what they were. There were at least two, though. And, they were all over us, and yappy as all get out. We weren’t used to dogs in the house, ‘cause we never had any pets at all. Outdoors or otherwise. Oh, Dad let Larry get a couple of goldfish once, but he had to really cogitate over it. But dogs or cats? No way. Any animal that wasn’t in a bowl was never gonna set foot hoof or paw in our house. It was not only wrong, it was real wrong. Worse than square dancing.

We didn’t spend the night with Grandma, nor did we stay in a motel. Instead, Pearl gave Dad directions to one of her rent houses. It was way out in the boonies. The house was empty except for a couple of mattresses on the floor. Oh, and Welch’s Grape Juice. There were a bunch of large bottles of the stuff in one of the cabinets. Nothing else, just the grape juice. About three gallons worth.

Grandmother Pearl keeping her distance from Mark, Dennis and Larry. Picture taken at side of the grape juice rent house where we stayed.

I couldn’t swear that there was even any electricity in the house। A primitive domicile is what I remember. Out front was a burn pile where the last renters had torched everything they couldn’t haul off. At the edge of the pile, I found a small, plastic toy guitar. About the size of a ukulele. Dad cleaned it up a bit, fixed the strings on it and then handed it to me. Boy, did I make use of that guitar during our stay.

After our first night, things got exciting. Dad almost died, Larry almost got eaten by a shark and Dennis and I got in trouble at a restaurant. First restaurant we had ever been in and we got in trouble. What happened was-- Well, let’s hold on a second. I think I’ll save all that for next time. – This is getting to be too much of a read for one visit. Do, I’ll see you next week.

Chapter 11 -- The forgotten chapter

First TV on the block... if not the world.

Right now, I’m supposed to be telling you about some situations I had with Dad when we lived on Camille Street. It was all but a promise. But, a pre-Camille thought came up and I thought it more appropriate if I chunk it in right now. If I wait a chapter or two, it’ll be too much of a prequel and prequels just confuse the willies out of me. If you can’t write a story without sending the reader back and forth… well, you just need to think stuff out better.

With that straightened out, let me take you back a few years from the time of the family’s move to Camille Street. – Beg pardon? I thought one of you said something. Okay, then, let’s move on.

I might’ve mentioned it once or twice, but it bears repeating. The Hayters were the first on the block to get a TV. Maybe in the entire world. Let’s go ahead and say that. Certainly, the first on Randall Street. We were blessed, and we flaunted it.

I don’t think Mom or Dad ever told anyone how we got the set. Truth is Grandma won it playing Bingo. Uh, that was my Grandma Pearl. Remember? Dad’s mom. Grandma Teegarden never played Bingo in her life. Bingo was gambling, and although I don’t think gambling is directly mentioned in the Good Book, it was supposed to be. It’s that natural inference thing. If you naturally infer something because it just naturally seems to follow… then you can establish a lot of Biblical laws that just aren’t there.

I don’t so much mind the naturally inferred law against gambling, though. It’s the one on square dancing that really ticked me off. There I am in elementary school with a chance to grab Brenda Hornaday’s hand and start dosey doeing and promenading, but noooo. Brother W. said that dancing was a sin. I’d be one forth grader lusting his heart out while alamanding left and right with Brenda. She was a good four inches taller than me, but it might’ve been because she had her hair up in a bun. Like Princess Leia. Double bunned. She might’ve been Pentecostal. Brenda, not Leia. I don’t know. I didn’t care. I just wanted to hold Brenda’s hand. Never happened, because-- What? Oh, sorry. Okay, back to the TV.

Right, Grandma Pearl won the TV playing bingo. Might’ve been at the American Legion or the Knights of Columbus or Daughters of Kentucky living in Texas… I just know it was some place that was not sponsored by our church. Our church didn’t play bingo. The two legitimate reasons for getting a divorce, were if your spouse committed adultery or if your spouse ever won at bingo. Just playing wasn’t good enough. Had to be a winner. And, yes, I’m making this up.

Our TV looked like the tall one, more or less. Only, it was of a lighter wood.

Grandmother Pearl not only played Bingo, but she was proud of it. Didn’t care who knew. That woman did some wild stuff in her life. I’ve mentioned one or two things. I saved the Bingo one for this chapter, ‘cause it fits in better. You’ll see.

Of all the bad stuff that Grandma Pearl did, I was most proud of her winning the TV. That’s ‘cause she gave it to Dad. That would’ve made up for the stupid stuffed fish she gave us, but the fish came so much later that I had forgotten how great the TV gift had been.

Pearl gave Dad the TV set for two reasons. One, Grandma already had one. A better one. In fact, she was probably truly the first one in the world to get one. The second reason she gave the set to Dad was because Dad was an only child. If he had had some brothers and sisters, there would’ve been a fight like you’d never seen before. I’m sure Dad would’ve won, but he would’ve taken some hits.

I don’t really believe God minded Grandma winning the TV, ‘cause the 17-inch Philco seemed to draw us closer to the people at church… not that we needed to be any closer. We went to church three times a week, five times during Vacation Bible School or lectureships. We stayed over for potluck lunches and suppers and extra singing sessions. So, now, we were having people over to watch our unscripturally obtained TV set. We got away with it, because we called the get-togethers “fellowship.” You could do just about anything if you called it fellowshipping. Well, you couldn’t square dance or bingo, but most other things.

Yeah, after practically every evening service, some of the church brethren and sistern would follow us home. Mom would pop a grocery bag full of popcorn and mix a vat of Kool-Aid. We’d congregate around the tube and watch “Ed Sullivan” or “Ted Mack’s Amateur Hour”. I still remember the first time I saw Brenda Lee. Whatta set of lungs! She could sing pretty good, too.

I don’t remember us inviting many of our friends in the neighbors over. Don’t think Mom and Dad wanted to open that can of worms. There would’ve been 30 kids, and a slew of adults, some of whom might’ve brought along some beer. Grandma Pearl was bad enough influence.

Plus, you get a bunch of neighborhood people over on a Saturday night and what are you gonna watch? Jackie Gleason or Perry Como? Lawrence Welk or Sid Caesar? I tell you, there would’ve been some flying fur. The church people were nice, but there was no telling what the neighborhood gang would’ve done. “Faris Hayter, you touch that knob and I’ll back over your garbage cans till you can’t tell the lid from the pail.

Though never invited, I’m pretty sure the neighbors looked in through the windows. We’d see tracks in the flowerbed the next morning. A few cigarette butts. The poor saps.

We watched some great stuff on that Philco. I should probably tell you that I don’t remember if it was a Philco or a Zenith or RCA. Philco just sticks in my head. Might be cause of that Sgt. Bilco guy on the old TV show. Bilco – Philco? I don’t know. Just pretty sure it wasn’t a Toshiba.

What I remember about the set was that it had a large white wooden-cabinet. It stood tall and narrow. The bottom three feet held the speakers. They were hidden behind a wood-framed cloth mesh. When Dennis and I would lie on the floor watching, we’d prop our feet on the mesh. Eventually tore the cloth. That’s how we found out the speakers were there. I don’t even know if Dad knew. Technical stuff was pretty new back then. You actually had to manually wind clocks and watches back then. I’m not joking! Text messages were scribbles in a Spelling book. You could really get into trouble for that.

Not only did our technology stink, but so did our TV programs. We didn’t know it at the time, ‘cause… well, we just didn’t know better. Lawrence Welk? Do I really need to say anymore?

A couple of Saturdays ago I saw “The Nine Lives of Elfego Baca” on the Disney Channel. Fortunately, Kay was not in the room. I hate to cry in front of my wife.

Never, never watch an old TV show that at one time shaped your life. I’m telling you for your own good. It’s too late to help me.

When I was a kid, Elfego Baca was The Man. That first episode where all the bad guys had Elfego Baca trapped inside that collapsed house was one of the best episodes in cowboydom. They kept thinking they had killed him, but whenever they approached the house, he’d gun down a couple more.

Dennis and I must’ve acted out that episode a few hundred times in the backyard. I had to play Elfego Baca’s sidekick. Of course, he never had a sidekick, but it was the only way Dennis would let me inside the make-believe collapsed house. That and the fact that I made the best gun sounds.

We must’ve been easily entertained back then. The old Garry Moore Show used to be one of our favorites. I’m sure Durward Kirby was a real duffus, but we liked him.

“I’ve Got a Secret”, “Jack Benny”, “Arthur Godfrey”, “Bob Cummings Show”… those were just a few of the dozens of old shows we watched on Grandma’s Philco or RCA. We were proud as we could be to get to watch ‘em, too. Flaunted it, we did. Hey, we were first on the block and probably the second in the whole world to have one.

In time, other TVs were introduced to the neighborhood. And, in time, the church people quit following us home. Our times of fellowship waned to the point where they just involved the occasional covered dish social. The Hayters were still considered decent brethren and sistern, though. We were just no longer special. We were just odd. We’ve always been odd.

Since there’s no other place to put this tidbit, I think I’d best tell you that we were the last people in the State of Texas to get a color TV. Dad bought a used round-tubed job. A 24 incher it was. You had to reset the colors every time you changed channels. It always had either a green or orange tinge to it.

At one point it developed a blur. That’s because Al and Jill were running around in the house in their sock-feet and Al slid and knocked over the TV. The thing stood on these four spindly legs, and one of ‘em broke off. The set was a topple waiting to happen. Jill and Al were scared to death for Dad to find out that they had messed up the TV, so they went crying to me.

I told them they were about three hours away from death, but I’d see what I could do. So, Jill and Alan lifted the set, while I set the leg back in place. The thing ended up just balanced under the TV. We were just about finished when Mom walked into the living room.

“What are you kids doing?” I told Mom it was much worse than it looked, but there was nothing she could do. “Nothing to see here, Mother. It’s best if you move along.” We weren’t so much afraid of Mom, even though she spanked us about every day. We pretty much came to expect them. Took turns even.

Mom would’ve spanked all three of us, but figured it was something Dad should handle. When somebody busts the new, used TV, there’s gonna be a bad moon risin’.

Jill and Alan started crying, but I told ‘em that when Dad walked in to just act normal. Maybe he would think the TV just naturally went blurry. One of the tubes burned out or something.

After supper Dad and everyone but Jill and Alan found a place to sit around the TV. I don’t remember who turned it on. Probably me. I’d be the youngest in the room. Dad probably had me messing with the horizontal hold and vertical hold and contrast and all those other control knobs. Nothing could clear up the picture. At one point Dad said, “Well, I should’ve known better than to get that cheap thing.”

We had dodged a bullet. The interesting thing is that Mom never told Dad. Well, if she did, she waited till we were too old to spank, ‘cause Dad never brought it up.

Since then the Hayters were always unlucky with TVs. We never got a decent model. Everyone seemed to have an orange or green tint. I was five years into marriage before I got a nice color TV set.

I don’t think Dad ever got a good one. It’s for sure that Grandma Pearl never helped out. If she ever won one, she kept it to herself. She did give us a giant stuffed fish though. I wrote that up in one of those prequels back there. Prequels. They’re killers.

END

From best to worst to better

Taken in livingroom of second house on Randall Street. Left to right: Larry, Susan, Dad and me, Mom and Jill, Lynda, Dennis... with a big wad of something in his mouth.

Chapter 10 (Continued)

Our hold on Randall Street didn’t last forever. Holds never do. In the summer of 1955 we moved. Moved up. Definitely up. We said goodbye to the poorer side of the city and moved across town. Well, that’s a lie. I don’t remember saying goodbye to anyone. We had friends almost as close as family, yet, I don’t remember ever saying goodbye. I don’t remember packing up or anything. I just remember that we weren’t there anymore.

Though we moved a couple of miles away, it might as well have been a different town in a different state. When you’re a little kid, you don’t get around all that much. A mile or two is a stretch. Wanda, Margie, Cynthia, Dinky, Marsha Jean, each a friend for life… for a small part of one’s life. Don’t remember saying goodbye. I hope I’m just too old to remember.

I do remember where we moved, though. All the way past Richey Street on to the 1200 block of Pinewood Lane. Our first garage, two bathrooms, large corner lot, gray cedar shingled exterior skirted in brick. And – get this – we were buying. I’m not joking.

It was the first and only house where we weren’t renters. I don’t know what got into Dad. We not only got the house, but Dad bought a new car. A ’55 Chevy Biscayne. Did I mention it was new? Larry ended up with the Termite Wagon. My big brother started working when he was a freshman, so he had money to maintain the old jalopy.

By the way, this was before you had to have car insurance. When something that costs a lot of money was optional, Dad always opted out. God loved us a lot, ‘cause Dad never had a driving mishap. None that was his fault. Larry, either.

We had many happy times on Pinewood. Had the best Christmas ever. Got everything we asked for. Keep in mind, the Hayter kids were not stupid enough to ask for a whole lot of expensive stuff. We only ask for— I tell you what. There will be a chapter on Christmas, so let’s just save it for that.

The family after the Christmas on Pinewood. Left to right: Larry, Susan, Li'l Al, Mom, Mark, Jill (kneeling) Dad, Cheryl (Lynda's first), Dennis, Jimmy (Lynda's husband) Lynda, Benny (the li'l goob sitting on the floor. Lynda's son)

The best thing about Pinewood Lane was the Sutton boys. Craig and Johnny. There were a bunch of other kids in the neighborhood, but Dennis and I were closest to the Sutton brothers.

You know that song by Don Williams about “… what do you do with good ol’ boys like me?” Pretend you do. The song goes, “I can still hear the soft Southern winds in the live oak trees and those Williams boys they still mean a lot to me. Hank and Tennessee.” When I sing the song I sing it with Hank and Tennessee in it, but in my mind I’m singing, “…and those Sutton boys they still mean a lot to me. Craig and Johnny.”

Though we stayed on Pinewood for only a couple of years, the Hayter/Sutton friendship lasted for a good while. Dennis and I went to college with Craig and Johnny. At the dorm we were suite mates. That writes better than it sounds.

I haven’t seen Craig in years. Johnny and I used to exchange Christmas cards every year, but even that tradition fell by the wayside. When you move away, you just naturally move apart. The parting just took longer with the Sutton Brothers. I’ll always love those two guys.

But, move we did. Might’ve been another labor strike at the plant. I’m not sure. One thing I am sure of is that we moved shortly after Big Al was born. Big Al was the last of the Hayter kids… thank goodness. He was Mom’s seventh. She was 40 when she had him. Like most of us, I don’t think he was planned. And, like with Jill, shortly after he showed up, Dad moved us. And, this move was really the pits.

We went from garage back to garage-less. The house on Finfrock was a small white structure that was supported by cinder blocks. It was located about a good rock toss and two decent spits away from the Ship Channel. Whatever Dad paid for rent couldn’t have been much. I’m sure he went through any savings he might’ve had buying the Biscayne and making the down payment on the house on Pinewood. All the good stuff we experienced on Pinewood never resurfaced on Finfrock. I’m thinking that with the new house and car, Dad had stretched things about as far as possible. Then Al shows up. Crimenee! Then, like I said, Crown likely went on strike.

The combination of those things ended to the good life for us. And, it shoved our buns to another part of town even worse than Randall Street. On Finfrock, every chemical smell along the channel made its way into our house. It was particularly bad that winter. We were just south of the Paper Mill and the refineries, so the wind out of the north would coat the walls with bad stuff. What the people in Galena Park suffered during the summer months, we got during the winter.

We weren’t at Finfrock for a year when we moved again. We didn’t move away from the Ship Channel, just further east along the ship channel. It was a move up, though. The house on Belmont was a little bigger and set on a large corner lot. And, it had a detached garage. I thought it most unique. It was conceivable that you could burn down the garage without damaging the house. I wasn’t a big fire starter you understand, but kids generally fantasize about bad stuff happening. At least this kid did.

What I remember most about Belmont were the forts Dennis and I built in the backyard and in the field across the street. Elaborate structures. We used sawhorses and some of Dad’s wood scraps for the forts at home, and reeds and some of the tall grass for the forts in the field. We’d go on hikes carrying canteens filled with a mixture of hot Club Soda, Crème Soda, Kool-Aid, root beer… Whatever we could find. We’d let it ferment in the canteens and see if we could get it to taste like rotgut liquor. We didn’t know what that was, but it always looked good when the cowboys drank it on TV. So, off we’d go off on hikes with our canteens, and hours later sttagger home tired and worn… and thirsty.

We once crossed Vince Bayou, a small creek that fed the Ship Channel, and saw the site of the Vince Bayou bridge. The site, not the bridge. It’s long gone. It’s the one that Deaf Smith burned before the Battle of San Jacinto. His daring exploit thwarted the retreat of Santa Anna’s men, and resulted in the capture of the Napoleon of the West.

I remember on our adventure Dennis and I found the skull of a long parted critter. Might’ve been a dog. Not sure. But, we removed a tooth from the skull and placed it in a bottle along with a note. We sealed the bottle and tossed it into Vince Bayou. The note read, “This is the tooth of Santa Anna.” We wrote in real squiggly lines to make it look scary. We imagined the bottle making it into the Gulf and floating out to sea. We hoped that someone overseas would find it and put it in a museum. We were real idiots.

I remember the hike to the Vince Bridge site as being quite long. Took us awhile to get there and to make our return. Quicksand was mentioned a few times, and that really slowed our pace. It was a real adventure.

But the greatest memory of Belmont is the BB guns. Dad actually got Dennis and me a BB gun our first Christmas on Belmont. I couldn’t believe it. Back then a Daisy BB gun cost $8. I didn’t dream Dad could afford to get us each one. I thought Dennis might get one and I’d have to fight him for a chance to shoot it.

I don’t think Mom was all that excited about Dad buying us the weaponry, but Dad mentioned something about how he was hunting squirrels with a 22 when he was nine. He could have as easily mentioned that he was also chewing tobacco at the age of seven, but that might’ve hurt our case.

Dad didn’t give Dennis and me any big warnings about the BB guns. None I remember. He’s bound to have told us to be careful. I doubt he had to tell us not to shoot each other. Or shoot our eyes out. You know, the typical warnings. I think he realized he had raised some fairly responsible kids. Fairly.

Dennis and I did the usual target practice with our BB guns. Shooting at cans and bottles and dirt daubers nests. We also killed a few birds. The birds never died with the first shot. They just fell to the ground and struggled till we ended it for them. I never felt good about that. Don’t know why I did it. Just some kind of urge to hunt… kill something with my new gun.

Another thing I’m ashamed of is that Dennis and I shot out the streetlight attached to the telephone pole across from the house. We did it without even thinking how wrong it was. Did it twice. It took the city a few weeks to replace the light the first time. Took us about two days to shoot the new light out. I don’t remember doing it a third time. I sure hope we didn’t. You would think some of my youthful deeds would give me more patience with young people today. You’d think.

We were about two years on Belmont, before we up and moved to what turned out to be the house with the most memories. The house on Camille Street… 1624 Camille. The house had a single car garage, a bathroom and a half, a fenced in backyard and a group of kids that Dennis and I fit right in with. That’s so important.

A lot of stuff happened while we were living on Camille. I remember my older sister Susan got married to Pete Mayo while we were living there. And, the following year, my big brother Larry married JoAnn Laird. We had a reception at the house following Susan’s marriage. Most of the people gathered in the backyard.

I remember that because Mom and Dad seemed a bit stressed, and they wanted the younger Hayters to become nonentities. Kids are pretty much a hindrance at weddings. Dennis, Jill, Alan and I realized Mom and Dad weren’t going to put up with much, so we towed the line. Barely showed our faces. Maybe we did it out of respect. No, it was fear. Pretty sure.

After Susan and Larry married, that just left Dad, Mom and us four kids. Things were beginning to appear manageable. There could be another book spring from our life on Camille. Even in the guts of this chapter I eluded more to my life than Dad’s. I’ll try to watch that.

Next chapter, I’m going to share three memorable occurrences between Dad and me that took place while we were living on Camille. All three are scary. I survived each, though. Even grew because of the experience. Hey, I’ve even got myself excited now.