I've got a few more "Karina" stories from around the fall of 1971, but first I wanted to make a quick (or not so quick) observation about that time period:
As I've mentioned before, something happened in January 1972 that completely disrupted my life - and I'll get to that eventually... But what I didn't realize until just recently is how seriously it affected what I remember from the prior six months.
It's like someone filmed a movie but never got around to editing it. All the scenes are there but there's no indication of how they fit together. No flow, no plot line, not even a clue as to the significance of the individual scenes... Just a bunch of raw footage... I honestly had no idea that the brain spent that long post-processing (evaluating, correlating ... stitching things together)... Strange - and fascinating :-)
The point is that I find myself writing these narratives without much insight into what I was thinking (or feeling) at the time... They seem oddly "incomplete" to me...
And on to the stories:
Throughout most of 1971 Karina divided her time between being "home" with mom and me (wherever that happened to be at the moment) and staying in Dallas with Bernie (or whatever guy she was with at the time). Our place was like her home port - a rest stop - a place to recuperate before she was off on the next adventure...
I guess I'll start with the trips to the psychiatrist's office... Yeah - every couple of weeks I had to drive her down to Lake Dallas and wait in the car for an hour while she underwent "therapy"... Now, I honestly wouldn't have minded if she was actually seeking help, but she only went there to amuse herself... Karina had a collection of books on psychiatry and she was constantly devising new strategies to mislead and confuse the doc. Then afterward she'd laugh about it all the way home... Of course, it had to be a full-blown psychiatrist because it would have been no challenge at all to befuddle a mere psychologist... That was some really expensive entertainment...
Yeah - Karina never encountered a shrink who came close to catching on - she was always 3 steps ahead of them. (And 20 years later it would contribute to her demise...)
Next: One afternoon I got home from hanging out in Argyle and Karina wasn't there... That was kind of unusual because I was her only means of transportation. I started to wonder if maybe Bernie had come to pick her up when I saw the note on the table. I don't remember the exact wording but it went something like this:
Gone to New York.
Took $400 from the account.
Sorry... Karina.
Unfortunately, that $400 (approximately $2200 today adjusted for inflation) was almost every penny we had... She didn't care if rent needed to be paid - or if bills were due - or if we needed food... She felt like going to New York and nothing else in the world mattered... Needless to say I was more than slightly irritated :-)
Aside: I suspect she just wanted to meet up with an ex-boyfriend because dad had moved to Milwaukee by then... Yeah - he had an apartment in the same building as Kareem Abdul Jabbar. (There were only 8 units - one per floor - it was at the corner of E. Kane Place and N. Summit) But I'm getting ahead of myself :-)
It wasn't until Karina got back that I learned the rest of the story:
When she arrived in New York she fell and hit her head in the airport and ended up in Bellevue with amnesia for a few days. (Of course, the money disappeared from her purse.)
When her memory returned she decided she wanted to go to Germany so she called aunt Vesti to buy her a plane ticket... Hmm... I just now remembered that she had a boyfriend there too. He even visited us in Winnipeg one summer (he was her "first"). I wonder if that's why she wanted to go back? ... Regardless - she didn't stay there long enough to unpack before deciding to return to New York. So Vesti paid for another ticket...
I think it was on that flight that she met the Madison Avenue ad exec who handled one of the top two soft drink accounts (I won't say which one). He set her up in an apartment in Manhattan and they spent a few weeks clubbing and doing cocaine before she got bored and drifted back to Denton :-)
And one last story:
Early one afternoon I headed down to Argyle to hang out with one of the "non-church" kids, but before I left I promised Karina I'd be back at 4PM to take her shopping... So it came to pass that the guy I was hanging with asked me to take him over to his girlfriend's place. I explained to him that I was on a tight timeline but he assured me it would only be for a few minutes...
So - we got to the girlfriend's house around 3PM - plenty of time... And I sat in the car waiting, and waiting, and waiting ... Eventually I started honking the horn and he yelled out the window that he'd be out really soon and to just please wait for him...
Now - I would have left, except the girl's house was out in the middle of nowhere and her father (who usually got home around 4PM) had promised to beat the living shit out my buddy if he ever caught him anywhere near his daughter again.
I honestly don't know what took so long. (I didn't ask.) I figured that either she was a "good girl" and therefore always had to be "talked into it" - or he was the only teenage boy on the planet who couldn't finish in 5 minutes :-) Regardless - he finally reappeared around 3:50PM (putting his clothes on as he ran toward the car).
And that's when I found out that the Charger would go 130 MPH... I dropped him off at his place (I was so pissed off I never spoke to him again) and headed back to Denton, arriving home at 4:10 PM - 10 minutes late.
OK - this illustrates how neurotically punctual I was as a teenager:
When I got home mom and Karina were both crying and had already called the police. I swear I am not making that up... They were sure that I must have been dead or seriously injured... By then Karina was far too distraught to go shopping so I spent the rest of the evening comforting her...
Another aside: I didn't call because this was before cell phones, and there weren't any payphones around Argyle, and the guy I was hanging out with didn't have a phone at his place. So, I would have had to drive around hoping someone would let me use their phone... And I honestly had no idea mom and Karina would be that upset :-)
And here's the punch line:
Karina seemed to be having trouble getting to sleep that night, so after we said goodnight I sat by her bed as she talked and talked about how upset she had been... She babbled on for at least 20 minutes, saying the same things over and over again... And the next morning she didn't remember any of it... Yes - I had been sitting there patiently listening to her talk in her sleep :-)
Sigh - I've written and deleted 5 different final paragraphs for this post... I guess I'm at a loss for words... So I'll just say that she was truly "one of a kind" and leave it at that...
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
The Neighbors
This is one of those posts that is probably going to irritate my wife... It's not because I was attracted to other women before I met her. It's that (after 40 years) I can still describe the circumstances in such excruciating detail... She probably thinks I've been obsessing over them all this time but I honestly haven't. Those particular memories simply don't degrade much. And since the whole point of this blog is to explore how I came to be who I am it would be disingenuous not to talk about them, right?
But just to be perfectly clear: My wife the only woman I have ever wanted to spend my life with. Period... I mean - who else would put up with me???
And on to the subject at hand:
There was a young newlywed couple living next door to us on Mohican Street in Denton, Texas back in 1971. The woman appeared to be in her early 20s and was a preschool teacher. Her husband was closer to 30 and was a gas station manager. And they drove identical lime green Fiat 850 Spyders - which (as near as I could tell) was the only thing they had in common :-)
The wife (whose name I no longer recall) was a "natural" type - long, wavy, sandy blonde hair - blue eyes - often wore long flowing dresses - usually without "upper body support" (if you get my drift)... At first I wondered why she never wore makeup. I mean, if she looked that good without it, then... And that was when I realized just how stupid and shallow my concept of beauty was... Yes - she's the reason I started trying to look beyond the "packaging" to the person behind it... Of course, it's now forty years later and I'm still not "there" yet, but that's not the point of this post :-)
The story actually started with those bald tires on my 1966 Charger...
Aside: Nowadays I would have gone to a chain discount tire store, but there weren't any back then. The major brands (like Goodyear and Firestone) had their own outlets but they were rather pricey. You could get tires at department stores but most folks just went to a service station... Yeah - a service station was kind of like a gas station except they also sold tires and batteries and had mechanics who did stuff like tuneups, mufflers, shocks and brakes... Back then almost everyone took their cars to service stations for pretty much everything. But then the advent of computerized engine controls jacked up the cost of offering repair services to the point where smaller operations were no longer profitable, and that's why our younger generation no longer know what a "service station" is... But I digress...
So it came to pass that I took the Charger to a station on highway 380 that always had bunches of tires out front. And "lo and behold" - the station's manager turned out to be my next door neighbor. We recognized each other immediately (he even gave me a discount) and that's what makes what happened next all the more puzzling.
But first: My new tires said "Scat Cat" on them in raised white letters. (The manufacturer later got sued by J.C. Penney for infringing their "Scat Trac" trademark but that's irrelevant.) One evening I was at a red light in Denton when a couple of black guys in a Camaro rolled up next to me. The driver pointed at my tires, said something to his buddy and they both started laughing uncontrollably... I don't know if it was a fecal joke or what - I still have no clue what could possibly have been so damn funny about those tires :-)
And on to what happened next:
As I waited in the office for my car to be done the manager decided to regale me and a couple of his employees with tales of his sexual exploits. He started with a graphic and detailed description of his wife's intimate body parts, and he talked about everything she did to him and how she did it (with lots of colorful analogies). He even explained how he coerced her into do things she didn't really want to do... This went on for at least ten minutes and the whole time I was sitting there thinking "You unimaginable bastard! She's your wife! Does that not mean anything to you???"... It was one of the few times in my life I've had an overwhelming urge to beat the living shit out of someone...
And fast forward a couple of weeks:
It was warm, sunny day and I was out in the driveway working on the Charger. I was having trouble focusing because the wife next door was weeding her flower garden in a halter top and cutoffs and she was positioned in a way that exposed more of her derriere than she probably realized... It was kind of hard to ignore :-)
(BTW: It later occurred to me that she might have been deliberately teasing me but I honestly don't think that's the case. More likely she was totally oblivious to her own hotness.)
Long story short - I dropped a screwdriver and when I reached for it my watchband welded itself to the "hot" terminal of the alternator. By the time I managed to yank it loose it had burned the hell out of my wrist...
I must have made quite a fuss because the next thing I knew she was by my side asking what had happened. I showed her the burns but didn't mention the role her ass had played in causing them :-) She led me into her house and sat me down on the couch while she ran to the kitchen to get some ice and butter, and as she doctored my wrist (a strangely pleasurable experience despite the excruciating pain) we started to talk.
Now - I was usually tongue-tied around attractive women, but something about her put me at ease... As it turned out, her parents had divorced when she was 13, her mother was something of a "free spirit" and they had moved around a lot too... Yeah - deja-vu...
We had been sitting on the couch talking for close to an hour when her husband walked in... You should have seen the look on his face... He must have been panic stricken that I had violated the "guy code", but it was clear from her demeanor that I hadn't said a word... Still, it didn't take long to figure out that he was not OK with my having been alone with his wife, so I quickly thanked her and left.
I suspect he read her the riot act about the dangers of consorting with strange young men (especially me) because she never said more than a couple of words to me after that... And in the months that followed I often wondered how it came to be that such a sweet young woman married such a vile sack of shit... I mean, she had to suspect, right?...
I didn't live on Mohican Street for much longer so I have no idea how the story ended. I hope she came to realize that she deserved better, but my years of volunteering at a family law clinic make me suspect otherwise... Sigh - I've given up trying to understand it...
But more importantly: I never wore a watch while working on a car again :-)
But just to be perfectly clear: My wife the only woman I have ever wanted to spend my life with. Period... I mean - who else would put up with me???
And on to the subject at hand:
There was a young newlywed couple living next door to us on Mohican Street in Denton, Texas back in 1971. The woman appeared to be in her early 20s and was a preschool teacher. Her husband was closer to 30 and was a gas station manager. And they drove identical lime green Fiat 850 Spyders - which (as near as I could tell) was the only thing they had in common :-)
The wife (whose name I no longer recall) was a "natural" type - long, wavy, sandy blonde hair - blue eyes - often wore long flowing dresses - usually without "upper body support" (if you get my drift)... At first I wondered why she never wore makeup. I mean, if she looked that good without it, then... And that was when I realized just how stupid and shallow my concept of beauty was... Yes - she's the reason I started trying to look beyond the "packaging" to the person behind it... Of course, it's now forty years later and I'm still not "there" yet, but that's not the point of this post :-)
The story actually started with those bald tires on my 1966 Charger...
Aside: Nowadays I would have gone to a chain discount tire store, but there weren't any back then. The major brands (like Goodyear and Firestone) had their own outlets but they were rather pricey. You could get tires at department stores but most folks just went to a service station... Yeah - a service station was kind of like a gas station except they also sold tires and batteries and had mechanics who did stuff like tuneups, mufflers, shocks and brakes... Back then almost everyone took their cars to service stations for pretty much everything. But then the advent of computerized engine controls jacked up the cost of offering repair services to the point where smaller operations were no longer profitable, and that's why our younger generation no longer know what a "service station" is... But I digress...
So it came to pass that I took the Charger to a station on highway 380 that always had bunches of tires out front. And "lo and behold" - the station's manager turned out to be my next door neighbor. We recognized each other immediately (he even gave me a discount) and that's what makes what happened next all the more puzzling.
But first: My new tires said "Scat Cat" on them in raised white letters. (The manufacturer later got sued by J.C. Penney for infringing their "Scat Trac" trademark but that's irrelevant.) One evening I was at a red light in Denton when a couple of black guys in a Camaro rolled up next to me. The driver pointed at my tires, said something to his buddy and they both started laughing uncontrollably... I don't know if it was a fecal joke or what - I still have no clue what could possibly have been so damn funny about those tires :-)
And on to what happened next:
As I waited in the office for my car to be done the manager decided to regale me and a couple of his employees with tales of his sexual exploits. He started with a graphic and detailed description of his wife's intimate body parts, and he talked about everything she did to him and how she did it (with lots of colorful analogies). He even explained how he coerced her into do things she didn't really want to do... This went on for at least ten minutes and the whole time I was sitting there thinking "You unimaginable bastard! She's your wife! Does that not mean anything to you???"... It was one of the few times in my life I've had an overwhelming urge to beat the living shit out of someone...
And fast forward a couple of weeks:
It was warm, sunny day and I was out in the driveway working on the Charger. I was having trouble focusing because the wife next door was weeding her flower garden in a halter top and cutoffs and she was positioned in a way that exposed more of her derriere than she probably realized... It was kind of hard to ignore :-)
(BTW: It later occurred to me that she might have been deliberately teasing me but I honestly don't think that's the case. More likely she was totally oblivious to her own hotness.)
Long story short - I dropped a screwdriver and when I reached for it my watchband welded itself to the "hot" terminal of the alternator. By the time I managed to yank it loose it had burned the hell out of my wrist...
I must have made quite a fuss because the next thing I knew she was by my side asking what had happened. I showed her the burns but didn't mention the role her ass had played in causing them :-) She led me into her house and sat me down on the couch while she ran to the kitchen to get some ice and butter, and as she doctored my wrist (a strangely pleasurable experience despite the excruciating pain) we started to talk.
Now - I was usually tongue-tied around attractive women, but something about her put me at ease... As it turned out, her parents had divorced when she was 13, her mother was something of a "free spirit" and they had moved around a lot too... Yeah - deja-vu...
We had been sitting on the couch talking for close to an hour when her husband walked in... You should have seen the look on his face... He must have been panic stricken that I had violated the "guy code", but it was clear from her demeanor that I hadn't said a word... Still, it didn't take long to figure out that he was not OK with my having been alone with his wife, so I quickly thanked her and left.
I suspect he read her the riot act about the dangers of consorting with strange young men (especially me) because she never said more than a couple of words to me after that... And in the months that followed I often wondered how it came to be that such a sweet young woman married such a vile sack of shit... I mean, she had to suspect, right?...
I didn't live on Mohican Street for much longer so I have no idea how the story ended. I hope she came to realize that she deserved better, but my years of volunteering at a family law clinic make me suspect otherwise... Sigh - I've given up trying to understand it...
But more importantly: I never wore a watch while working on a car again :-)
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Up Next - Denton
Sometime during the summer of 1971 we moved from Argyle to Denton, Texas... I'm still not quite sure why... I think mom figured the rent was too high - which implies that Karina was around quite a bit at that point. And I guess that requires some explanation:
When mom was on the road (which was most of the time) she would deposit her commission checks at whatever bank branch was close by and Karina and I were supposed to use that account to cover the household expenses while mom was gone. The problem was that Karina had a very simple philosophy when it came to money: If she wanted something and there was money in the account she would buy it. Then when we needed to buy food or pay the bills we just had to "figure something out". Of course, when mom found out she would have a conniption because she was earning quite a bit at the time and could not believe it was all gone.
Aside: That is why I am so freaking anal about money. I spent all those years dealing with my sister blowing every penny we had on whatever stupid crap she felt she needed at the moment. (Like: "I've never tried this brand of eyeliner before... I'll buy a bunch of different colors and just throw away the ones I don't like!") Yeah, it usually wasn't big stuff - just lots of little things like that - the financial equivalent of a "death of a thousand cuts"... Of course, mom had her moments too - but nothing like Karina... And I'm done (for now).
So we moved to a nice little rental house at 1819 Mohican St in Denton, out on the east end of town (near the bowling alley) - only a 10 or 15 minute drive from Argyle (which was still the center of my life at that point).
And that was about the time I got my 1966 Charger. The old Fairlane was starting to have serious issues (burnt valves and the like) and I needed something a bit more reliable. Mom talked to one of the salesmen at the local Toyota dealership and he told her that had some inexpensive used cars that a teenage "motorhead" would appreciate.
Now - back in those days Toyota was a very minor player in the U.S. auto market, so the dealership was a little "hole in the wall" place near the intersection of Elm and Maple (just south of downtown). They had some pretty rough used cars, the kind you would never find on a self-respecting dealer's lot these days.
BTW: I'm always surprised at how many "original" musclecars are floating around now. I spent a lot of time looking at used ones back in the day and they were all hacked up and beat to crap. Yeah - those cars were owned by young guys who modified the hell out of them and drove them like they stole them. I don't recall ever seeing a completely original example back then... Well, except ones that were only a few days old :-)
So I headed up to the dealership and test drove 2 cars:
The first was a burgundy 1964/65 GTO. Yes - the car itself was a 1965 but the front end had been wrecked and replaced with 1964 parts (apparently they bolted right up)...
And the second car was a gold 1966 Charger (383 4-bbl) with a couple of bald tires and some minor body damage on the left rear.
Now - I no longer recall exactly why I chose the Charger, because I've always had a "soft spot" for GTOs (and Firebirds... A 1975 TransAm is the only GM vehicle I've ever owned). But then, I still had fond memories of dad's 1963 Fury convertible, and the Charger (also a Mopar) seemed to be in better mechanical condition. Plus, the air conditioning was amazing - it would literally frost the vents :-) So mom bought it for me for $600 (took out a bank loan). That translates to roughly $3000 adjusted for inflation to 2011 - not bad considering the car was only 5 years old at the time.
Sigh... I loved that car... I can't believe I don't have a single picture of it.
But it did have a number of issues: The doors were hard to close (they were massive and prone to sagging). The "concealed" headlights no longer worked and had been locked open. The vinyl upholstery was cracked (and taped) along the seams. There was a piece of red plastic taped over the broken left taillight. And the steering box always seemed to work itself loose...
But it also had an Edelbrock intake, aggressive cam, a Holley 780 4-bbl carb, headers, loud exhaust, and highway gears - the engine turned 4500 RPM (right at the torque peak) at 130 MPH... Don't ask how I know :-) You could "light up" the tires at will (which explains the lack of tread on the back).
But the coolest thing about it was the electroluminescent instrument panel. Those are pretty common now - that's where the numbers and other markings literally glow instead of being indirectly illuminated. But, back then very few cars had them and almost nobody had ever seen one. Here's a picture I found online and it really doesn't do it justice - the thing is way brighter and more "vibrant" than the picture shows:
I still remember that first time I turned the headlights on. I was at the church in Argyle and totally freaked out when I saw the instruments light up. The guys were all hanging around the car (checking it out) and they were as amazed as I was :-)
One final story:
As I mentioned before, the back tires on the Charger were totally bald when I got it. As a matter of fact, the polyester cord was starting to show through the rubber on one of them. So, I went out and bought 2 new tires - total cost $35 (about $100 a piece in 2011 dollars)... Karina was absolutely furious. It didn't matter that I chauffeured her around in that car and it was completely unsafe with those bald tires. As far as she was concerned I had simply blown a bunch of money and that gave her the right to spend even more... So, she had me drive her to the local health club where she blew $50 on an annual membership ($300 in 2011 dollars) that she never used...
Yeah - as brilliant as she was, she simply couldn't see the difference... Sigh - I hope that whoever reads these posts will get some inkling of what it was like going through childhood surrounded by people who were brilliant, gifted, and hopelessly narcissistic. I often wonder how I managed to stay sane... Yeah - don't answer that :-)
When mom was on the road (which was most of the time) she would deposit her commission checks at whatever bank branch was close by and Karina and I were supposed to use that account to cover the household expenses while mom was gone. The problem was that Karina had a very simple philosophy when it came to money: If she wanted something and there was money in the account she would buy it. Then when we needed to buy food or pay the bills we just had to "figure something out". Of course, when mom found out she would have a conniption because she was earning quite a bit at the time and could not believe it was all gone.
Aside: That is why I am so freaking anal about money. I spent all those years dealing with my sister blowing every penny we had on whatever stupid crap she felt she needed at the moment. (Like: "I've never tried this brand of eyeliner before... I'll buy a bunch of different colors and just throw away the ones I don't like!") Yeah, it usually wasn't big stuff - just lots of little things like that - the financial equivalent of a "death of a thousand cuts"... Of course, mom had her moments too - but nothing like Karina... And I'm done (for now).
So we moved to a nice little rental house at 1819 Mohican St in Denton, out on the east end of town (near the bowling alley) - only a 10 or 15 minute drive from Argyle (which was still the center of my life at that point).
And that was about the time I got my 1966 Charger. The old Fairlane was starting to have serious issues (burnt valves and the like) and I needed something a bit more reliable. Mom talked to one of the salesmen at the local Toyota dealership and he told her that had some inexpensive used cars that a teenage "motorhead" would appreciate.
Now - back in those days Toyota was a very minor player in the U.S. auto market, so the dealership was a little "hole in the wall" place near the intersection of Elm and Maple (just south of downtown). They had some pretty rough used cars, the kind you would never find on a self-respecting dealer's lot these days.
BTW: I'm always surprised at how many "original" musclecars are floating around now. I spent a lot of time looking at used ones back in the day and they were all hacked up and beat to crap. Yeah - those cars were owned by young guys who modified the hell out of them and drove them like they stole them. I don't recall ever seeing a completely original example back then... Well, except ones that were only a few days old :-)
So I headed up to the dealership and test drove 2 cars:
The first was a burgundy 1964/65 GTO. Yes - the car itself was a 1965 but the front end had been wrecked and replaced with 1964 parts (apparently they bolted right up)...
And the second car was a gold 1966 Charger (383 4-bbl) with a couple of bald tires and some minor body damage on the left rear.
Now - I no longer recall exactly why I chose the Charger, because I've always had a "soft spot" for GTOs (and Firebirds... A 1975 TransAm is the only GM vehicle I've ever owned). But then, I still had fond memories of dad's 1963 Fury convertible, and the Charger (also a Mopar) seemed to be in better mechanical condition. Plus, the air conditioning was amazing - it would literally frost the vents :-) So mom bought it for me for $600 (took out a bank loan). That translates to roughly $3000 adjusted for inflation to 2011 - not bad considering the car was only 5 years old at the time.
Sigh... I loved that car... I can't believe I don't have a single picture of it.
But it did have a number of issues: The doors were hard to close (they were massive and prone to sagging). The "concealed" headlights no longer worked and had been locked open. The vinyl upholstery was cracked (and taped) along the seams. There was a piece of red plastic taped over the broken left taillight. And the steering box always seemed to work itself loose...
But it also had an Edelbrock intake, aggressive cam, a Holley 780 4-bbl carb, headers, loud exhaust, and highway gears - the engine turned 4500 RPM (right at the torque peak) at 130 MPH... Don't ask how I know :-) You could "light up" the tires at will (which explains the lack of tread on the back).
But the coolest thing about it was the electroluminescent instrument panel. Those are pretty common now - that's where the numbers and other markings literally glow instead of being indirectly illuminated. But, back then very few cars had them and almost nobody had ever seen one. Here's a picture I found online and it really doesn't do it justice - the thing is way brighter and more "vibrant" than the picture shows:
I still remember that first time I turned the headlights on. I was at the church in Argyle and totally freaked out when I saw the instruments light up. The guys were all hanging around the car (checking it out) and they were as amazed as I was :-)
One final story:
As I mentioned before, the back tires on the Charger were totally bald when I got it. As a matter of fact, the polyester cord was starting to show through the rubber on one of them. So, I went out and bought 2 new tires - total cost $35 (about $100 a piece in 2011 dollars)... Karina was absolutely furious. It didn't matter that I chauffeured her around in that car and it was completely unsafe with those bald tires. As far as she was concerned I had simply blown a bunch of money and that gave her the right to spend even more... So, she had me drive her to the local health club where she blew $50 on an annual membership ($300 in 2011 dollars) that she never used...
Yeah - as brilliant as she was, she simply couldn't see the difference... Sigh - I hope that whoever reads these posts will get some inkling of what it was like going through childhood surrounded by people who were brilliant, gifted, and hopelessly narcissistic. I often wonder how I managed to stay sane... Yeah - don't answer that :-)
Friday, January 6, 2012
Glorieta
Sometime around August of 1971 "The Chosen Few" hopped on the church bus and headed to Glorieta, NM for a week of bible study and other exciting activities. Of course, some of the parents went along (in the own cars) to chaperone. Steve's mom and dad (in a Delta 88) were in charge of the boys, and Lynda's mom (in a Vista Cruiser) plus a few other moms took care of the girls... I'm pretty sure all of us "youngsters" could have crammed into the various Oldsmobiles, but we were supposed to ride on the bus (for togetherness, I guess), and we did - for the most part.
Aside: I seem to recall that one of the church faithful was an Oldsmobile salesman. That's why almost the entire congregation owned one... It would have been a serious statistical aberration otherwise :-)
For some reason Brother Dee ended up driving the bus. Apparently you didn't need a CDL to do that in Texas at the time. (I don't know if he volunteered or not - if he did he was crazy...)
BTW: I really wanted to drive that bus - just around the block - but they never would let me. Something about liability...
OK - now this is funny:
The first time we stopped at a rest area it was still a bit chilly and one of the girls was wearing a bright purple jacket. As she was getting off the bus one of the mothers tried to say "You look like a purple people eater!" but she said "peter" instead of "people".
Now - that's pretty darn funny in any context, but when it involves members of an evangelical church it is triple hilarious. Especially when the mother tries to explain it by saying she was thinking of me. (Somehow she didn't realize that sounded worse.) Now - although some of the kids were a bit naive, none of them were so naive that they didn't "get it", and the best part was watching them turn colors trying not to laugh :-)
Let's see... We avoided the freeways for the most part - it was a beautiful day - and the scenery was quite lovely. Well, not so much in the Texas panhandle, but the Rockies in northern New Mexico were awesome...
At one point during the trip Steve, Sam, Royce and I started singing the Three Dog Night version of "Joy to the World" but they stopped when we got to the "high night flyer - rainbow rider" part because they thought something about the lyrics would offend Brother Dee... I still have no clue what the problem was... Maybe it was the "straight-shootin' son-of-a-gun" part??? ... I don't get it - but then I didn't grow up in Argyle.
It was a long, hot bus ride and every time we stopped a few of the girls migrated to the Oldsmobiles, but Becky (that Becky) and us guys stayed the course. Now - as the day wore on Becky started getting more and more flirtatious, and by late afternoon it had gotten "physical". Nothing seriously inappropriate - just mildly inappropriate. Yeah - it was a side of her I'd never seen before... And poor Brother Dee was up there in the driver's seat pretending like nothing was happening... I felt kind of bad for him - he was such a sweet guy. There just wasn't any "disciplinarian" in him... And, or course, the next day Becky was all "I have no idea what you're talking about"... Typical "church girl" B.S. :-)
Another aside: A while back I was on a company outing down in the Bay Area and on the way back to the office one of the admins (who'd had a few beers) was running all over the bus sitting on guy's laps and hugging us and stuff. It was totally out of character - and pretty much the same stuff Becky had been doing on that Glorieta trip...
So - is there something about bus rides with male acquaintances that causes some women to behave that way? Maybe some kind of bizarre latent childhood psycho-sexual school bus thing??? Heck if I know... It just seemed like a really strange coincidence... But back to the story.
When we got to the Baptist retreat Steve, Sam, Royce and I ended up in a big room together with Steve's parents. (They had a double bed and we were in bunks.) It was kind of strange to be sleeping in the same room with a married couple (Boy Scouts would never allow that) but it really wasn't an issue (except for the snoring).
The room had a big table between the bunks where we played cards and dominoes in the evenings. That was fun... And I'm sure there must have been a chow hall somewhere on that campus but I'll be darned if I remember anything about it. (I wonder why that is?)
So - we were given schedules of all the classes that we were supposed to be attending during the week, and I did go to a few of them the first morning, but then I ran into Steve (who was in a different age group) and we decided we'd had enough "enlightenment" and spent the rest of the week chasing girls :-)
Now - this was right after Brenda (that Brenda) broke up with me and I was still hurting... I had tried "cozying up" to a couple of the other girls in the group but none of them would have anything to do with me. I swear it was some kind of conspiracy - very strange indeed... But hanging out with Steve was the perfect antidote. As I mentioned a while back, when it came to girls he adhered to the "infinite supply" theory. Yeah - while I was seeking perfection he would go after anything with a pulse :-)
We ended up spending most of the week with this preacher's daughter from Wichita Falls... She was a cute little blond thing (always wore wicked short mini-skirts) with serious issues. She'd flirt with you, then be mean to you, then apologize, then flirt again, be mean again, apologize - like 3 or 4 times a day. I think the idea was to see how many times she could "catch and release" you before you stopped taking the bait... Yeah - she was really good at it - it was great fun :-)
Yet another aside:
There was a kid named Robert from a town near Argyle who seemed to know most of the "Chosen Few" and was good friends with Steve. I mention this here because I know he was at Glorieta at the same time as us but with a different church group... And, now that I think about it, I'm sure he was the one who suggested I shove the bayonet up my pant leg when Steve got stopped by the highway patrolman... Sigh - I can't believe how much trouble I'm having piecing all of this together...
Of course, we didn't spent all our time at the retreat:
We took a side trip to Santa Fe and spent a couple of hours hanging out in the town square. I couldn't believe all the Native Americans selling blankets and jewelry there - must have been at least a hundred... The other thing I remember is one of the Lindas getting groped from behind on a crowded sidewalk. We wanted to kick the guy's ass but we couldn't figure out who it was... I hope he didn't suspect she was only 13 (she was rather tall). Yeah - I know... It's still totally unjustified, but it seems slightly less creepy if he thought she was older...
At some point we also visited some pueblo ruins. I don't think it was Pecos - this was a smaller settlement next to a dry riverbed. The tour guide claimed there had once been a sizable river flowing through the valley but he didn't seem to know why the area had dried up... The whole thing made quite an impression on me - fascinating stuff...
Eventually it was time to head back home. I'm not sure who (if anyone) rode on the bus - it was hot and we were all tired. I ended up hitching a ride with Steve and his parents (the McDaniels) and they even let me drive for a couple of hundred miles.
OK - this is slightly amusing: Shortly after I took the wheel I realized that Steve's dad had dozed off and I was quite proud that he trusted me enough to nap while the lives of his family members were in my hands... I later discovered that it wasn't a matter of trust at all. That guy could've fallen asleep in a rowboat during a hurricane :-)
Sigh - I really cannot believe how long it took me to write this post... I suspect that the events of early 1972 perturbed my mental "filing system" and I just never got it all sorted out... But I'm getting there...
Aside: I seem to recall that one of the church faithful was an Oldsmobile salesman. That's why almost the entire congregation owned one... It would have been a serious statistical aberration otherwise :-)
For some reason Brother Dee ended up driving the bus. Apparently you didn't need a CDL to do that in Texas at the time. (I don't know if he volunteered or not - if he did he was crazy...)
BTW: I really wanted to drive that bus - just around the block - but they never would let me. Something about liability...
OK - now this is funny:
The first time we stopped at a rest area it was still a bit chilly and one of the girls was wearing a bright purple jacket. As she was getting off the bus one of the mothers tried to say "You look like a purple people eater!" but she said "peter" instead of "people".
Now - that's pretty darn funny in any context, but when it involves members of an evangelical church it is triple hilarious. Especially when the mother tries to explain it by saying she was thinking of me. (Somehow she didn't realize that sounded worse.) Now - although some of the kids were a bit naive, none of them were so naive that they didn't "get it", and the best part was watching them turn colors trying not to laugh :-)
Let's see... We avoided the freeways for the most part - it was a beautiful day - and the scenery was quite lovely. Well, not so much in the Texas panhandle, but the Rockies in northern New Mexico were awesome...
At one point during the trip Steve, Sam, Royce and I started singing the Three Dog Night version of "Joy to the World" but they stopped when we got to the "high night flyer - rainbow rider" part because they thought something about the lyrics would offend Brother Dee... I still have no clue what the problem was... Maybe it was the "straight-shootin' son-of-a-gun" part??? ... I don't get it - but then I didn't grow up in Argyle.
It was a long, hot bus ride and every time we stopped a few of the girls migrated to the Oldsmobiles, but Becky (that Becky) and us guys stayed the course. Now - as the day wore on Becky started getting more and more flirtatious, and by late afternoon it had gotten "physical". Nothing seriously inappropriate - just mildly inappropriate. Yeah - it was a side of her I'd never seen before... And poor Brother Dee was up there in the driver's seat pretending like nothing was happening... I felt kind of bad for him - he was such a sweet guy. There just wasn't any "disciplinarian" in him... And, or course, the next day Becky was all "I have no idea what you're talking about"... Typical "church girl" B.S. :-)
Another aside: A while back I was on a company outing down in the Bay Area and on the way back to the office one of the admins (who'd had a few beers) was running all over the bus sitting on guy's laps and hugging us and stuff. It was totally out of character - and pretty much the same stuff Becky had been doing on that Glorieta trip...
So - is there something about bus rides with male acquaintances that causes some women to behave that way? Maybe some kind of bizarre latent childhood psycho-sexual school bus thing??? Heck if I know... It just seemed like a really strange coincidence... But back to the story.
When we got to the Baptist retreat Steve, Sam, Royce and I ended up in a big room together with Steve's parents. (They had a double bed and we were in bunks.) It was kind of strange to be sleeping in the same room with a married couple (Boy Scouts would never allow that) but it really wasn't an issue (except for the snoring).
The room had a big table between the bunks where we played cards and dominoes in the evenings. That was fun... And I'm sure there must have been a chow hall somewhere on that campus but I'll be darned if I remember anything about it. (I wonder why that is?)
So - we were given schedules of all the classes that we were supposed to be attending during the week, and I did go to a few of them the first morning, but then I ran into Steve (who was in a different age group) and we decided we'd had enough "enlightenment" and spent the rest of the week chasing girls :-)
Now - this was right after Brenda (that Brenda) broke up with me and I was still hurting... I had tried "cozying up" to a couple of the other girls in the group but none of them would have anything to do with me. I swear it was some kind of conspiracy - very strange indeed... But hanging out with Steve was the perfect antidote. As I mentioned a while back, when it came to girls he adhered to the "infinite supply" theory. Yeah - while I was seeking perfection he would go after anything with a pulse :-)
We ended up spending most of the week with this preacher's daughter from Wichita Falls... She was a cute little blond thing (always wore wicked short mini-skirts) with serious issues. She'd flirt with you, then be mean to you, then apologize, then flirt again, be mean again, apologize - like 3 or 4 times a day. I think the idea was to see how many times she could "catch and release" you before you stopped taking the bait... Yeah - she was really good at it - it was great fun :-)
Yet another aside:
There was a kid named Robert from a town near Argyle who seemed to know most of the "Chosen Few" and was good friends with Steve. I mention this here because I know he was at Glorieta at the same time as us but with a different church group... And, now that I think about it, I'm sure he was the one who suggested I shove the bayonet up my pant leg when Steve got stopped by the highway patrolman... Sigh - I can't believe how much trouble I'm having piecing all of this together...
Of course, we didn't spent all our time at the retreat:
We took a side trip to Santa Fe and spent a couple of hours hanging out in the town square. I couldn't believe all the Native Americans selling blankets and jewelry there - must have been at least a hundred... The other thing I remember is one of the Lindas getting groped from behind on a crowded sidewalk. We wanted to kick the guy's ass but we couldn't figure out who it was... I hope he didn't suspect she was only 13 (she was rather tall). Yeah - I know... It's still totally unjustified, but it seems slightly less creepy if he thought she was older...
At some point we also visited some pueblo ruins. I don't think it was Pecos - this was a smaller settlement next to a dry riverbed. The tour guide claimed there had once been a sizable river flowing through the valley but he didn't seem to know why the area had dried up... The whole thing made quite an impression on me - fascinating stuff...
Eventually it was time to head back home. I'm not sure who (if anyone) rode on the bus - it was hot and we were all tired. I ended up hitching a ride with Steve and his parents (the McDaniels) and they even let me drive for a couple of hundred miles.
OK - this is slightly amusing: Shortly after I took the wheel I realized that Steve's dad had dozed off and I was quite proud that he trusted me enough to nap while the lives of his family members were in my hands... I later discovered that it wasn't a matter of trust at all. That guy could've fallen asleep in a rowboat during a hurricane :-)
Sigh - I really cannot believe how long it took me to write this post... I suspect that the events of early 1972 perturbed my mental "filing system" and I just never got it all sorted out... But I'm getting there...
Monday, January 2, 2012
Aftermath
A couple of posts ago I told the story of being "born again". That led to some adjustments - and some disappointments... No - I wasn't disappointed with the experience itself - just some of my "fellow Christians"...
For example: One of the girls in the group came up to me and said "I saw you with Joe the other day." (His name wasn't Joe, but that's not the point.) And I told her yeah - I hang out with him from time to time. And she was like "You can't do that anymore." And I was like "Why not?" and she said "Because he's not a Christian and he uses drugs."
And I was like "Seriously? ... Because I seem to recall something about a certain Savior hanging out with sinners and stuff..." And she was like "Yeah - but He's the son of God and can resist the temptation. You can't." ... At that point I just dropped the point because it was pointless to argue with her :-)
So - wouldn't you think that people who are "saved" would be really good at resisting temptation? Not in my experience. Actually, the opposite seems to be true... Maybe it's because they have that "get of of jail free" card. Yeah - once saved, always saved - no matter what you do. Jesus left one hell of a loophole with that one (pun intended).
The irony is that when that girl saw me with Joe I was telling him how my life had changed and I didn't want to be around when he and his buddies were doing some of the things they did... And (unlike the girl who lectured me) Joe was totally cool with it. He didn't even mind if I hung out with Christians or anything :-)
Then there were the church elders. I'm not even sure exactly who they were because they never seemed to participate in very many of the activities... They weren't the deacons, or the men who passed the collection plates, or the women who collected food for the needy, or the folks who volunteered whenever the facilities needed work...
No - they were the ones with the money... Like the lady who bought the church a brand new school bus when the old one wore out. Yes - even in churches money is power...
But my major problem with the elders was that they hated seeing anyone have fun... That's why they fired James (the youth director). Apparently we were enjoying ourselves too much. We had been practicing a musical called "Natural High". It was the tale of a "bad boy" who saw the light. It was an extremely challenging work to perform and that really made the group pull together...
Aside: The minister's son insisted on playing the "bad boy" part. Yeah - he's the one I've been hesitant to say much about because I wasn't sure if he was of the closet... But I recently found his Facebook page and he is indeed out. Way out... My point is that he wasn't exactly believable as a bad boy - think "soprano with a lisp". It is to laugh (Daffy Duck - 1958) ... But I digress...
So, the elders replaced James with a new youth director who, despite being quite young, was very traditional. He informed us that "Natural High" was way too hard for us and switched us to doing simple Christian "standards" instead... Yeah - some of the kids liked him, but Steve, Sam, Royce and I really had no use for him. The group got way boring way fast...
Another aside: One evening we were all sitting around the tables up in the youth room at the church and the new director had us do this exercise where we had to think of what animal the other folks at the table reminded us of and explain why. Royce said that whenever he looked at my eyes he thought of a fox because it seemed like there was a lot more going on in my head than I ever revealed to anyone... He was so right :-)
But yeah - that was around the time the "Chosen Few" started drifting apart... I stopped being actively involved when my world came unglued (January 1972) - but that part of the story is yet to come.
Finally, a year or so later the church elders fired brother Dee (who I was exceedingly fond of) because he apparently wasn't spewing enough fire and brimstone from the pulpit... So - not only did he lose his livelihood, but his family lost their (church owned) home... Yes - I'm sure that's exactly what Jesus would do :-)
For example: One of the girls in the group came up to me and said "I saw you with Joe the other day." (His name wasn't Joe, but that's not the point.) And I told her yeah - I hang out with him from time to time. And she was like "You can't do that anymore." And I was like "Why not?" and she said "Because he's not a Christian and he uses drugs."
And I was like "Seriously? ... Because I seem to recall something about a certain Savior hanging out with sinners and stuff..." And she was like "Yeah - but He's the son of God and can resist the temptation. You can't." ... At that point I just dropped the point because it was pointless to argue with her :-)
So - wouldn't you think that people who are "saved" would be really good at resisting temptation? Not in my experience. Actually, the opposite seems to be true... Maybe it's because they have that "get of of jail free" card. Yeah - once saved, always saved - no matter what you do. Jesus left one hell of a loophole with that one (pun intended).
The irony is that when that girl saw me with Joe I was telling him how my life had changed and I didn't want to be around when he and his buddies were doing some of the things they did... And (unlike the girl who lectured me) Joe was totally cool with it. He didn't even mind if I hung out with Christians or anything :-)
Then there were the church elders. I'm not even sure exactly who they were because they never seemed to participate in very many of the activities... They weren't the deacons, or the men who passed the collection plates, or the women who collected food for the needy, or the folks who volunteered whenever the facilities needed work...
No - they were the ones with the money... Like the lady who bought the church a brand new school bus when the old one wore out. Yes - even in churches money is power...
But my major problem with the elders was that they hated seeing anyone have fun... That's why they fired James (the youth director). Apparently we were enjoying ourselves too much. We had been practicing a musical called "Natural High". It was the tale of a "bad boy" who saw the light. It was an extremely challenging work to perform and that really made the group pull together...
Aside: The minister's son insisted on playing the "bad boy" part. Yeah - he's the one I've been hesitant to say much about because I wasn't sure if he was of the closet... But I recently found his Facebook page and he is indeed out. Way out... My point is that he wasn't exactly believable as a bad boy - think "soprano with a lisp". It is to laugh (Daffy Duck - 1958) ... But I digress...
So, the elders replaced James with a new youth director who, despite being quite young, was very traditional. He informed us that "Natural High" was way too hard for us and switched us to doing simple Christian "standards" instead... Yeah - some of the kids liked him, but Steve, Sam, Royce and I really had no use for him. The group got way boring way fast...
Another aside: One evening we were all sitting around the tables up in the youth room at the church and the new director had us do this exercise where we had to think of what animal the other folks at the table reminded us of and explain why. Royce said that whenever he looked at my eyes he thought of a fox because it seemed like there was a lot more going on in my head than I ever revealed to anyone... He was so right :-)
But yeah - that was around the time the "Chosen Few" started drifting apart... I stopped being actively involved when my world came unglued (January 1972) - but that part of the story is yet to come.
Finally, a year or so later the church elders fired brother Dee (who I was exceedingly fond of) because he apparently wasn't spewing enough fire and brimstone from the pulpit... So - not only did he lose his livelihood, but his family lost their (church owned) home... Yes - I'm sure that's exactly what Jesus would do :-)
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