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.