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.