I have a few more "not particularly relevant" car stories from near the end of 1971 (when I lived in Denton Texas)... Just some odds and ends that have stuck in my mind for a variety of reasons.
But before I start there's something I need to mention:
As of late 1971 I had not worn underwear for at least 5 years. That's because back then all the store cashiers were women and I was too embarrassed to buy "tighty whities" for myself. And the thought of asking my mommy to get undies for me was even worse, so I just went without... And the relevance of that will soon become apparent. (Spoiler - it does not involve public embarrassment.)
And here's the first story:
One day I was heading down the interstate in the Charger on my way to Dallas puffing on a "Swisher Sweets" cigar. Yeah - I'm not sure why I started smoking those stupid things... It think it was mostly because I thought they looked cool with the field jacket and shades - but it doesn't really matter :-)
Just south of Lake Dallas there was a construction zone and it was real mess. At one point traffic was diverted onto a temporary gravel road built next to the highway - you had to really pay attention to your driving during that stretch... That's probably why I failed to notice that a huge glowing ember had fallen off of the end of my cigar and was slowly burning it's way through my polyester pants... And just as I was approaching a left turn back toward the highway, the ember (finding no underwear to impede its progress) dropped directly onto my left testicle.
It would be an understatement to say that it was distracting... We're talking instant searing pain with absolutely no clue what was causing it. My first thought was a bee sting, but the pain wasn't letting up... After a few (frantic) seconds I finally deduced that there was probably a correlation between the hole in my pants and that horrible "burning hair" smell, so I quickly yanked down my zipper and got the freaking ember out of there (burning my fingers in the process)... And all of this was happening while I was negotiating a couple of sharp turns - on gravel... Yeah - I have no idea how I avoided wrecking the Charger... The resultant burn took weeks to heal... And that's why I stopped smoking cigars :-)
Next story:
We had some unusually cold weather that winter, and one morning I woke up to find a nice fresh layer of snow on the ground... And - never having driven on snow before - I just had to go out and play in the Charger :-)
So I lowered the idle speed to make it easier to get moving (automatic transmission) and discovered that I could "feather" the parking brake to regain traction when the back wheels started slipping... And it was actually quite a bit of fun :-)
Eventually I headed down Mingo Road toward town. It was a nice straight stretch, with no other traffic (that I noticed) and the snow on the road was absolutely pristine. It was the perfect opportunity to "light it up" - so I floored it. The rear tires instantly broke loose and the speedo jumped up to 100 MPH. I looked in my mirror and my rear tires were throwing rooster tails of snow an incredible distance, creating a "white-out blizzard" in my wake :-)
And that was when I noticed the faint blue and red flashing lights, just barely visible through all that snow...
Aside: When I'm driving I'm usually completely aware of everything going on around me... That's why I've never been in a moving accident (in a car) and never gotten a ticket (that I couldn't get out of) in 42 years... To this day I am totally mystified as to where that cop came from... I swear there wasn't another car on that whole stretch of road. (He must have come from a side street, but I still should have noticed him.) And I digress - slightly :-)
The cop apparently didn't appreciate having his cruiser pelted with all that snow because he seemed pretty ticked off as he approached my window... So I played dumb - claiming I'd never driven on snow before (which was completely true) and that I was having a really hard time getting traction (which was completely false)... He asked if there was any particular reason why I was out driving and I said "not really". So he gave me the "conditions too dangerous to be out driving ... blah, blah, blah ... please go home" lecture and sent me on my way... And I did go home - eventually :-)
And one final story:
Mom didn't make it home for Christmas that year. I seem to recall that she was on the road and wasn't feeling well enough to drive home (for reasons that will become clear eventually).
Karina wasn't around either. That was during the general timeframe when she was performing (singing and playing guitar) in hotel bars in Nashville, New York and Miami. Her life was so frantic and random back then that I never even tried to keep track of where she was... So - for the first time in my life I was alone for the holidays.
Christmas Day was sunny - and unseasonably warm. And (not having anything better to do) I ended up cruising around Denton in the Charger. I was near the North Texas campus when I spotted a long haired "hippie type" with his thumb out so I stopped and picked him up.
He was (as I had surmised) a student - also alone for the holidays - and was heading down to Dallas to hang out with some friends... He only asked for a ride to the Interstate but I offered to take him as far as Lake Dallas (almost halfway to his destination) because - like I said - I didn't have anything better to do... And along the way we talked about having long hair in Texas, and what it was like being away from family on Christmas... And that's about it... Yeah - not much of a story, but here's the point:
I often find myself reflecting on how much has changed in the decades since... There are so many people depending on me (and not just family) for so many things... And there are so many decisions to make - with so much riding on the outcome... I've had to become so ... responsible :-)
Now - I certainly don't have any regrets... It has all been beyond amazing - I would have never believed that life could be this good :-) But from time to time I can't help feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all... And what invariably pops into my mind is the memory that there was once a Christmas day when I was didn't have a care in the world - and I couldn't think of a single reason not to pick up a hitchhiker... And in the back of my mind I still hear Janis' voice - singing:
"Freedom's just another word for ..."
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Chaela and the Kittens
It's been a while since I mentioned our cat Chaela and the 2 kittens she gave birth to while we lived in Argyle. It was living in that rural area that transformed Chaela from a house pet to a "fearsome beast"... Despite her size she would attack anything she perceived as a threat (or prey).
When we moved to the suburbs of Denton it was immediately clear that Chaela had become very territorial. I remember one occasion when she was sitting by the screen door and an errant pooch wandered too close to the house. She jumped up onto the door and began to rattle it as hard as she could. And when I let her our she went after the hapless critter with a ferocity I've rarely seen. And that leads me to one of my favorite "cat tales":
One day I was out in front of the house working on the Charger. (I did that a lot.) Chaela was sitting on the lawn just enjoying the sunshine when I noticed some young teenage boys on the opposite side of the street. They were walking our direction and one of them had a "coon dog" on a leash... As soon as that dog spotted Chaela it went haywire - baying and trying to get free. And that's when the owner did something incredibly stupid... He let the dog off the leash and said "Go get it, boy! Kill it!!!"
Now - up until that point Chaela had been ignoring the hound. She didn't bother dogs as long as they kept their distance (and most of them did)... But not this fool hound. He was running across the street wide open - barking like an idiot... Now - I'm not sure why Chaela didn't go meet him half way. I guess she figured he was in such a big hurry she might as well just wait for him.
So she just sat there until the dog was about 10 feet away, then she reared up on her hind legs and unsheathed her claws... The dog instantly realized that something was seriously amiss and applied the brakes as hard as he could - but it was too late. His momentum carried him right within range of the "whirling blades".
The poor hound yelped and tried to run away but Chaela jumped on his back and dug her teeth into his neck. He rolled over to submit but quickly discovered that cats aren't familiar with that particular gesture... Chaela just kept wailing away - absolutely shredding him.
Now - here's the funny part: That same teenage boy who had just told his dog to kill my cat was almost in tears, screaming "Get your cat off my dog!!!"... I was like "Dude - it's a cat! ... They don't do commands!"
After about 15 or 20 seconds Chaela figured the pooch had had enough and let him go. And the owner actually yelled at me for what happened... I was like "Seriously??? You're the moron who let him off the leash!"... And I never saw the dog (or the owner) anywhere near our house again.
During that summer and fall in Denton the kittens grew into the fattest, clumsiest cats I'd ever seen. Chaela tended to move stealthily about the house, but her kittens were "agents of entropy". Constantly knocking things over. And whenever they jumped off the couch or a table it sounded like someone dropped a dictionary - I was actually surprised when they managed to land on their feet :-) ... But that didn't seem to affect their ability to "hunt".
Aside: Why is it that cats feel the need to bring whatever they capture into the house to finish it off? ... Do they really think we appreciate having to clean up the mess? :-)
I didn't mind the birds and mice so much, but the snakes were a bit much - and that full grown rabbit almost made me puke... Yes - I came out of my room one morning to find the remains of a disemboweled rabbit strewn all over the hall outside my door. It was one of the worst stenches I've ever smelled... And of course, mom and Karina were both out of town so I had no option but to clean it up... I've never been very "domestic", and that kind of thing really used to gross me out... I remember standing there for at least 10 minutes trying to decide where to start... It was not cool :-)
I wish I could say the story has a happy ending - but it doesn't...
Sigh... Circumstances changed in early 1972... I tried desperately for weeks to give the cats away, but nobody would take them. I didn't want to leave them somewhere to fend for themselves so I took them to the pound hoping they might get adopted. But the place was so overcrowded that there were cages of animals stacked outside - the woman told me that they would almost certainly be euthanized. I remember standing there fighting back the tears - but I couldn't think of anything else I could do... For months afterwards I was haunted by the thought of those poor kitties sitting in those cages wondering what they had done to deserve being betrayed that way... I still get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I think about it...
I'm sure I mentioned in one of my earlier posts that I'd don't like having pets and it's not because I don't like animals... This is one of the reasons why.
When we moved to the suburbs of Denton it was immediately clear that Chaela had become very territorial. I remember one occasion when she was sitting by the screen door and an errant pooch wandered too close to the house. She jumped up onto the door and began to rattle it as hard as she could. And when I let her our she went after the hapless critter with a ferocity I've rarely seen. And that leads me to one of my favorite "cat tales":
One day I was out in front of the house working on the Charger. (I did that a lot.) Chaela was sitting on the lawn just enjoying the sunshine when I noticed some young teenage boys on the opposite side of the street. They were walking our direction and one of them had a "coon dog" on a leash... As soon as that dog spotted Chaela it went haywire - baying and trying to get free. And that's when the owner did something incredibly stupid... He let the dog off the leash and said "Go get it, boy! Kill it!!!"
Now - up until that point Chaela had been ignoring the hound. She didn't bother dogs as long as they kept their distance (and most of them did)... But not this fool hound. He was running across the street wide open - barking like an idiot... Now - I'm not sure why Chaela didn't go meet him half way. I guess she figured he was in such a big hurry she might as well just wait for him.
So she just sat there until the dog was about 10 feet away, then she reared up on her hind legs and unsheathed her claws... The dog instantly realized that something was seriously amiss and applied the brakes as hard as he could - but it was too late. His momentum carried him right within range of the "whirling blades".
The poor hound yelped and tried to run away but Chaela jumped on his back and dug her teeth into his neck. He rolled over to submit but quickly discovered that cats aren't familiar with that particular gesture... Chaela just kept wailing away - absolutely shredding him.
Now - here's the funny part: That same teenage boy who had just told his dog to kill my cat was almost in tears, screaming "Get your cat off my dog!!!"... I was like "Dude - it's a cat! ... They don't do commands!"
After about 15 or 20 seconds Chaela figured the pooch had had enough and let him go. And the owner actually yelled at me for what happened... I was like "Seriously??? You're the moron who let him off the leash!"... And I never saw the dog (or the owner) anywhere near our house again.
During that summer and fall in Denton the kittens grew into the fattest, clumsiest cats I'd ever seen. Chaela tended to move stealthily about the house, but her kittens were "agents of entropy". Constantly knocking things over. And whenever they jumped off the couch or a table it sounded like someone dropped a dictionary - I was actually surprised when they managed to land on their feet :-) ... But that didn't seem to affect their ability to "hunt".
Aside: Why is it that cats feel the need to bring whatever they capture into the house to finish it off? ... Do they really think we appreciate having to clean up the mess? :-)
I didn't mind the birds and mice so much, but the snakes were a bit much - and that full grown rabbit almost made me puke... Yes - I came out of my room one morning to find the remains of a disemboweled rabbit strewn all over the hall outside my door. It was one of the worst stenches I've ever smelled... And of course, mom and Karina were both out of town so I had no option but to clean it up... I've never been very "domestic", and that kind of thing really used to gross me out... I remember standing there for at least 10 minutes trying to decide where to start... It was not cool :-)
I wish I could say the story has a happy ending - but it doesn't...
Sigh... Circumstances changed in early 1972... I tried desperately for weeks to give the cats away, but nobody would take them. I didn't want to leave them somewhere to fend for themselves so I took them to the pound hoping they might get adopted. But the place was so overcrowded that there were cages of animals stacked outside - the woman told me that they would almost certainly be euthanized. I remember standing there fighting back the tears - but I couldn't think of anything else I could do... For months afterwards I was haunted by the thought of those poor kitties sitting in those cages wondering what they had done to deserve being betrayed that way... I still get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I think about it...
I'm sure I mentioned in one of my earlier posts that I'd don't like having pets and it's not because I don't like animals... This is one of the reasons why.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Cousin J
Steve had an older cousin who I'm just going to call "J" (even though his name does not start with J). And although these stories don't have much of anything to do with me I've told them often enough that they merit inclusion in the blog...
The first story starts on an almost completely unrelated topic:
Our garbage man on Mohican Street in Denton, Texas back in 1971 was a car guy and would always stop and chat whenever I was out working on the Charger... And whenever he found car parts in my garbage he would invariably get all excited and ask if he could have them... I figured "whatever floats his boat" and gave him blanket permission to take whatever he wanted. But he still always asked anyway... And the whole point is that he seemed like a nice enough guy - albeit not the sharpest scalpel on the surgical tray... And that may (or may not) be relevant to what follows :-)
Fast forward a few months:
Steve and I were visiting J at his apartment in Dallas and at some point the topic of Phyllis George (who had just been crowned Miss America) came up... Now - I knew that she was from Denton but I had not know that she was Steve's cousin and had gone to high school with J...
It all started with cousin J expressing skepticism about her whole "clean and wholesome" image, claiming that she'd had a somewhat different reputation in high school. (Yeah - I know - total hearsay...) And to emphasize his point he dug out his senior yearbook... So - here's "Miss America" and "Miss Denton High" side by side:
Yeah - she definitely had an "edgier" look about her in high school. But that's not the punchline of the story... After looking at Phyllis's picture I glanced over at the picture of "Mr. Denton High" on the opposite page and instantly recognized ... (drum-roll please) ... my garbage man... Yes - apparently the lives of people who are popular in high school don't always follow similar trajectories :-)
Postscript: Many years later I was watching the CBS morning news and Phyllis George was interviewing a man and woman who were in the "national spotlight" because the man had served 6 years in prison for raping the woman and she had just recanted her testimony. (He was later fully exonerated by DNA evidence.)
The interview was (as one might expect) extremely tense and uncomfortable - made even more so by Phyllis being all happy and bubbly throughout the whole thing... And when the interview ended Phyllis actually tried to get them to hug and make up on national television... Yeah - I almost blew coffee out my nose. It was one of the most horrific things I've ever seen on TV. They politely declined but Phyllis just wouldn't give up. She urged them to at least shake hands... I was like "OMG!!! She totally doesn't get it!!! She can't possibly be that dense, can she?" But apparently she could... Yeah - I guess being a beauty queen does not automatically qualify you to be a journalist (or vice president, for that matter).
And that's not the only story from that evening:
J and his roommate (who sometimes thought he was Satan) had a kitty that was really tiny because (apparently) feeding it hallucinogens and amphetamines had stunted its growth - go figure... (BTW: I really don't know why anyone would want a "stoner" cat - it's not like they aren't freaky enough already...) As a result of all the hallucinations the poor thing was deathly afraid of the light and spent almost all of its time hiding under the living room sofa...
So - Steve and I were sitting on the aforesaid living room sofa when this tiny ball of fur came flying out from under it - unplugged the table lamp - and returned to its "fortress".
It all happened so fast I almost thought I was hallucinating :-) I figured it had to be a fluke, but J plugged the lamp back in and a couple of minutes later the kitty came flying out and unplugged it again...
Cousin J explained that they had quit using the overhead light because the kitty kept turning it off at the wall switch. So they started using the table lamp instead, but then the kitty figured out how to swat the plug out of the outlet while bouncing off the wall next to it...
Yeah - I know... It's actually rather tragic... I can only imagine how scared the poor thing must have been to have figured out that the power cord had something to do with the light - let alone how to unplug it... Cats usually aren't that motivated :-)
And on to the next story:
One evening a few of us were shooting hoops in Steve's driveway when cousin J started freaking out. Apparently he'd had some LSD wrapped in tin foil stuffed in his underwear and it wasn't there anymore. A quick search of the immediate area turned up nothing so we had the usual "Are you sure you had it when you got here?" discussion and J assured us that he did, so we kept looking.
We eventually came across a piece of tin foil some distance away from the driveway, but it was completely shredded and there was no sign of the contents. J couldn't tell if that was "the" tinfoil or not so we kept searching. But after 20 more minutes we finally gave up...
The next day Steve's dad was like "What's wrong with the dog???" We went outside and the German Shepherd was lying there flattened against the ground as if it was holding on for dear life... The poor critter stayed that way for 2 days - completely motionless except for his eyes (they tracked us as we passed by)...
We never did figure out what possessed the dog to take the acid... It's not like it was in sugar cube form or anything. Still, there must have been something about the scent that he found appealing... And it must have been one hell of a trip :-)
Finally - this is one of the best "bad luck / good luck" stories I know:
It came to pass that J's roommate (during one of his "I am Satan" episodes) tried to kill J by driving the car they were riding in into oncoming traffic. (J had been wondering why the guy suddenly fastened his seat belt...) It was an older car (63 Dart?) that was not equipped with "safety glass". J's head went partially through the windshield and as he fell back into the vehicle the jagged glass almost tore his face off. That was (obviously) the bad luck part.
Here's the good luck part:
The hospital they took him to was hosting a conference on plastic surgery and most of the top reconstructive surgeons in the country were there when they brought him in. He was in surgery for 12 hours and a week later you had to look really close to tell that anything had happened to him... It was absolutely amazing!
Yeah - he found a different roommate after that...
The first story starts on an almost completely unrelated topic:
Our garbage man on Mohican Street in Denton, Texas back in 1971 was a car guy and would always stop and chat whenever I was out working on the Charger... And whenever he found car parts in my garbage he would invariably get all excited and ask if he could have them... I figured "whatever floats his boat" and gave him blanket permission to take whatever he wanted. But he still always asked anyway... And the whole point is that he seemed like a nice enough guy - albeit not the sharpest scalpel on the surgical tray... And that may (or may not) be relevant to what follows :-)
Fast forward a few months:
Steve and I were visiting J at his apartment in Dallas and at some point the topic of Phyllis George (who had just been crowned Miss America) came up... Now - I knew that she was from Denton but I had not know that she was Steve's cousin and had gone to high school with J...
It all started with cousin J expressing skepticism about her whole "clean and wholesome" image, claiming that she'd had a somewhat different reputation in high school. (Yeah - I know - total hearsay...) And to emphasize his point he dug out his senior yearbook... So - here's "Miss America" and "Miss Denton High" side by side:
Yeah - she definitely had an "edgier" look about her in high school. But that's not the punchline of the story... After looking at Phyllis's picture I glanced over at the picture of "Mr. Denton High" on the opposite page and instantly recognized ... (drum-roll please) ... my garbage man... Yes - apparently the lives of people who are popular in high school don't always follow similar trajectories :-)Postscript: Many years later I was watching the CBS morning news and Phyllis George was interviewing a man and woman who were in the "national spotlight" because the man had served 6 years in prison for raping the woman and she had just recanted her testimony. (He was later fully exonerated by DNA evidence.)
The interview was (as one might expect) extremely tense and uncomfortable - made even more so by Phyllis being all happy and bubbly throughout the whole thing... And when the interview ended Phyllis actually tried to get them to hug and make up on national television... Yeah - I almost blew coffee out my nose. It was one of the most horrific things I've ever seen on TV. They politely declined but Phyllis just wouldn't give up. She urged them to at least shake hands... I was like "OMG!!! She totally doesn't get it!!! She can't possibly be that dense, can she?" But apparently she could... Yeah - I guess being a beauty queen does not automatically qualify you to be a journalist (or vice president, for that matter).
And that's not the only story from that evening:
J and his roommate (who sometimes thought he was Satan) had a kitty that was really tiny because (apparently) feeding it hallucinogens and amphetamines had stunted its growth - go figure... (BTW: I really don't know why anyone would want a "stoner" cat - it's not like they aren't freaky enough already...) As a result of all the hallucinations the poor thing was deathly afraid of the light and spent almost all of its time hiding under the living room sofa...
So - Steve and I were sitting on the aforesaid living room sofa when this tiny ball of fur came flying out from under it - unplugged the table lamp - and returned to its "fortress".
It all happened so fast I almost thought I was hallucinating :-) I figured it had to be a fluke, but J plugged the lamp back in and a couple of minutes later the kitty came flying out and unplugged it again...
Cousin J explained that they had quit using the overhead light because the kitty kept turning it off at the wall switch. So they started using the table lamp instead, but then the kitty figured out how to swat the plug out of the outlet while bouncing off the wall next to it...
Yeah - I know... It's actually rather tragic... I can only imagine how scared the poor thing must have been to have figured out that the power cord had something to do with the light - let alone how to unplug it... Cats usually aren't that motivated :-)
And on to the next story:
One evening a few of us were shooting hoops in Steve's driveway when cousin J started freaking out. Apparently he'd had some LSD wrapped in tin foil stuffed in his underwear and it wasn't there anymore. A quick search of the immediate area turned up nothing so we had the usual "Are you sure you had it when you got here?" discussion and J assured us that he did, so we kept looking.
We eventually came across a piece of tin foil some distance away from the driveway, but it was completely shredded and there was no sign of the contents. J couldn't tell if that was "the" tinfoil or not so we kept searching. But after 20 more minutes we finally gave up...
The next day Steve's dad was like "What's wrong with the dog???" We went outside and the German Shepherd was lying there flattened against the ground as if it was holding on for dear life... The poor critter stayed that way for 2 days - completely motionless except for his eyes (they tracked us as we passed by)...
We never did figure out what possessed the dog to take the acid... It's not like it was in sugar cube form or anything. Still, there must have been something about the scent that he found appealing... And it must have been one hell of a trip :-)
Finally - this is one of the best "bad luck / good luck" stories I know:
It came to pass that J's roommate (during one of his "I am Satan" episodes) tried to kill J by driving the car they were riding in into oncoming traffic. (J had been wondering why the guy suddenly fastened his seat belt...) It was an older car (63 Dart?) that was not equipped with "safety glass". J's head went partially through the windshield and as he fell back into the vehicle the jagged glass almost tore his face off. That was (obviously) the bad luck part.
Here's the good luck part:
The hospital they took him to was hosting a conference on plastic surgery and most of the top reconstructive surgeons in the country were there when they brought him in. He was in surgery for 12 hours and a week later you had to look really close to tell that anything had happened to him... It was absolutely amazing!
Yeah - he found a different roommate after that...
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