One morning in January of 1971 dad, Lillan, Karina and I squeezed into the '68 Barracuda convertible (with our luggage) and headed from New York to Boston for the weekend... I remember the drive quite well because it was the first time I had ever been to Connecticut or Massachusetts - and for a couple of other reasons too.
First: Dad and I "got into it" over how fast his 2-bbl 318 Barracuda accelerated. He was of the opinion that it was really quick. I disagreed, having recently ridden in cars like a 68 Hemi GTX and a highly modified 427 Vette. By comparison the Barracuda was a dog.
The argument got to the point where dad threatened to drop the "women folk" off at a rest stop and show me just how quick it was. (I assume the intent was to go back and pick them up afterward.) That's when I dropped the subject...
Aside: What is up with the use of "righteous indignation" to deflect criticism and/or win arguments? I've observed that people in positions of power do it all the time (especially when they are clearly wrong) and it is surprisingly effective...
Next: At one point we ended up behind an old man wearing a hat driving slowly in the left lane. (I no longer recall if the vehicle in question was a Buick or not.) Dad could have gone around on the right but chose instead to tailgate him while blinking his high beams. The guy eventually got over and dad pulled up beside him honking his horn and making "you're crazy" gestures while ranting about old men wearing hats while driving. He was of the opinion that it caused their brains to overheat... Although I do feel that dad seriously overreacted, I completely agree with the sentiment... So - just in case anyone was wondering - that's where I got it from :-)
Now - the stated purpose of the trip was to visit a friend. But I think there was a secondary motive. Dad mentioned a number of times that the friend in question held a highly influential position on the Harvard admissions board... More on than later. (Haha. I said moron...)
We arrived in the late afternoon. The house we were visiting was a magnificent old place on a large piece of property with a private ice skating rink out back. The guy was in his 60's and his wife was in her late 30's (about the same age difference as dad and Lillan) and they were childless. (Thank goodness.)
I remember that the guy (I think his name was Hal) asked me a bunch of questions about my educational background. (Which I think was the purpose of our visit.) ... I recall telling him that my high school GPA was 2.5 and I hadn't really applied myself... He was unimpressed... And after a bit of back and forth he finally said:
"So... Why aren't you in Vietnam???"
My initial impulse was to kick him in the nuts, but I figured that might be considered impolite. So I just explained that I was barely 17 and left it at that :-)
Eventually we had dinner, and afterward there were cocktails and conversation... I have to say that the man's wife was one messed up lady. She had been raised by her father and after a couple of drinks that's all she wanted to talk about. No matter what the topic was she'd end up saying something about how it was with her and her father...
So after suffering through a couple of hours of "daddy issues" it was time for Karina and I to leave... Yes - dad and Lillan were spending the night but we weren't invited. So dad dropped us off at a motel - I think it was was the Quality Inn in Lexington... Now - that was totally fine with me because it got us away from "daddy's girl" and gave us a chance to compare notes on the day's festivities... But Karina was really upset about it. The fact that dad had no qualms about staying somewhere his children weren't welcome just reinforced the sense that we weren't a very important part of his life...
Aside: To be perfectly honest, I stopped expecting much from dad when I was 9 or 10 years old, but I don't think Karina ever did...
So - I think I've covered everything relevant from that weekend except for one final incident:
On the drive back to New York we stopped to eat at a restaurant in Sturbridge and there was a woman there with curlers in her hair... Dad and Lillan immediately started in about how they couldn't believe she was wearing curlers in public - how rude and impolite it was. They were like - "How dare she???"
I was absolutely mystified by there reaction... Finally, I just couldn't take any more and asked: "Why exactly do her curlers bother you that much???"
Their answer was something like: "Oh, no! It doesn't bother US at all! ... We're not like that! ... We're just concerned about everyone else in the restaurant! ... It's disrespectful to them!"...
Well - I looked around the restaurant (which was quite crowded at the time) and I'm certain there wasn't a single other person who noticed the curlers... But it was pointless to argue so I just rolled my eyes and dropped the subject...
I think the reason I remembered that incident so well is that they actually believed that they weren't being judgmental snobs... Yeah - dad and Lillan (and my mom) possessed many admirable characteristics, but self-awareness was not among them :-)
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Day to Day
There is a lot I don't remember about my time in New York... I don't even recall exactly how long I was there - somewhere around 4 to 6 weeks, I think... But the things that I do recall are etched in my memory... There are stories to be told but I'll leave those for subsequent posts. For now I'm just going to talk about the day to day odds and ends.
For the first couple of years after dad brought Lillan to the U.S. they lived in Boston. But at the time of my visit dad was working in Manhattan and they were living in a highrise building in Riverdale (north of the Bronx).
Aside: It's odd that I don't recall where I slept when I was there... I think it might have been on a sofa in the living room. (A pull-out sleeper?)
I don't specifically recall the drive from JFK to Riverdale on the evening I arrived, but I do remember that the freeway traffic there was (generally) insane. I had been to L.A. many times but New Yorkers took it to a whole different level... In L.A. people tended to slow down when traffic got really heavy. But not in New York... I'm talking about 2 car length separation at 60 MPH. It was unreal... And any car left on the shoulder was stripped - I mean wheels, doors, hood, trunk lid, seats... I had never seen anything like it before.
OK - I do recall walking into dad and Lillan's apartment for the first time. That's because it was strangely familiar... Most of the furnishings - like the couches, lamps and tables - were the ones I grew up with. Even the dishes were the same. They had been dad's Christmas present to mom in '62 or '63. (I remember when Karina and I went with dad to Wanamakers in Philadelphia to pick them out.) ... It all kind of conveyed the sense that mom had been "replaced".
Most days were uneventful - somewhat boring, actually... Karina was having a "thing" with one of dad's younger acquaintances. Like most of her relationships it was "on and off" so she tended to drift in and out...
Since dad and Lillan only had one car (a '68 Barracuda convertible) dad typically commuted by train. He'd get home in the evening (usually grouchy) and start mixing Rob Roys (his drink of choice). Like I said - it was all strangely familiar.
One evening when he got home Karina and I were sitting by the stereo listening to the Abbey Road album - not even very loud... Dad came in the door, walked right to the stereo and turned it off - without saying a word or even so much as looking at us...
Karina and knew exactly what the other was thinking: "What an @ss!"... I mean - all he had to do was ask... It was yet another reminder that in his mind he was the only person who mattered...
BTW: Dad's surliness didn't seem to faze Lillan one bit. It was a totally different dynamic than I was used to. She just ignored the things that used to set my mom off...
Then there were the trips into the city... I remember wondering how so many people could live so close together and yet be so distant from each other... It was as if they were all in their own little protective bubbles...
One evening on the news they were showing footage of a gas explosion at a Manhattan restaurant. (The news crew got there before the emergency responders...) Customers had been blown out the windows onto the sidewalk and were lying there dead or seriously injured. And pedestrians were just stepping over them - not even breaking stride or looking down... Nothing could shock a New Yorker out of his/her little bubble.
OK - on to another topic:
My mom had never been much for cleaning... She had a plaque that read "My house is clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy" and that pretty much summed it up. Of course, the "clean enough" part was debatable :-) I don't think I mentioned this before, but in Philadelphia we had a hand-crank type can opener mounted on the wall. We used it for both people and dog food - and I don't recall it ever getting washed... Also, I'm pretty sure I can count the number of times I saw mom move a piece of furniture while cleaning on one hand.
Lillan, on the other hand, spent her mornings vacuuming and dusting every square inch of the apartment. That included removing the sofa cushions and getting under every piece of furniture... And all the while she'd be singing and humming - just having a wonderful time. Yeah - I've always tended to avoid cheerful people. They interfere with my depressive brooding :-)
BTW: Lillan was an amazing cook. I always looked forward to the meals whenever I visited them in the years that followed...
Next: At that time I still had a learner's permit and had never driven anywhere more hectic than downtown Tyler, Texas... Dad, for some reason, thought it would be a good idea to have me drive around Manhattan... I still remember how terrifying it was. Lane markers and traffic signals didn't seem to hold any particular significance there. Let's just say it was "memorable".
Then (I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here) when I was returning to Tyler dad insisted that I drive to the airport... So there I was - southbound in the left lane on the Van Wyck Expressway - when the car in front of me suddenly shifted right, thus revealing a vehicle abandoned in my lane. There was no room to stop. The only thing I could do was change lanes... Luckily, the motorist next to me saw it coming and slammed on his brakes to let me over. Otherwise there was no way I could have avoided a collision.
It was a valuable lesson (one I've never forgotten) about expecting the unexpected and being aware of everything going on around me.
Finally: I've already blogged about my efforts to "unlearn" my childhood affectations - becoming "born again blue collar" - disavowing any notion that I was better than anyone else... And visiting dad reminded me of just why I had gone though all of that trouble...
It was an environment where everything was "special"... The antiques, original artwork, their friends, the music they listened to, the wines they drank, the TV they watched - even the way they dressed and behaved. They just didn't have very much in common with the average person...
Now - I know that dad and Lillan would be deeply offended at the suggestion that they were in any way "elitist" - yet they knew so little of mainstream America that it was almost comical at times.
So yeah - it was all a bit strange... Lillan was only 3 years older than Karina so it was hard to treat her as an "adult"... And dad really wasn't used to having us around so there always seemed to be tension in the air... All in all I'm not sure why I stayed as long as I did... I guess I just didn't have anything better to do :-)
For the first couple of years after dad brought Lillan to the U.S. they lived in Boston. But at the time of my visit dad was working in Manhattan and they were living in a highrise building in Riverdale (north of the Bronx).
Aside: It's odd that I don't recall where I slept when I was there... I think it might have been on a sofa in the living room. (A pull-out sleeper?)
I don't specifically recall the drive from JFK to Riverdale on the evening I arrived, but I do remember that the freeway traffic there was (generally) insane. I had been to L.A. many times but New Yorkers took it to a whole different level... In L.A. people tended to slow down when traffic got really heavy. But not in New York... I'm talking about 2 car length separation at 60 MPH. It was unreal... And any car left on the shoulder was stripped - I mean wheels, doors, hood, trunk lid, seats... I had never seen anything like it before.
OK - I do recall walking into dad and Lillan's apartment for the first time. That's because it was strangely familiar... Most of the furnishings - like the couches, lamps and tables - were the ones I grew up with. Even the dishes were the same. They had been dad's Christmas present to mom in '62 or '63. (I remember when Karina and I went with dad to Wanamakers in Philadelphia to pick them out.) ... It all kind of conveyed the sense that mom had been "replaced".
Most days were uneventful - somewhat boring, actually... Karina was having a "thing" with one of dad's younger acquaintances. Like most of her relationships it was "on and off" so she tended to drift in and out...
Since dad and Lillan only had one car (a '68 Barracuda convertible) dad typically commuted by train. He'd get home in the evening (usually grouchy) and start mixing Rob Roys (his drink of choice). Like I said - it was all strangely familiar.
One evening when he got home Karina and I were sitting by the stereo listening to the Abbey Road album - not even very loud... Dad came in the door, walked right to the stereo and turned it off - without saying a word or even so much as looking at us...
Karina and knew exactly what the other was thinking: "What an @ss!"... I mean - all he had to do was ask... It was yet another reminder that in his mind he was the only person who mattered...
BTW: Dad's surliness didn't seem to faze Lillan one bit. It was a totally different dynamic than I was used to. She just ignored the things that used to set my mom off...
Then there were the trips into the city... I remember wondering how so many people could live so close together and yet be so distant from each other... It was as if they were all in their own little protective bubbles...
One evening on the news they were showing footage of a gas explosion at a Manhattan restaurant. (The news crew got there before the emergency responders...) Customers had been blown out the windows onto the sidewalk and were lying there dead or seriously injured. And pedestrians were just stepping over them - not even breaking stride or looking down... Nothing could shock a New Yorker out of his/her little bubble.
OK - on to another topic:
My mom had never been much for cleaning... She had a plaque that read "My house is clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy" and that pretty much summed it up. Of course, the "clean enough" part was debatable :-) I don't think I mentioned this before, but in Philadelphia we had a hand-crank type can opener mounted on the wall. We used it for both people and dog food - and I don't recall it ever getting washed... Also, I'm pretty sure I can count the number of times I saw mom move a piece of furniture while cleaning on one hand.
Lillan, on the other hand, spent her mornings vacuuming and dusting every square inch of the apartment. That included removing the sofa cushions and getting under every piece of furniture... And all the while she'd be singing and humming - just having a wonderful time. Yeah - I've always tended to avoid cheerful people. They interfere with my depressive brooding :-)
BTW: Lillan was an amazing cook. I always looked forward to the meals whenever I visited them in the years that followed...
Next: At that time I still had a learner's permit and had never driven anywhere more hectic than downtown Tyler, Texas... Dad, for some reason, thought it would be a good idea to have me drive around Manhattan... I still remember how terrifying it was. Lane markers and traffic signals didn't seem to hold any particular significance there. Let's just say it was "memorable".
Then (I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here) when I was returning to Tyler dad insisted that I drive to the airport... So there I was - southbound in the left lane on the Van Wyck Expressway - when the car in front of me suddenly shifted right, thus revealing a vehicle abandoned in my lane. There was no room to stop. The only thing I could do was change lanes... Luckily, the motorist next to me saw it coming and slammed on his brakes to let me over. Otherwise there was no way I could have avoided a collision.
It was a valuable lesson (one I've never forgotten) about expecting the unexpected and being aware of everything going on around me.
Finally: I've already blogged about my efforts to "unlearn" my childhood affectations - becoming "born again blue collar" - disavowing any notion that I was better than anyone else... And visiting dad reminded me of just why I had gone though all of that trouble...
It was an environment where everything was "special"... The antiques, original artwork, their friends, the music they listened to, the wines they drank, the TV they watched - even the way they dressed and behaved. They just didn't have very much in common with the average person...
Now - I know that dad and Lillan would be deeply offended at the suggestion that they were in any way "elitist" - yet they knew so little of mainstream America that it was almost comical at times.
So yeah - it was all a bit strange... Lillan was only 3 years older than Karina so it was hard to treat her as an "adult"... And dad really wasn't used to having us around so there always seemed to be tension in the air... All in all I'm not sure why I stayed as long as I did... I guess I just didn't have anything better to do :-)
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Getting Reaquainted
I think I need to take a step back and spend a bit of time setting the scene for my visit to New York in January of 1971:
The "journey" actually started in mid April of 1965 when dad (having been out of work for over a year) sent us off to Germany, claiming that he would join us as soon as the house was sold and the loose ends wrapped up... Yeah - that's not what happened...
BTW: It wasn't until decades later (after dad passed away) that I found out he told Lillan (his second wife) that mom left him (ran off to Germany with the kids)... So let me introduce into evidence dad's own words. Here's the last paragraph of a note he sent me dated 4/30/65 (two weeks after we left Philadelphia):
We didn't hear from him for a month after this note. Then mom got a letter asking for a divorce... Now - I don't know what happened to him during that month - and I never will. Maybe he actually managed to convince himself mom had left him - who knows... But I do know that when he'd had enough of something (or someone) he would just walk away, saying "I wash my hands of (insert name here)"... I don't know how many times I heard him say that - usually after some angry words about "disloyalty"... And at the time it sure felt like he had decided to "wash his hands" of his family.
For the next couple of years Dad would show up (usually unannounced) every now and again for a day or two - always asking mom for a divorce. (Mom was still hoping they could reconcile...) Then in August of 1968 (when we were in Winnipeg) mom finally gave up and signed the "Juarez" divorce papers... And that was the last I saw of dad until that day at JFK in 1971.
So, as I saw dad approaching from the other end of the concourse the biggest question in my mind was where I stood with him... Every time we had talked during the prior 6 years we never seemed to get past him explaining that everything was mom's fault... So I was left wondering - exactly why did he want to see me? What did he think of me? And what did he expect from me?
There were other questions too - mostly about Lillan... Now, I must re-emphasize that I thought she knew dad had walked out on us and she just didn't care. And that played a significant role in how I felt about her. So, this is what was running through my head at the time:
When she met dad in Paris... She was 19 or 20 and he was 40-something... Seriously! I'm sure he was charming and all, but he was her father's age - and married - with kids! ... What was she thinking?? Was she not aware that the money he was spending on her was money he wasn't spending on his family? Did she not care??
Funny how he could afford to wine and dine her all over Europe but couldn't afford to send us a few bucks for medicine. (His excuse was "You can't squeeze blood from a turnip". Those words left a very deep scar...)
Then to top it off they got married on MY birthday!!! Yes - it's every boy's dream to have the dad who walked out on his mom marry another woman on his birthday... Unreal... I couldn't believe it never occurred to them just how not OK that was!
Needless to say - I was really mad at Lillan before I ever met her...
So it came to pass that dad and I exchanged pleasantries in the concourse at JFK then headed back to the restaurant to meet the evil temptress who had stolen him away from his family...
Aside: Karina was not there to meet me... I no longer recall if I knew she wasn't going to be there. But I'm sure if I was surprised I would remember it - and I don't so I wasn't. But I digress...
OK... You know the scene where Mad Max is fighting to the death in the Thunderdome? And Blaster's helmet gets knocked off to reveal that he's not actually a monster - just an overgrown kid with Down's Syndrome? And Max can't fight him anymore?
Meeting Lillan was kind of like that :-) As it turns out, she was pleasant... You know - always upbeat... Attentive listener... Never says anything deep or controversial... Sociable - always appropriate... Nice looking, but not unusually attractive... Not unusually anything... Well - she was unusually "top heavy"... But aside from that she was just pleasant...
I was seriously taken aback... I mean, my mom had been brilliant, challenging, intense - a Prima Donna - a force of nature - incomprehensibly gifted. Her mere presence left people gasping for breath - truly one of a kind... And her replacement was - pleasant... Go figure :-)
But the main thing I remember about that brief time we spent in the restaurant was how casual and nonchalant it was... I mean - dad hadn't seen me in years - and Lillan was meeting me for the first time - so I expected some level of emotion... But it was almost like I was the pizza delivery guy: "Oh, you're here! How's it going? Here's a $5 tip!" :-)
To this day I am still puzzled by his apparent indifference toward me on that (and many subsequent) occasions... I guess it's one of those things that will forever remain a mystery...
To Be Continued.
The "journey" actually started in mid April of 1965 when dad (having been out of work for over a year) sent us off to Germany, claiming that he would join us as soon as the house was sold and the loose ends wrapped up... Yeah - that's not what happened...
BTW: It wasn't until decades later (after dad passed away) that I found out he told Lillan (his second wife) that mom left him (ran off to Germany with the kids)... So let me introduce into evidence dad's own words. Here's the last paragraph of a note he sent me dated 4/30/65 (two weeks after we left Philadelphia):
We didn't hear from him for a month after this note. Then mom got a letter asking for a divorce... Now - I don't know what happened to him during that month - and I never will. Maybe he actually managed to convince himself mom had left him - who knows... But I do know that when he'd had enough of something (or someone) he would just walk away, saying "I wash my hands of (insert name here)"... I don't know how many times I heard him say that - usually after some angry words about "disloyalty"... And at the time it sure felt like he had decided to "wash his hands" of his family.For the next couple of years Dad would show up (usually unannounced) every now and again for a day or two - always asking mom for a divorce. (Mom was still hoping they could reconcile...) Then in August of 1968 (when we were in Winnipeg) mom finally gave up and signed the "Juarez" divorce papers... And that was the last I saw of dad until that day at JFK in 1971.
So, as I saw dad approaching from the other end of the concourse the biggest question in my mind was where I stood with him... Every time we had talked during the prior 6 years we never seemed to get past him explaining that everything was mom's fault... So I was left wondering - exactly why did he want to see me? What did he think of me? And what did he expect from me?
There were other questions too - mostly about Lillan... Now, I must re-emphasize that I thought she knew dad had walked out on us and she just didn't care. And that played a significant role in how I felt about her. So, this is what was running through my head at the time:
When she met dad in Paris... She was 19 or 20 and he was 40-something... Seriously! I'm sure he was charming and all, but he was her father's age - and married - with kids! ... What was she thinking?? Was she not aware that the money he was spending on her was money he wasn't spending on his family? Did she not care??
Funny how he could afford to wine and dine her all over Europe but couldn't afford to send us a few bucks for medicine. (His excuse was "You can't squeeze blood from a turnip". Those words left a very deep scar...)
Then to top it off they got married on MY birthday!!! Yes - it's every boy's dream to have the dad who walked out on his mom marry another woman on his birthday... Unreal... I couldn't believe it never occurred to them just how not OK that was!
Needless to say - I was really mad at Lillan before I ever met her...
So it came to pass that dad and I exchanged pleasantries in the concourse at JFK then headed back to the restaurant to meet the evil temptress who had stolen him away from his family...
Aside: Karina was not there to meet me... I no longer recall if I knew she wasn't going to be there. But I'm sure if I was surprised I would remember it - and I don't so I wasn't. But I digress...
OK... You know the scene where Mad Max is fighting to the death in the Thunderdome? And Blaster's helmet gets knocked off to reveal that he's not actually a monster - just an overgrown kid with Down's Syndrome? And Max can't fight him anymore?
Meeting Lillan was kind of like that :-) As it turns out, she was pleasant... You know - always upbeat... Attentive listener... Never says anything deep or controversial... Sociable - always appropriate... Nice looking, but not unusually attractive... Not unusually anything... Well - she was unusually "top heavy"... But aside from that she was just pleasant...
I was seriously taken aback... I mean, my mom had been brilliant, challenging, intense - a Prima Donna - a force of nature - incomprehensibly gifted. Her mere presence left people gasping for breath - truly one of a kind... And her replacement was - pleasant... Go figure :-)
But the main thing I remember about that brief time we spent in the restaurant was how casual and nonchalant it was... I mean - dad hadn't seen me in years - and Lillan was meeting me for the first time - so I expected some level of emotion... But it was almost like I was the pizza delivery guy: "Oh, you're here! How's it going? Here's a $5 tip!" :-)
To this day I am still puzzled by his apparent indifference toward me on that (and many subsequent) occasions... I guess it's one of those things that will forever remain a mystery...
To Be Continued.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Tyler to New York
Sometime in late 1970 (when we were still living in Tyler, Texas) Karina headed to New York to stay with our dad. And since "misery loves company" she soon began lobbying for me to come keep her company... Now, mom didn't like the idea one bit. Although her relationship with Karina had always been a bit rocky, I was her little angel and she didn't want to "give me up". So I had to sit through the "I never should have been born" routine, and after some back and forth she finally closed with: "You want to live with your father? Go live with your father!" ... I don't think she really meant it, but I really needed a change.
So I booked a one way trip to the Big Apple (dad paid for it) and early one morning in January 1971 I took a cab to the Tyler airport. (Mom was out of town, and yes, she was aware...) Unfortunately, some fog had rolled in overnight and my connecting flight to Dallas was cancelled at the last minute. To make matters worse, the ticket agent was not particularly helpful - only offering to rebook my trip for a different day. (This was WAY before the internet and cell phones. Changing travel arrangements was not that easy.)
I was standing there like a deer in the headlights, trying to get a handle on the situation, when I overheard a couple of salesmen talking about renting a car and heading for Love Field. Now - I really didn't want to rebook the trip but I was also really hesitant to approach the businessmen because of my long hair. (Let's just say I'd had some experiences)... But I was nicely dressed, and there was still some "polite" left in me from my Catholic school days - so I went ahead and asked... I was a pleasantly surprised. Not only did they invite me along, they wouldn't even let me chip in any money.
Aside: The irony is that most of the people in the south who hated "hippies" were basically good people. They were just behaving irrationally because they felt like the country was coming apart at the seams... That was 1971. Now it's 2011. A couple of years ago the financial sector almost took down the entire economy. Unemployment is near 10%, homes are being foreclosed left and right and people are camping in city parks (Occupy Wall Street). Once again, irrational fear is driving us apart when we need to be coming together... Some things never change, I guess...
Another aside: It occurs to me that someday someone reading this will know how the 2012 election turned out - and how long it took to turn the economy around (if it ever recovered). And they will know how history will remember Obama. And whether Bill Clinton will be remembered for balancing the budget or sticking a cigar in Monica Lewinski... And what about our current crop of Republicans? Like John Boehner, John Perry, Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachmann and Herman "I did not sexually harass those women" Cain? Will they still be considered bozos by anyone but the staunchest conservatives? Interesting questions... But I digress :-)
I think I remember the drive to Dallas so well because I kept checking my watch every few seconds trying to decide if I was going to make my flight. The driver told me to just relax, so as we cruised westward along I-20 I tried to kick back and let myself be amused as I listened to the salesmen swap stories and talk shop... I remember being struck by how different their lives were from mine... How odd. We were riding in the same car - yet we were worlds apart :-)
I breathed a sigh of relief as we pulled off I-35E onto Mockingbird Lane. There was still 1/2 hour left until flight time - it was tight, but I was going to make it. There was just a few more blocks, then across the train tracks and left into the airport entrance... Did I say train tracks? ... Yeah - it was one of those days. The train was really long and moving really slow. I swear we were stuck at the crossing for almost 10 minutes. I was so stressed out that the driver was about to turn around and find an alternate route when the gate finally lifted.
Both of the salesmen had later flights so they dropped me off at my terminal before returning the car. I thanked them profusely and (long story short) made the flight - just barely.
I have to say that I enjoyed air travel a lot more back then. That was before deregulation. The airline schedules were government controlled thus ensuring that less "popular" destinations were adequately served and you could get pretty much anywhere at a reasonable time. Ticket prices (also regulated by the government) were quite high, but the flights were usually uncrowded and on time. Also, the meals were much better, there was more leg room - and the airlines actually made money... But most importantly, the flight attendants were young, female, attractive, wore really short skirts and bent over a lot... Yeah - when you're 17 you can't help but notice those things... Luckily, as you get older you learn to pretend not to notice :-) But I digress (again).
The flight to New York (JFK) was uneventful and mostly pleasant, except I couldn't stop thinking about the last time I had been at JFK when Dad sent us off to Germany without any hint that our lives were about to be torn apart... The circle was almost complete - ending right where it started.
Despite having departed Dallas a bit behind schedule (thank goodness) there was an unexpected tailwind and we arrived at JFK 20 minutes early. Back in those days there weren't flight status monitors all over the airport so Dad and Lillan (his new wife) were still having dinner at one of the restaurants in the terminal when I landed.
I stood around at the gate for a minute or two before deciding to head for the ticket counter to have dad paged. Meanwhile, dad noticed some people coming from the direction of my gate and interrupted his dinner to come check if I had arrived early.
I still remember that strange mix of relief and apprehension as I spotted dad approaching from the other direction.
To Be Continued.
So I booked a one way trip to the Big Apple (dad paid for it) and early one morning in January 1971 I took a cab to the Tyler airport. (Mom was out of town, and yes, she was aware...) Unfortunately, some fog had rolled in overnight and my connecting flight to Dallas was cancelled at the last minute. To make matters worse, the ticket agent was not particularly helpful - only offering to rebook my trip for a different day. (This was WAY before the internet and cell phones. Changing travel arrangements was not that easy.)
I was standing there like a deer in the headlights, trying to get a handle on the situation, when I overheard a couple of salesmen talking about renting a car and heading for Love Field. Now - I really didn't want to rebook the trip but I was also really hesitant to approach the businessmen because of my long hair. (Let's just say I'd had some experiences)... But I was nicely dressed, and there was still some "polite" left in me from my Catholic school days - so I went ahead and asked... I was a pleasantly surprised. Not only did they invite me along, they wouldn't even let me chip in any money.
Aside: The irony is that most of the people in the south who hated "hippies" were basically good people. They were just behaving irrationally because they felt like the country was coming apart at the seams... That was 1971. Now it's 2011. A couple of years ago the financial sector almost took down the entire economy. Unemployment is near 10%, homes are being foreclosed left and right and people are camping in city parks (Occupy Wall Street). Once again, irrational fear is driving us apart when we need to be coming together... Some things never change, I guess...
Another aside: It occurs to me that someday someone reading this will know how the 2012 election turned out - and how long it took to turn the economy around (if it ever recovered). And they will know how history will remember Obama. And whether Bill Clinton will be remembered for balancing the budget or sticking a cigar in Monica Lewinski... And what about our current crop of Republicans? Like John Boehner, John Perry, Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachmann and Herman "I did not sexually harass those women" Cain? Will they still be considered bozos by anyone but the staunchest conservatives? Interesting questions... But I digress :-)
I think I remember the drive to Dallas so well because I kept checking my watch every few seconds trying to decide if I was going to make my flight. The driver told me to just relax, so as we cruised westward along I-20 I tried to kick back and let myself be amused as I listened to the salesmen swap stories and talk shop... I remember being struck by how different their lives were from mine... How odd. We were riding in the same car - yet we were worlds apart :-)
I breathed a sigh of relief as we pulled off I-35E onto Mockingbird Lane. There was still 1/2 hour left until flight time - it was tight, but I was going to make it. There was just a few more blocks, then across the train tracks and left into the airport entrance... Did I say train tracks? ... Yeah - it was one of those days. The train was really long and moving really slow. I swear we were stuck at the crossing for almost 10 minutes. I was so stressed out that the driver was about to turn around and find an alternate route when the gate finally lifted.
Both of the salesmen had later flights so they dropped me off at my terminal before returning the car. I thanked them profusely and (long story short) made the flight - just barely.
I have to say that I enjoyed air travel a lot more back then. That was before deregulation. The airline schedules were government controlled thus ensuring that less "popular" destinations were adequately served and you could get pretty much anywhere at a reasonable time. Ticket prices (also regulated by the government) were quite high, but the flights were usually uncrowded and on time. Also, the meals were much better, there was more leg room - and the airlines actually made money... But most importantly, the flight attendants were young, female, attractive, wore really short skirts and bent over a lot... Yeah - when you're 17 you can't help but notice those things... Luckily, as you get older you learn to pretend not to notice :-) But I digress (again).
The flight to New York (JFK) was uneventful and mostly pleasant, except I couldn't stop thinking about the last time I had been at JFK when Dad sent us off to Germany without any hint that our lives were about to be torn apart... The circle was almost complete - ending right where it started.
Despite having departed Dallas a bit behind schedule (thank goodness) there was an unexpected tailwind and we arrived at JFK 20 minutes early. Back in those days there weren't flight status monitors all over the airport so Dad and Lillan (his new wife) were still having dinner at one of the restaurants in the terminal when I landed.
I stood around at the gate for a minute or two before deciding to head for the ticket counter to have dad paged. Meanwhile, dad noticed some people coming from the direction of my gate and interrupted his dinner to come check if I had arrived early.
I still remember that strange mix of relief and apprehension as I spotted dad approaching from the other direction.
To Be Continued.
Friday, November 11, 2011
ThirteenThousand Words
I've poked around a bit online and came up with pictures of a number of people who were mentioned in my recent posts.
First up are 3 teachers from John Tyler High School:
The one on the left is Mr. Maxwell, the Physics teacher who actually seemed to "get me". He's the one who blew up the lab equipment and drew the "core tore" on the blackboard.
Next is Mrs Whitman, the English teacher. Yeah - her makeup was a bit colorful and she misspelled words from time to time... But I have to admit that she's not nearly as funny looking as I remembered. And this picture reminds me of just how much she enjoyed teaching and how passionate she was about it. Apparently I let the fact that I'm a cynical asshole color my opinion of her :-)
Finally - the one on the right was the drafting teacher who kicked me out of his class (thereby inadvertently saving me from entering a dying profession). You know - I went back and reread my post on the topic and not once did I mention how much he resembled a pig... I can't believe I let that slide :-)
Next are 4 more girls from Tyler. Three of them were juniors at John Tyler High and the last one had already graduated from Robert E Lee:
Girl #1 is Kathleen Osborn. Her house was sort of across from the one we rented on Chilton and her cousin was the first girl I dated... She looks even more "waif-like" than I recalled...
Girl #2 is Karen Hatfield. She's the one who invited me in to her house and proceeded to lie on the couch and I still have no clue what that was about :-)
Girl #3 is the sweet young lady (with the partially unbuttoned blouse) whose seat I was was standing next to on the school bus. She looks exactly like I remembered.
Girl #4 was drummer Bobby's girlfriend Laura. She's the one he was arguing with when the doorknob came off in his hand... OK - so I thought she was pretty...
Last are pictures of some of the older members of "The Chosen Few" (click to enlarge). All of them went to Denton High:
Starting on the left is the infamous Becky. I've probably already said too much about her :-)
Next we have one of the Lindas (spelled Lynda) and then Lee Ann. They were (obviously) both kind of skinny. Funny - I had totally forgotten about Lee Ann until I saw her picture... I didn't have much to do with either of them...
Finally, we have Royce, Steve and Sam. (Took me a while to find Sam's pic because that's not his real first name - yet another thing I totally forgot) ... And I remember thinking this picture of Steve looked like something off a mid-60s British rock album :-)
BTW: These aren't all the members I found... I left out the preacher's son because I'm deliberately ignoring him. And I didn't include the ones who left the group around that time (or just drifted in and out)... I also found recent pictures of a lot of these folks and considered posting them but that would have just been too cruel :-)
For my next post I need to take a small step back in time because I completely forget about something major that happened before we left Tyler: Karina and I spent a month or so in New York with our dad and his new wife... I'm sure it will come as no surprise that things didn't go well...
First up are 3 teachers from John Tyler High School:
The one on the left is Mr. Maxwell, the Physics teacher who actually seemed to "get me". He's the one who blew up the lab equipment and drew the "core tore" on the blackboard.Next is Mrs Whitman, the English teacher. Yeah - her makeup was a bit colorful and she misspelled words from time to time... But I have to admit that she's not nearly as funny looking as I remembered. And this picture reminds me of just how much she enjoyed teaching and how passionate she was about it. Apparently I let the fact that I'm a cynical asshole color my opinion of her :-)
Finally - the one on the right was the drafting teacher who kicked me out of his class (thereby inadvertently saving me from entering a dying profession). You know - I went back and reread my post on the topic and not once did I mention how much he resembled a pig... I can't believe I let that slide :-)
Next are 4 more girls from Tyler. Three of them were juniors at John Tyler High and the last one had already graduated from Robert E Lee:
Girl #1 is Kathleen Osborn. Her house was sort of across from the one we rented on Chilton and her cousin was the first girl I dated... She looks even more "waif-like" than I recalled...Girl #2 is Karen Hatfield. She's the one who invited me in to her house and proceeded to lie on the couch and I still have no clue what that was about :-)
Girl #3 is the sweet young lady (with the partially unbuttoned blouse) whose seat I was was standing next to on the school bus. She looks exactly like I remembered.
Girl #4 was drummer Bobby's girlfriend Laura. She's the one he was arguing with when the doorknob came off in his hand... OK - so I thought she was pretty...
Last are pictures of some of the older members of "The Chosen Few" (click to enlarge). All of them went to Denton High:
Starting on the left is the infamous Becky. I've probably already said too much about her :-)Next we have one of the Lindas (spelled Lynda) and then Lee Ann. They were (obviously) both kind of skinny. Funny - I had totally forgotten about Lee Ann until I saw her picture... I didn't have much to do with either of them...
Finally, we have Royce, Steve and Sam. (Took me a while to find Sam's pic because that's not his real first name - yet another thing I totally forgot) ... And I remember thinking this picture of Steve looked like something off a mid-60s British rock album :-)
BTW: These aren't all the members I found... I left out the preacher's son because I'm deliberately ignoring him. And I didn't include the ones who left the group around that time (or just drifted in and out)... I also found recent pictures of a lot of these folks and considered posting them but that would have just been too cruel :-)
For my next post I need to take a small step back in time because I completely forget about something major that happened before we left Tyler: Karina and I spent a month or so in New York with our dad and his new wife... I'm sure it will come as no surprise that things didn't go well...
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Girl #1
Before I get to the topic at hand I just remembered an amusing (to me) incident that happened around the same time:
Shortly after we moved to the house in Argyle, Bernie Baker (the amazing jazz/classical guitarist we knew from Tyler) came to visit and brought us a bottle of "sparkling wine"... After his initial attempts to open the bottle by gently nudging the plastic stopper failed, he gradually applied more and more force until he was yanking and twisting on it with all his might - the freaking thing just would not budge... That is - until he decided to check for instructions on the stopper and pointed it at his face. That's when "cartoon physics" took effect... Bernie wasn't even touching the stopper when it blew with such force that it bounced off his forehead, the ceiling and and a wall before coming to rest on the kitchen floor... He was standing there - stunned, confused and bleeding profusely (he had to go get stitches) and I could not stop laughing... It was just such a "Wile E. Coyote" moment - as if the bottle was made by "Acme" and the fine print on the label said "open by pointing at face" :-) ... I don't think he ever forgave me for that one.
Now - on to the topic at hand:
As I mentioned a few posts ago, there were a number of girls in music group at the First Baptist church in Argyle back in 1971... At first I thought it was odd that none of the guys dated any of them. I later realized it was because of how close knit the girls were - getting too close meant becoming entangled in an incomprehensible web of emotions and drama. It was too much of a hassle... But I'm getting ahead of myself :-)
Sidebar... (I'm going to get myself in trouble for this but that's never stopped me before):
I've got absolutely nothing against "petite" women. Anyone who knows me at all knows that I'm attracted to all types... It's just that (for example) if I saw a bunch of cheerleaders in a pyramid formation I'd probably be most attracted to the one at the bottom... You know - the one that can support the load without collapsing... The one with bone structure and muscle mass... The one you could envision working at a construction site. Kind of the way female gymnasts look after they go through puberty (only taller)... I'm not talking about overweight - or buxom - just "substantial". (Seems like there should be a more concise term... Maybe Amazon???)
Now - I honestly have no clue why I find that so appealing. I just do... Probably for the same reason that I'd rather own an old school muscle car than a Ferrari... It's not that I don't find Ferraris attractive. (I even lust after them sometimes)... I'd just rather have a car I can drive the hell out of without worrying about ultra-expensive maintenance and constant breakdowns. (Of course, I've never driven a Ferrari - so who knows?) ... And having taken the analogy a bit too far I'll stop there :-)
As I entered the church that first Wednesday evening I was immediately attracted to one of the Beckys (for the reason stated above). She had just turned 16 and had that "southern country girl" vibe going... But she apparently wasn't interested in me... Yes - she uttered those seven deadly words that every guy dreads: "I only like you as a friend".
Here's a few memories:
I probably shouldn't mention this but I will anyway: In the 6 month period after I moved to Argyle Becky "matured" considerably. (Like from a B to a D). It probably wouldn't have been quite so noticeable if the physical change hadn't been accompanied by a change in demeanor and choice of clothing... It was a frequent topic of conversation among both the guys and girls - although for different reasons :-)
Next: Shortly after she got her driver's license she borrowed her brother's new Ford LTD for a trip to Denton. It was a rainy day and on the way back to Argyle she tried to pass another vehicle, hydroplaned and spun off the road through a barbed wire fence (thus discovering why the other driver had slowed down). If that wasn't bad enough, the woman driving the other car threatened to sue Becky claiming a dislodged piece of trim from the LTD had scratched her paint.
Becky was a total basket case afterward. She wouldn't even attempt to drive... I once made the mistake of giving her a ride... I didn't mind the "back seat driving" as much as the blood curdling scream whenever you drifted ever so slightly from the center of your lane. It was way beyond annoying :-)
Finally (and I still feel bad about this):
In 1976 (when I was in the Air Force and recently married) I was returning home from an extended trip to the east coast and had to change planes in DFW (Dallas/Fort Worth). The previous flight had been delayed out of Boston and the next flight was in a different terminal so I barely had time to make the connection. And to make matters worse I had to go through security again. As I hurriedly tossed my bag onto the conveyor I heard the attendant say "Peter - you old ass - what the heck are you up to?" I looked up - and it was Becky...
I didn't have time to say anything more than "Hi" and "Bye" before running off to board the next flight... So (of course) I spent the rest of the trip back to Sacramento thinking about Becky. (Freaking OCD...) And apparently, upon finally arriving home to be reunited with my wife after a six week trip, all I did for the rest of the evening was talk about Becky - Becky - Becky... Seriously - who knew wives were that sensitive about other women???
Yes - I was that clueless... And (even 35 years later) Debbie is still that mad :-)
Shortly after we moved to the house in Argyle, Bernie Baker (the amazing jazz/classical guitarist we knew from Tyler) came to visit and brought us a bottle of "sparkling wine"... After his initial attempts to open the bottle by gently nudging the plastic stopper failed, he gradually applied more and more force until he was yanking and twisting on it with all his might - the freaking thing just would not budge... That is - until he decided to check for instructions on the stopper and pointed it at his face. That's when "cartoon physics" took effect... Bernie wasn't even touching the stopper when it blew with such force that it bounced off his forehead, the ceiling and and a wall before coming to rest on the kitchen floor... He was standing there - stunned, confused and bleeding profusely (he had to go get stitches) and I could not stop laughing... It was just such a "Wile E. Coyote" moment - as if the bottle was made by "Acme" and the fine print on the label said "open by pointing at face" :-) ... I don't think he ever forgave me for that one.
Now - on to the topic at hand:
As I mentioned a few posts ago, there were a number of girls in music group at the First Baptist church in Argyle back in 1971... At first I thought it was odd that none of the guys dated any of them. I later realized it was because of how close knit the girls were - getting too close meant becoming entangled in an incomprehensible web of emotions and drama. It was too much of a hassle... But I'm getting ahead of myself :-)
Sidebar... (I'm going to get myself in trouble for this but that's never stopped me before):
I've got absolutely nothing against "petite" women. Anyone who knows me at all knows that I'm attracted to all types... It's just that (for example) if I saw a bunch of cheerleaders in a pyramid formation I'd probably be most attracted to the one at the bottom... You know - the one that can support the load without collapsing... The one with bone structure and muscle mass... The one you could envision working at a construction site. Kind of the way female gymnasts look after they go through puberty (only taller)... I'm not talking about overweight - or buxom - just "substantial". (Seems like there should be a more concise term... Maybe Amazon???)
Now - I honestly have no clue why I find that so appealing. I just do... Probably for the same reason that I'd rather own an old school muscle car than a Ferrari... It's not that I don't find Ferraris attractive. (I even lust after them sometimes)... I'd just rather have a car I can drive the hell out of without worrying about ultra-expensive maintenance and constant breakdowns. (Of course, I've never driven a Ferrari - so who knows?) ... And having taken the analogy a bit too far I'll stop there :-)
As I entered the church that first Wednesday evening I was immediately attracted to one of the Beckys (for the reason stated above). She had just turned 16 and had that "southern country girl" vibe going... But she apparently wasn't interested in me... Yes - she uttered those seven deadly words that every guy dreads: "I only like you as a friend".
Here's a few memories:
I probably shouldn't mention this but I will anyway: In the 6 month period after I moved to Argyle Becky "matured" considerably. (Like from a B to a D). It probably wouldn't have been quite so noticeable if the physical change hadn't been accompanied by a change in demeanor and choice of clothing... It was a frequent topic of conversation among both the guys and girls - although for different reasons :-)
Next: Shortly after she got her driver's license she borrowed her brother's new Ford LTD for a trip to Denton. It was a rainy day and on the way back to Argyle she tried to pass another vehicle, hydroplaned and spun off the road through a barbed wire fence (thus discovering why the other driver had slowed down). If that wasn't bad enough, the woman driving the other car threatened to sue Becky claiming a dislodged piece of trim from the LTD had scratched her paint.
Becky was a total basket case afterward. She wouldn't even attempt to drive... I once made the mistake of giving her a ride... I didn't mind the "back seat driving" as much as the blood curdling scream whenever you drifted ever so slightly from the center of your lane. It was way beyond annoying :-)
Finally (and I still feel bad about this):
In 1976 (when I was in the Air Force and recently married) I was returning home from an extended trip to the east coast and had to change planes in DFW (Dallas/Fort Worth). The previous flight had been delayed out of Boston and the next flight was in a different terminal so I barely had time to make the connection. And to make matters worse I had to go through security again. As I hurriedly tossed my bag onto the conveyor I heard the attendant say "Peter - you old ass - what the heck are you up to?" I looked up - and it was Becky...
I didn't have time to say anything more than "Hi" and "Bye" before running off to board the next flight... So (of course) I spent the rest of the trip back to Sacramento thinking about Becky. (Freaking OCD...) And apparently, upon finally arriving home to be reunited with my wife after a six week trip, all I did for the rest of the evening was talk about Becky - Becky - Becky... Seriously - who knew wives were that sensitive about other women???
Yes - I was that clueless... And (even 35 years later) Debbie is still that mad :-)
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