

MEMOIR FROM THE FLASH

By

Charles E. White

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Introduction

When I enrolled in elementary school, I discovered our "library" books were on shelves in the respective classrooms. Teachers checked out books by writing the student's name and the book issued in a notebook kept in the teacher's desk. My favorite books were biographies, which were easy to identify on the shelves for they all, had orange covers. I guess the same company published them. I read every dam biography on every shelf in every elementary classroom in our school. Reading about real people and their life stories captured my interest more than most works of fiction.

At the end of each school year, students received reading certificates and seals. The certificates were issued to all students in the first grade if they read ten books. In succeeding years, students received a red seal for reading ten books, a blue seal for reading fifteen books and a gold seal if they read twenty or more books. By the end of the eighth grade, I had eight gold seals affixed to my certificate. The most books I read in any given year were seventy-five in the second grade. Most of those books were the biographies with the orange covers

I now read memoirs because I had still rather read about real people. I have decided that maybe I should write my own memoir. People write memoirs because they think they have interesting antidotes to share with others. Most memoirs I have read certainly meet those criteria. Writing a memoir can allow one to share some of their most treasured memories while perhaps writing openly about demons in their past. Not every memoir I have read is full of sad, depressing antidotes, but many share that common thread. I when began composing the book you are about to read I thought it would be similar to memoirs I have read, but once I finished and read and reread my account I found that no, my story is different from all the memoirs I have read to date. A memoir can have a purging effect, allowing burned bridges to now be cleaned up, hauled away, and rebuilt.

I had better understand who I am today because of this writing. One of my strongest attributes is my organizational skills, but I never thought much about this skill being developed many years ago. I learned to be a problem solver in my youth and that asset has served me well during my professional career. I also learned at an early age to be responsible for my actions. I give my mother full credit for instilling that trait in me. Over the years, I have made mistakes, but learned from them and worked hard to avoid similar ones from being repeated. This book is written entirely based on how I perceived key events in my life as a youth growing up in Norlina, North Carolina. I imagine if other people I grew up with weregiven the same events, they might have somewhat different versions of what took place. If they do, they can write their own dam memoir!
Chapter 1

I was born on August 24, 1944, in the living room of my parents' house in the small town of Norlina, North Carolina, several miles from the Virginia state line. I discovered years later I came into the world at a time when most babies were born in a private home rather than a hospital.

Our home, built on a small lot, was the focal point of many of my memories. Since my grandparents bought this big, two story house for my parents after they were married, they never had to make house payments. My parents lived together in this house for over fifty years. My mother died of a massive heart attack one morning in 1990 sweeping the kitchen floor. My father died in a nursing home five years later after several years of battling congestive heart failure and Alzheimer's disease.

I had two older sisters. One of my sisters, two years older than me, died of a ruptured appendix in October 1944, two months after I was born. According to my mother, my sister complained of an aching abdomen for several days before my parents decided to contact a doctor. When he arrived at our house, he examined her and told my parents to get her to a hospital as soon as possible. By the time, she was transported to the hospital her appendix had ruptured and she died the next day. According to my mother's account, my dad went home and got drunk. My mother never got over losing her daughter. I never knew how my dad took the loss because he kept emotions to himself. As I got older if I complained about stomach cramps or reported I had not taken a crap in a while, my mother would order me to the bathroom for an enema. I had quite a few enemas during my youth. I had the cleanest butt in town! I think my mother equated the absence of bowel movements with appendix problems.

My other sister was four years older than I was. Sometimes my sister and I would go outside and pretend to prepare a meal like our mother. We used some small metal pots and pans, maybe from a child's tea set, and mixed some sand with water into a mud pie and pretended it was our dinner. We also cut up some grass and pretended we were serving turnip salad. Our mother served a lot of turnips and greens because we had a turnip patch in the lower part of our backyard. I always liked to cut up pickles for my turnip salad. It is the only use I never had for pickles. I think a few times my sister and I played "doctor" with a doll baby or two, but I do not recall what we did with those dolls. As my sister grew older, we did fewer and fewer things together until at such point I had very little recollection of her other than living in our house.

Our house was located at the corner of, "Main Street" and Highway 158. Main Street was not the "main street" where most of the businesses were located, that area was called "uptown." My dad's business was "downtown." I never understood the rationale for uptown and downtown. There was a steady flow of traffic by our house all hours of the day and night. I learned to live with this traffic noise for as long as I lived there. I sat on our front porch many days and watched all makes and models of cars and "transfer" trucks pass our house. In the fall, farmers drove by with their trucks loaded down with tobacco en route to the tobacco warehouses in Warrenton or further east in Rocky Mount or Wilson. I could sit on our front porch most days and see 95% of everyone in our town drive by that corner. Highway No. 158 by our house met Highway No. 1 at the center of town. Everyone had to drive on Highway No.1 to go in either a north or south direction. There was one stop light at this intersection and one caution light at the north end of town. In the summer, all of our windows were open and I could hear people talking as they walked by our house day and night. There were quite a few empty beer cans thrown off the side of our house. Each morning my mother collected the beer cans and put them in our big garbage can in the back yard. She was always concerned that the garbage men would see all the cans and think someone in our house was drinking all the beer, so every day or two she would burn the garbage.

The living room was seldom used. The "front room" as it was called was used during the Christmas season. We always had a live tree decorated with a string of hot multicolored lights along with some shiny glass ornaments in a variety of shapes and colors. My favorite ornaments were the round solid colored spheres. The Christmas tree bulbs were always burning out and we seldom had a readily available supply of replacement bulbs, but if we did, the colors were different from the bulb that burned out. We made do with what we had. We had one piece of red garland we began wrapping around the top so when it ran out close to the bottom no one would notice. Our trees were always selected from my one of my grandfather's farms. My grandfather owned two farms; one behind his home, which included a farm pond and the other farm, was three miles away and was approximately 100 acres. My dad drove us in his red Ford pickup to granddad's farm to find the perfect tree. This chore never took too long as my dad never had much patience for such activities. We usually settled on a cedar tree since they were very plentiful while providing a nice aroma for our living room during the most joyous of holiday seasons. My dad would make a tree stand using a large vegetable can capable of holding water. He would fill the can full of dirt, cut off about one inch of the bottom of the tree to allow water to enter the tree, and insert the tree down into the can. My sister and I helped mom with the decorating, which took twenty minutes at most, what with one string of lights, one piece of garland and a few ornaments. We would stand back and admire our work. I could not wait for the tree to be turned on. Sometimes I have to perform this task, but most of the time my mother did the honors. Anyway, the tree was special to me. My mother was always very concerned about the tree catching on fire so she would water the tree several times a day. She always turned the Christmas tree lights off before we went to bed. She never allowed my sister or me to attend to this task because she did not trust us to remember to turn them off. She had great difficulty exuding confidence in her children.

We kept the Christmas tree decorated until New Year's Day. Mom took the ornaments off and placed them in shoeboxes, then put the shoeboxes in the front room closet. The tree was taken outside and left next to the garbage can to be picked up by the town garbage men. During the week, my mother would light a fire to the garbage and burn as much as she could. When the garbage men arrived, all they had to carry to the truck were ashes. I did not know, much less care, what other neighbors were doing with their garbage but this is how we managed our garbage. At some point, the name garbage was changed to trash, but we called it garbage and the people who collected the garbage were called "garbage men."

The front room was also used to entertain our infrequent visitors. Whoever came to visit never stayed more than 20-30 minutes. Traveling salesmen would often come by to attempt to sell my mother their merchandise. I was amazed she always invited them into the house. I was at the house the day my mother allowed a vacuum cleaner sales representative to peddle his wares. The man opened up his vacuum cleaner demonstrator box, pulled out a bag full of dust and dirt, and deposited the entire contents of the bag directly on the seat of the best chair in our front room. I sat there on the couch wondering why he would do such a thing. He turned on his vacuum and with one of the many attachments, he had in his box commenced to suck up the dust and dirt off our nice chair. Wow! I could not believe the job he did with that vacuum. My mother was so impressed she bought the vacuum and all the attachments that very day. I did not know my mother had any money.

There was a sales representative with all kinds of brushes, a woman with cosmetics, and an encyclopedia sales representative ushered into our front room to make their presentations. They all left with money from the sale of their products. We always had plenty of brushes, scrub brushes, toothbrushes, brushes to clean down into bottles, brushes and more brushes! My mom had plenty Avon products to keep her smelling good. As far as the encyclopedias, well, she never quite purchased the full set, stopping at the "G" volume. We acquired an entire set of encyclopedias later through some program at a grocery store, but the print on those books was so small we rarely used them.The most vivid memory of the front room was when there was a thunderstorm. My mother had Astraphobia, which is a fear of thunder and lighting. When she was a child living with an uncle after her mother jumped in a well in August of 1930, there was a bad storm, so bad it tore off part of the roof and the family had to huddle up together in the corner of a room until the storm had passed. From that day forward, she was always afraid of storms.

When a storm came up, we all had to stop whatever we were doing and go sit in the front room with her until the storm was over. We had to turn off all lights and unplug the radio or the TV. This routine was so much a part of our summers; we just sat there in the front room being quiet until the storm was over. When I played with children at their house I never had to sit anywhere during a thunderstorm and luckily, none of them was ever at my house during a storm. When I played with my friends, I was usually at their house or we were riding our bikes, playing ball on some vacant field, or in the woods. I seldom if ever invited anyone over to my house during the summer because I did not want him or her to have to sit in the front room during a storm. My mom's phobia would continue to get worse.

The dining room was the center of family life in our house. The room had a dining table and four chairs, but we never ate a meal in this room except at Thanksgiving and Christmas. My sister and I did our homework at the dining table. There were two lounge type chairs in the dining room so if everyone in the family was present two people had to sit in a dining chair. My dad always sat in the best, most comfortable chair in the room. In the early fifties, we had a Phil co console radio next to a window over behind the dining table. Many times after school and on Saturday mornings I listened to my favorite shows. We listened to some radio shows at night after dinner. My favorite evening shows were the Shadow, Mr. Keene: Tracer of Lost Persons, the Whistler, the Great Gilder sleeve, and Fibber McGee and Molly. My mother listened to soap operas, the Romance of Helen Trent and Stella Dallas, during the day while we were at school.

All of our meals were prepared and eaten in the kitchen. The room was very spacious and since I left home, I never lived in a house since with a kitchen that large. There was a big window at the rear of the room with a nice view of the backyard. On many occasions mother called me to dinner from this window. My dad, who was in the plumbing and well drilling business, installed a new, metal sink complete with drawers and cabinets that held all kinds of stuff at the window next to our neighbor's house. To make this new sink work my dad took out an old rectangular window and replaced it with a smaller window with cranks to open and close the window. My mother liked being able to look out this new window as she prepared the meals. Our neighbors planted a row of bushes which grew to be so tall they restricted my mom's view. My mother always thought the neighbors refused to keep the bushes trimmed to "spite" her. To the right of the sink was a nice, handcrafted corner cabinet. This cabinet was my most favorite piece of "furniture" in the kitchen because this was where sweets were kept. I did love sweets! During my elementary school years EVERY day, my mother baked some type of sweet for us to eat when we got home from school. I soon as I opened the front door and threw my books down on the dining table I found mom and asked, "Ma, you got something good?" "Something good" were my words for dessert. My favorite desserts were drop cookies while they were still warm from the oven. Occasionally she would change the recipe and bake chocolate drop cookies. I did not really care what flavor they were as long as she had a plate of these treats when I got home. She cooked pies often, mostly using sweet potatoes or applesauce. Why she used applesauce instead of slices of apples I do not know, I just ate what she baked. For Thanksgiving and Christmas, she would bake a pecan pie and a sweet potato pie. The pecan pies were a lot of trouble because the pecans had to be cracked opens and the pieces picked out piece by piece. This was time consuming and when I was asked to do this chore, I lobbied for sweet potato or applesauce pie. One in a while, she would surprise us and bake a coconut cake. There was a lot of prep time to bake a coconut cake. My mother would take an ice pick and stab a fresh coconut until she had poked a hole in the top. She would drain the coconut milk into a Mason jar. Then she got a hammer from the pantry, took the coconut outside on the concrete back steps, and pounded the coconut until it broke in half. She brought the shell pieces back in the kitchen and with a grinder attached on the end of the sink, ground the coconut pieces into small strands. Then she mixed up the cake batter, using a normal yellow cake recipe. Once the two cake layers were baked and allowed to cool, she spooned on the coconut frosting. These homemade cakes were delicious and I knew she must care about us if she went to all that trouble. My dad loved ice cream, as I did, therefore, ice cream was in our refrigerator most of the time. On Sundays on the way home from church dad and I would stop at the Pure gas station and buy a pint of ice cream. We never bought a flavor I did not like, but chocolate was my favorite.

We had a small refrigerator, which was brought home by dad when a customer traded for a new one. He was always bringing the trade-in appliances home. I never understood why we did not have new appliances since he was in the business. I never inquired about this. He brought home a clothes washer and set it up in the kitchen, since we had ample space. Every time my mother washed clothes, the machine started to move across the floor. She had to constantly stop other chores in the house, return to the kitchen and slide the washer back next to the wall. This machine was a front loader and always leaked water, even after dad replaced the door gasket. I never purchased a front loading washing machine or a used washing machine.

The kitchen had one overhead light in the center of the ceiling. The off/on switch was managed by a cord suspended from the light fixture to the lowest necessary height. The kitchen was always bright because of the large windows and the paint, since the kitchen was either painted, white, light green, or yellow.

Each morning my mother prepared breakfast for all us before we left the house. She always had a variety of foods, one-morning eggs and bacon, another morning pancakes, another oatmeal, and finally cold cereal, which I hated. I think she prided herself on providing us with a variety of foods. Hot coffee was always served with our breakfasts. On holidays, we would have orange juice. I looked forward to breakfast because I knew the meal would be different. We mostly ate in shifts, so by the time I got to the table everyone else had finished.

At dinner (or supper as we called it), my mother offered a variety of dishes each night. We always had some kind of protein; meat, chicken, pork, seldom fish unless it was canned salmon patties. We had 2-3 vegetables, one of which was a starch. My favorite part of the meal was the warm fresh bread, yeast rolls, corn bread, or biscuits. Canned fruit was served, usually slices of pineapple or fruit cocktail. I did not like canned fruit but it did contribute to a balance meal. Seldom was there any conversation at the table. Dad did not talk about his day. My mother did not share the gossip she overheard on the party line. My sister and I did not talk about our school day. No one was ever really asked about their day; we just ate and left the table. There were no second servings so I guess my mother prepared just the right amount of food. We were never served leftovers as a meal.

When I was born, there was only one bedroom, for my parents, on the lower level of the house. After I was born I don't know where I slept until my daddy remodeled the lower level of the house so my sister and I could each have a bedroom. Prior to the remodeling project, as you entered the front door you would be standing in a hallway that went all the way through the middle of the house to the back porch. On the left of the hallway was the front room; behind it through the door was the dining room, then the kitchen. On the right ride of the hall was my parent's bedroom.

My dad closed in the rear part of the hallway and part of their bedroom. From the hallway, neither my sister nor I could walk directly into our rooms. We had to turn left in the hallway, walk through the living room into the dining room, and then turn right. At that point, you would be in my sister's room. To get to my room you continued through my sister's room into my room. The door to the downstairs bathroom was through my sister's room. She had direct access to the bathroom, but if I needed to go, I had to walk through her room, as did my parents from their room. The second entrance to the bathroom was through the dining room. Imagine eating in our dining room and needing to be excused to go to the bathroom. You would leave your seat and walk straight from the dining room into the bathroom! Yes, you could hear it all! Bathroom visits were some of the funniest times our family shared. We always thought the "sounds" were funny, especially from guests, and always laughed. We did enjoy a little bathroom humor. After the remodeling was completed, at least my sister and I had a bedroom to sleep in and a bathroom close by. I don't ever recall visiting a friend's house with their bathroom entrance opening from their dining room, I guess we were unique.

I realized that none of us ever had any real privacy in our bedrooms. If my parents needed to go to the bathroom, they came through my room and my sister's room. If I needed to go to the bathroom, I walked through my sister's room. I often wondered about the strange other noises I heard coming from my parent's bedroom. I would get the answers to these questions from my friends at recess on the school playground. I found my playmates to be extremely knowledgeable.

My dad was a very social person and many nights after dinner he would create an excuse to go back downtown. His usual line was, "anybody want a soft drink and some nabs or ice cream?" He knew the response from us kids would be yes and he would quickly be out the door and pulling out of the driveway. After several years of these "trips", I learned what he really was going to do when he left the house. He was headed out to drink some liquor with his friend(s), at either the pool hall or just sitting in his truck or a car. My mother was very insecure and could never quite handle his going back out at night, so whenever he returned there usually would be an argument. He almost never returned with the snacks while my sister and I were awake. There were times on the next morning I looked for the snacks so I could take them with me and eat them at our school break. I could not find any snacks.

One night dad came in late after we all were in bed. I woke up to my mother yelling, "You know you didn't piss in her room!" My dad had to go through my room and my sister's room to get to the bathroom. He thought he was in the bathroom, but my mother found him taking a leak in a corner of my sister's room. It was quite sad for I suspect he had quite a bit to drink and was simply confused. My mother returned to my sister's room with a wet rag and some cleaner and demanded he get down on all fours to clean the piss up. That was the only time I ever saw my dad on this knees.

In our house, there were sufficient light fixtures in all the rooms, but we never turned on all the lights. In each room, there was a fixture with a light bulb attached to the ceiling. Each light fixture had a pull chain that we used to turn the lights off and on. At some point, we managed to upgrade to fancier light fixtures with on/off switches on the walls. Our most prominent fixture, which looked like a cluster of stars, was in the front room. All rooms except the kitchen had lamps on tables. If you left a room you were supposed to turn off all the lights, even if you were coming right back. Seldom was more than one light on at any given time even in the rooms with an overhead light and a lamp. Many nights I was frightened to go into a dark room. Several of the rooms did not have the light switches next to the door. The switches might be in the middle of the room. We had several rooms with two doors that might have the switch at the furthest door and if you entered the room from the other end, you would have to walk across the dark room to turn on the switch. I hated this and for the longest time I was afraid of all kinds of things. I was especially afraid of the Thing.

One day upon returning from school, I pestered my mother to get my dad to take my sister and me to see the horror movie, the Thing. In 1952, I was eight years old and had not seen any of the popular horror movies. I had heard of Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Wolf Man, but I had not seen any of these movies. Some of the kids at school had seen the Thing and said it was a scary movie. I thought it was time to be brave by attending this movie so I could brag about sitting through it the next day at school. Well, this movie scared the shit out of me! A team of scientist and soldiers flew to the North Pole to check out a UFO crash. When they found the UFO, they uncovered some creature in the ice that appeared to be about eight feet tall. After much effort, they managed to get this thing transported back to the base. The men took shifts watching over this "thing," but as sometimes happens, one of the guards made a bad decision and put an electric blanket on top of the block of ice. The ice began to melt and then all hell broke loose. Once the ice melted down sufficiently the Thing managed to get up and run away from the base, but he would return. The team wrenched their hands trying to figure out a strategy to deal with the Thing when it returned. When it returned they tried to shoot it, but they were not successful. The scariest scene was when it returned to the base and went in the greenhouse. The men determined the Thing was in the greenhouse. The first man opened the door and the Thing's hand came around and swatted at the man. That really startled me, as I did not expect to see him in the scene. During the rest of the movie, I kept my eyes closed. The next scary part was near the end when the men attached electric wiring along the path it was expected to walk. When it came down the pathway the men turned on the juice and it started screaming and screamed to until it was fried to a crisp. At the end of the movie, the reporter with the base team beamed back a message to the lower 48 about the brave battle the men fought against this alien. He asked that all listening to the broadcast to keep watching for the skies for other invasions. Shit! This is not over! There will be other things and I believed this Thing was real. When we got home, I asked my sister to sleep with me that night. I stayed scared for several years. It did not help when I had to go into one of those unlit rooms in our house. Later I would learn that the Thing was played by James Arness, who starred in the TV series, Gunsmoke for over twenty years. Gunsmoke was a Saturday night favorite in our house as long as I lived there.

I was fascinated about reports of alien spacecraft and read every article available to me regarding UFOs. In the early fifties, there were daily reports of sightings. When the accounts of the sightings were supplemented with photos, I became convinced that aliens from other worlds were watching us. I spent countless hours on summer evenings staring up at the sky hoping to get a glimpse of a UFO. One night I did observe a flash of light beaming to the ground, and then it was gone. There was no sound and no light, it just disappeared. I never figured out what the flash of light was nor did I ever see anything else remotely close to what I thought could be a UFO.

Throughout my childhood years, the upstairs was rented out to another family. The first family was a man and his wife. He was gone most of the time, so I assumed he was a traveling salesman. The wife stayed upstairs and we seldom saw her. One time the man got a new Pontiac and took us all for a ride. The second renters were a young married couple. The man was employed with a company building an interstate Highway through the county. His work site was a large concrete mixing facility in a grove of trees near the railroad tracks that were within walking distance of our house. I would sometimes be outside, happen look up, and see the couple eating and talking about their day. The man had a terrible cough. He coughed incessantly from the time he got home until I guess he went to sleep. He must have ingested all that concrete dust into his lungs every day at work. Workers did not wear protective masks during that time.The last tenants were a widower and her teenage son who was one year older than my sister was. His mother worked at a building supply and seemed to have a busy life as she was seldom home. When she was home, she was there for short periods. This left her teenage son home alone and independent, but he always appeared to be a responsible person. During the summer, he operated a worm ranch across the street from our house. Sometimes he would ask me to go down and help him feed the worms. The worm food was in a fifty-pound sack in granular form. You scooped out several cups and spread it over the dirt the worms lived in. I enjoyed this task, but I did not really go with him that often. One day he gave me one of his old BB guns, which I really appreciated since I did not have one. The gun did not work very well so I had to raise the end of the gun higher than normal to get a BB to travel any distance. I appreciated this gift and a few times he and I had BB fights which was what kids usually did with BB guns

Within two years, these people moved out and my parents never rented the upstairs again. The space was used to store unused furniture and Christmas decorations. I would move upstairs when I entered high school.
Chapter 2

When I was six years old, our backyard seemed large, but as I grew older, the yard got smaller. I spent many days playing in that backyard. I played "cowboys" until I was in the eighth grade. I had a cap pistol, holstered on the hip and strapped to my right leg. The holsters were always for right-handed people, which posed a problem for me, as I was left-handed. I had to learn how to cope in a right handed world. My best quick draw move consisted of pulling my pistol out of the holster with my right hand then quickly shifting it to my left. My draw was adequate when I played cowboys. My favorite gun and holster set was my Hopalong Cassidy set. Hopalong was one of my favorite cowboys. He stood for all the right things in this world. I purchased most of Hopalong's dime store magazines so I had some plots I could use to play cowboys. Sometimes the Hopalong magazines called him, "Bill Boyd" and he wore a white hat with tan shirt and pants. I was never sure why we had the two Hopalong characters, but I went along with it. As Hopalong he wore the navy blue outfit, complete with hat, shirt, and pants all the same color. He had a beautiful two guns and holster set. His horse, Topper, was white which a nice alternative to Hopalong's dark outfit was.

While some of my ideas for playing cowboys came from the cowboy magazines, most of my play centered on scenes I recalled from the western movies I had seen. The movies had similar plots. The bad people were always up to no good. They robbed banks, stole ranchers' cattle, kidnapped people and held them for ransom, or shot up towns just for the hell of it. In my backyard, it was easy to replay the key scenes of these movies; I just had to decide which cowboy I wanted to be. When I played alone I could control the action and the outcomes I wanted. When I invited friends over often, we would end up in arguments over which role each would play.

One Christmas my sister got a cowgirl outfit and I got a cowboy outfit. I do not remember playing "cowboys" with my sister; in fact, I am not sure why she requested the outfit. In 1948, my dad took a picture of us standing on the front bumper of his truck. I had several photos taken of me in my cowboy suit. I was into everything having to do with cowboys. When I reached age eight my parents allowed me walk alone to the Saturday matinees. This was the highlight of my week. Each Saturday I received a quarter from my dad, which was enough for a movie ticket, a 6 ounce soft drink, a box of popcorn and a piece of candy. The movie featured a cartoon, a short comedy, a serial I called the "continued picture," followed by the feature western movie. My favorite movie cowboys were Johnny Mack Brown, Lash LaRue, the Durango Kidd, and Rocky Lane. My favorite cartoons were Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and Donald Duck. I always thought Mickey Mouse was too straight laced, but Donald was more of a rogue, who didn't hesitate to get in some duck's face if necessary. What was it with Donald not wearing any pants? My all time favorite serial was Captain Video, a real space hero. He always seemed to be in complete control of the situation. He had all the answers to all kinds of space questions and always had just the right kind of weapons to take down any space alien. He wore what looked like a football helmet and his belt stored several weapons. One weapon was like a prototype space gun when fired big balls of fire shot out of it. He had another weapon he used in a close in fight with an alien. He would reach back on the belt, grab this other weapon, and stick it in the back of a space alien to paralyze the thing. Captain Video had a space ship that could travel to other worlds. I was impressed with the cinematography of these serials as the screen went from black and white to a red, blue, or green tint when Captain Video visited other planets. Captain Video could never did get all of his shit taken care of in one episode; hence, the need for a serial format, but it left me wanting more. The serial was usually better than the western movie. I saw too many movies concerning animosity between the cattlemen and the sodbusters. You had the hard working farmer and all he had was some government land he got for free, but since it was hundreds of acres there was no way he could maintain it all, but be dammed if any tobacco chewing yahoo was going to drive a thousand head of cattle over any inch of his land! Therefore, you had the makings of some major disagreements and some plots for a load of B westerns. You could have a movie with the cattlemen winning and getting the herd to market but the farmer and his entire family had to be taken out, then you could have a farmer meeting with other farmers to plan bushwhacking the entire crew of dusty, smelly, foulmouthed, illiterate cowboys.

One of the dumbest stunts I ever pulled while playing cowboys was the day I laid down beside my dog and jammed a cap pistol into his ribs and said, "stick um up!" He immediately rolled over and bit me on my head. I have not been right since. After that attack, the dog had to leave. The attack really was not his fault, but my parents insisted he needed to go. I was not sure where he went.

Our backyard was also used for football games after school. The yard was too narrow for more than two kids to play football. There was a fence next to the highway on one side and another fence and clothesline on the other side. When I played by myself, I knew where the obstacles were, but when I had a friend over often they ran into either the clothesline or one of the fences. I stopped asking those kids over to my house to play football.

At the far corner of the backyard was a shed, the woodshed we called it, where the coal and wood was stored to heat our home. Throughout the fifties we heated exclusively with coal and wood. By the end of the fifties, a new oil stove was installed in the dining room since that was the room where we mostly lived. Most everyone else in our town used coal and wood, therefore, during the winter months when you were outside; the smoke billowing out of chimneys was visible as far as you could see. The coal polluted the most and did not have the most pleasant smell. As long as I could be outside I was not overly concerned with the smoke, the smell, or the soot caked up on the side of the house.

My mother always started the fires in our Warm Morning stoves. We had three of these rotund stoves, one in the kitchen, one in the dining room, and one in my parent's bedroom. Every morning when mom got out of bed, she started a fire in each stove. She hauled in all the coal and wood to build these fires. I never saw my dad haul in a scuttle of coal, bring in a stick of wood, or build any fire in any stove. I never hauled in a scuttle of coal or brought in a stick or wood unless I was asked and I was seldom asked. At the time I was not into being a mother's little helper.

When we got the oil stove in the dining room, my mother always lit that fire. She was always very careful not to let too much oil run into the bottom of the stove for fear that when she threw in the lit piece of paper the stove might blow up. I was anxious every time she lit the stove until I saw a normal looking flame through the glass door. She made us very afraid of all the damage a fire could cause.

We had a peach tree and a pecan tree in our back yard. We had two more pecan trees on each side of the walk in our front yard. The peach trees created a big mess in the back yard that nobody wanted clean up. The peaches were always too small to eat, so they just remained on the limbs until they rotted and fell off the tree. A yard full of rotten peaches caused problems when I wanted to play football, not to mention the all the pecans that had fallen. Before Thanksgiving and Christmas, we picked up most of the pecans so mom could bake pecan pies. One year I found out our local grocery stores would buy pecans. I checked around at a couple of grocery stores to confirm they would buy the pecans. I found a suitable cardboard box in the back porch and started harvesting the pecans. It made my mom happy as the yard was cleaned up, there were sufficient nuts for holiday baking, and I made a few dollars from the sale of the remaining pecans.

I picked and picked and picked these nuts, but I noticed that I was a long way from having enough nuts to make a sale worth my efforts. I decided if I waited for all the nuts to fall off the tree hell would freeze over before I had enough to sell. I looked up in one of the pecan trees and saw many nuts barely hanging from their pods. I decided to grab the trunk of the tree and shake it. The nuts began to fall, many on my head. After picking up the nuts, I noticed my box was getting full. My next strategy was to climb the tree, step out on a limb and shake the limbs with my foot. More nuts began to fall. I had developed a successful pecan harvesting process. First, I would pick up all nuts on the ground, second, I would shake the tree for more nuts, and lastly, I would climb the tree and shake the limbs. I did manage to make about $50.00 that first year from the sale of my pecans. I felt rich and I used some of the money to buy Christmas presents. I was proud of finding a way to make money from nuts that mostly lay on the ground. I continued to pursue other ways to make money.

Chapter 3

One summer I had an afternoon paper route for the Durham Sun. The route man who hired me was a nice man, I do not remember his name, but my mom and I referred to him as "Shorty," being that he was short in stature. Shorty drove a dark green and white, 4-door, Chevrolet sedan and he always wore a golf hat. He was always giving me pep talks, especially when I got frustrated over difficulties of collecting the paper money each Saturday. He had to do something because he did not want me to quit, for nobody wanted a paper route. Each afternoon Shorty would drop off the papers in our front yard. I would get the stack and put them on the front porch. I untied the string around the papers and folded them into squares per Shorty's instructions. Once the folding was finished, I stuffed the papers into my paper carrier's sack. I went in the house and told my mom that I was "heading out to deliver papers." I slung the bag over my shoulder, got on my bike, and hit the road.

The biggest problem I had with the paper route was where the customers lived. Some customers were a block away so I could deliver to their house very quickly. Other customers were on the other side of town, but that was O.K. if there were several houses on the same street. The biggest problem was the one or two customers who lived on the out skirts of town. I had to pedal all the way to their house, over a mile one-way to deliver one dam newspaper. Shorty furnished me with a collection book. He explained how to prepare the customer pages in my collection book. I wrote each customer's name, address, date, and amount collected on an individual page, which had carbon paper underneath the original. When I saw Shorty on Mondays, I turned in the copies of the individual customer sheets along with the money I collected. Saturday was the day I collected paper fees. I asked him how to get the money. He replied, "You just say, hi, I'm collecting for the paper today." He assured me collecting money was the easiest part of a paper route. Well, what did I know; I had to go with Shorty.

It was Saturday, the last day of the week to deliver papers and collect the money for Shorty. The first few customers were no problem and I was feeling very confident, "I can do this," I told myself. Then things broke down, the next few houses I found no one at home, which meant I would have to come back later in the day or I would have to try to collect the money next Saturday. When I rode my bike back to the houses later in the day I managed to collect money from two additional households, but the last house was at the other end of town and when I got there, no one was home. I would try to collect the fees the next Saturday. After a few weeks, I got tired of going back multiple times to collect my paper fees.

As luck would have it, the customers furthest away were either NEVER at home or if they were there they didn't have the dam money, so they would give me some story about coming back in an hour or "paying up" next week. Pretty soon, the "next week" became "next month" and I realized I was never going to get the money. My pay was based on my collections, so the less money collected meant I would have fewer dollars in my pocket. The following Monday after Shorty delivered my papers and took my collections I told him I was having problems collecting from some customers. I could tell Shorty was an experienced paper man, he had been around, he knew the ropes, and he was going to tell me just what to do to collect the money. Shorty's advice was to keep going to their house until they paid. I was hoping Shorty had something better to tell me, but he did not. Dam Shorty!

My frustration continued for several more weeks. I had gotten to the breaking point and realized that the collections from these rogue customers were not getting any easier. I decided I needed to threaten Shorty with quitting my paper route because I knew the trouble he would have hiring my replacement. I decided I would tell him next Monday unless something improved with the collections I would be forced to resign from the paper route.

On Monday when I told Shorty my intentions, he panicked. He knew if I quit he would be stuck delivering papers himself until he found a boy. He said, "O.K., I'll be here Saturday and we'll collect together." Shorty arrived on Saturday ready to help me deliver the papers and collect the paper fees. At each house, we took the paper to the door and Shorty did the talking. We were proceeding nicely and Shorty kept telling me, "This is really not all that hard." I agreed with Shorty as far as the customers we had seen so far, "just wait 'til we get to the others," I told him. One of our stops midway through the deliveries was a customer on the out skirts of town. We drove up to the house in Shorty's big 4-door Chevy and got out with the paper and collection book. Shorty knocked on the door and the person came to the door with a beer in his hand. Shorty handed the man the paper through the door and told him he the amount he owed for the past three weeks. Upon hearing the amount the guy challenged Shorty's numbers and said he only owed for a week since he paid the rest last week, "he thinks," and told us to "check your records," which I did. He owed for the three weeks, including the current week. Shorty and the man continued to discuss the amount owed while I just stood there. Finally, the man left the front door and went into another part of the house. He returned with a check written for the entire three-week amount and told Shorty that he was cancelling his subscription right then and there. He was "offended by these accusations" and told Shorty he planned to subscribe to the Raleigh Time just as soon as he identified the carrier. Shorty apologized to the man and we got back in the Chevy and headed back to my house. Short was quiet for the rest of the way to my house.I continued my paper route for one more week. When I gave Shorty my collections on Monday, I told him, I was working a notice and this week would be my last week delivering papers. Shorty tried to get me to stay, but no, the decision had been made. Next Monday Shorty arrived and I give him the final money I collected on the previous Saturday. He thanked me for my work, I thanked him for the job, and we parted ways. I never saw Shorty again and I never read another copy of the Durham Sun.

Another way I made money in the summer was picking blackberries. The best berries were located near the railroad track approximately one hundred yards from our house. I usually had a friend helping me pick these berries. In an effort to keep the foliage from growing too close to the tracks, the railroad company sprayed often with D.D.T., but the blackberries still seemed to proliferate. Why these berries grew near the tracks was beyond me, but as long as I could pick a Mason jar full, I did not care. Once we picked a jar each we left the tracks and went door to door in the neighborhood until someone bought both jars. Not everybody was excited about buying jars of blackberries. Maybe some people did not even like blackberries, I did not, or perhaps they already knew about the perils of D.D.T. We charged was twenty-five cents per jar, which we thought was a fair price considering the labor involved in bringing the product to market. Once we made our sale, we usually walked directly to the nearest grocery store and bought soft drinks and sweets. We never spent any extra time washing the berries before selling them because it took too much time and we did not know about the hazards of eating food laced with D.D.T. As a matter of fact in an attempt to kill the honeysuckle that grew along the fence in our backyard the state highway department sprayed D.D.T. The town maintenance department sprayed D.D.T. on a regular basis on every street in our town in an effort to keep the mosquitoes contained. As I kid, I used to go out and run through the D.D.T. mist because I thought it smelled that good. We knew very little about this dangerous chemical.

The best year round moneymaker was selling drink bottles. Grocery stores and gas stations bought these bottles back any time for a penny per bottle. I had to walk quite a bit to find enough bottles to make the task worth my time. Ditches along the sides of roads were the best places to locate bottles because people were bad about throwing their empties out of their car windows. Not only did they throw out bottles, but everything else they did not want to keep. The county prison inmates used to pick up trash along these roads and when they did, it hurt my profit margin. When I started out I quickly realized after I had a hand full of bottles I needed a container or I would be spending most of my time going back and forth home dropping off bottles. I used a burlap sack for a while, but progressed to the standard 24-bottle crate which store merchants appreciated since crates were what they put empties in anyway.

I offered to rake leaves since the town did not provide a leaf collection service, but most residents I contacted elected to rake their own or just let them blow into their next door neighbor's yard. The smell of burning leaves was always for me a sign of fall. We had the smell, we had the smoke, and there were some days it was hard to see because of all the smoke. We also had additional smoke coming from the town garbage dump because fall was the time each year the town garbage people burned the dump. We had the this smoke from the dump added to the smoke from the leaf burning which was so bad it frequently suspended kids' afternoon outside play time. Add to the mix the smoke and smell from early fall coal burning fires in most of the residences and it made downtown Los Angeles seem like a place we all might want to go to get some relief. There were days where I was confined to the dining room, the center of family activity, listening to the radio, watching TV, or even doing my homework.

I spent much of my summers as a kid trying to make some spending money, but my attention never strayed too far from the possibility of a storm. A storm would alter my day's activities. Every morning when I got out of bed, I looked out my bedroom window to see if the sky was clear. If it happened to be clear I felt relieved and expected my day would be filled with fun activities rather than having to hear my mom say, "unplug everything, it's coming up a cloud!" As the morning wore on, I repeatedly checked the weather situation and if it was favorable, I continued with whatever I was doing. There were many afternoons where the sky still looked fine, then within a few minutes I looked out and son of a bitch! The sky had darkened and looked very much like it would storm. I tried rationalization, I saw the black clouds, but I thought they would blow over. Hell, my mother was sewing; she would not see these clouds, so there would not be a storm. None of this faulty rationalization ever worked for when there were dark clouds we had a thunderstorm and my mother freaked out causing the rest of us to suspend all activities to sit with her in the front room. If the storm was bad, she cried and yelled at everybody. Sometimes if my dad was home, she would jump up and pound him on his chest. He did not know what to do so he just stood there and took it.

As the storm phobia continued it got to where when a storm was coming up we had to go to my grandparent's house. Perhaps she equated this with the house she went to as a kid after the roof of their house was blown off. This remedy seemed to work for her, that is, if my dad was at home to take her to his parent's house. If not, my sister and I had to sit quietly in the front room with my mother until the storm was over.

When I was in college, I took several psychology courses I thought helped me better understand some of the problems associated with this phobia. My conclusion was our family reinforced our mother's phobia by suspending all of our normal activities during a storm to sit with her. We continued to sit with her until the storm was over.

These episodes got worse until finally in the fall of 1967 my dad had my mom admitted to South Wing at U.N.C. Memorial Hospital in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. She stayed for 6 weeks and had numerous shock treatments. I understood these treatments were designed to remove the memories of what might have caused the fear of storms in the first place. My mother described these treatments as "awful" and stated many times, she would "never go through this again." She told us later the treatments "weren't worth a dam" and "instead of removing the bad memories and the fear all they did was remove the good memories." I was at home for Thanksgiving that year after she had returned from the hospital. Early one morning I awakened to the sound of thunder and I cringed, what would my mother do? I heard her get up and go to the bedroom window and pull the window down and there was silence. She had returned to bed! Maybe she had been cured, I hoped! While I experienced temporary euphoria, it was short lived. Part of her follow up treatment was monthly appointments with a psychiatrist and taking daily medication. She only visited the doctor once or twice and never took the medication as prescribed. She said these doctor appointments and medicines "cost too much money and are a waste of time. " She regressed and became as bad as she ever was during storms.

At times I was very angry with her for I felt my dad had tried to help her and for the help to work she had to help herself, but she was not willing to do her part. I realized when we have problems the problems can never be solved unless we are willing to at least try to help ourselves. I learned from these episodes that if a problem is identified, one must work to create solutions, then try one and see if it works. If the first solution fails, try another, but keep trying. If there are no solutions that work to solve the problem, learn to live with it and move on with your life. This is how I continue to live my life.

As frustrating as my mother's phobia was, I was amazed how the storm she experienced, as a youth had no impact at all on her brother and sister. They were never affected in any way with storms they way mom was, yet all three children were in the house when the storm blew the roof off. My mother died afraid of thunderstorms.
Chapter 4

When I was twelve years old, I got my first shotgun, a Stevens' .410 gauge bolt action, for Christmas. My mother absolutely refused to let me go hunting alone or with friends. At the time, I did not understand her reasoning, but now I do. She said I could only go with my dad, so I knew my hunting trips would be infrequent. He had an old 12 gauge, single barrel Iver Johnson shotgun that he kept behind the door in his bedroom. He never hunted as an adult and I never asked him whether he ever hunted, but he had a shotgun. Later Christmas morning he agreed to take me hunting on my grandfather's farm. We hopped in his Ford pickup and headed to the farm. I was excited, a new gun and a whole box of shells and I was going hunting with my dad, a real man to man outdoor adventure! Dad parked the truck on the upper end of the road leading down to the farm as the lower end was often muddy and if you went further there was a good chance you would get stuck up to the axle. We walked the rest of the way down past a tenant house. Dad saw a tree stump at the edge of the woods so he sat down with his shotgun across his lap and watched me enter the woods. I did not go out of his sight. I spotted a squirrel running up the side of a tree and I commenced to firing. With a bolt action for a right handed person it was difficult for me to fire and pull the bolt back to get another shell into the chamber. It did not take long to figure out how I could do this. You fired the gun then held the gun up on your left shoulder at the lower end of the gun with your left hand, which was awkward as the gun then was not balanced. Then you pulled the bolt back with your right hand. I have to be good using this procedure but for a long time I wondered, as I did about right-handed baseball gloves, why products were not made for left-hander people. After I fired the third shot, I heard my father yell out, "god dam!" "Don't use the whole dam box of shells!" It scared me so much I did not fire another shot and within fifteen minutes we were leaving my first hunting trip and last with my father. I did not go hunting again until I was a sophomore in high school, but this time I was allowed to go with friends approved by my mother. I came to love the solitude of the woods and the smell of leaves on the ground. For a brief time I hunted for small game, but mostly I just enjoyed being outside around the sights and sounds and smells of the woods. I managed to kill a squirrel one time and was elated until I realized that I did not know what to do with a dead squirrel. I felt bad that I had killed a living thing for no good reason. There were people who ate squirrels but I did not want a squirrel for dinner. I limited my hunting as a teenager and never tried to kill anything after the squirrel. When I became an adult, I sold my shotgun to a pawnshop.As soon as the weather turns cold, each year kids yearn for a big snowfall. There was never much snow where I lived, but when it came, I was as excited as the next kid was. With snow on the ground, I did not have to go to school and I have to stay outside as long as I could stand it. After snow the previous afternoon or night mom would have the radio tuned to the local station for school closings when I came to breakfast. When I heard the announcer say, "Warren County Schools closed, "I let out a yell! I ate breakfast and got dressed as fast as I could and went outside. I usually made some feeble attempt to build a snowman, but mine never looked like the "Frosty" on TV. At the end of our street, there was a wonderful hill for sledding, if you had a sled. I asked for a sled for Christmas in my eleventh year and a sled was what I got. I remember my initial excitement in seeing the sled under the tree, but then what was I to do with it without any snow? I began to view this gift as an investment in future fun and when it snowed, I would be ready.

We had no snow the year I got the sled, but early the following January there was a nice snow of about 5 inches. I was out of school for 4 days. I took my new sled down to the hill at the end of the street and spent most of the day sledding down the hill and walking back up and repeating the process until I could hardly walk. I did take breaks sitting around our Warm Morning stove, but as soon as I thawed out and my outerwear was dry, I was back out on the street. I needed to take advantage of the white stuff because I never knew when I would see such a snowfall again.

For several years after a snow dad tied a rope to the rear bumper of his Ford pickup and to my sled. He pulled me up and down the street in front of our house and I enjoyed it immensely. I guess he never considered this dangerous in any way, I sure did not, but years later, I heard about accidents caused with kids sledding when tied to the rear of a truck.

A snowfall brought a tasty treat, "snow cream," I could only get when it snowed. Snow cream was a mixture of snow, sugar, egg, and milk. It was O.K., but not like the ice cream, I bought from a gas station. My mother was cautious about not using the first snow of the year to make the ice cream. I never understood her rule nor did I bother to request a more detailed explanation as to why we could not eat the first snow. I did wonder what the difference was between the first snow and say, the second snow. Why would the second snow be cleaner? Why was the first snow dirtier? My rule was if mom made a bowl of snow cream, I was eating it.

After about two days of snow fun, I got bored and was ready to go back to school. Schools never reopened after a snow until every trace of snow had been removed from the roads. Children who lived in the country were transported to school by bus so the roads needed to be clear. All of the bus drivers were high school students. These drivers were the most responsible students in our school and most of them were members of the Beta Club, an honor society. There was never an accident or any incident on a bus requiring immediate attention by school administrators. School systems today do not employ student drivers.

There was one, maybe two years we had two or three snows, which I liked very much until we had to make up the missed school days. The part of a snowfall I enjoyed the most was when it was coming down. The falling flakes added new beauty to the landscape, which was not present before the snow, commenced. There was a calmness associated with seeing the ground outside being covered while the traffic slowed to a crawl. Maybe it was nature's way of telling everyone to slow down, take it easy, and stop worrying so much about the vicissitudes of life.

As I kid, I always liked windy days. I liked the powerful sound of the wind, and I believed it could move about anything it wanted. There were days when the wind blew so hard I wondered if our house would survive the repeated gusts. When the wind blew around the windows, it made a clattering sound, but my mother discovered toilet paper could be used to "chink" the cracks to reduce the noise and the steady draft. She even put some toilet paper between some of the boards in the floor. The toilet paper was a rather suitable material as it could be pushed far down into a crack and each year more paper could be added. When the windows were repainted the toilet paper stayed in place. I guess the paint strengthened the paper.

I will never forget the fall of 1954 when Hurricane Hazel came inland as far as Norlina. I was in the 4th grade at the time. Before I left for school that morning, I heard reports on TV that the potential was excellent for Hazel coming our way. The principal received notice from the county schools office to dismiss school as soon as we ate our lunch. By 1:00pm I was home wondering what experiencing a hurricane would be like As the afternoon wore on, I was in and out of the house. I watched the weather updates on TV then went outside to see if I could see anything. What I did notice were cloud formations different from any clouds I had observed previously. About mid afternoon things got really, calm and we figured the eye of the storm had arrived; soon the shit would hit the fan. A short time later dad arrived. The rains began and the wind increased in velocity. Within the hour, it was raining very hard and the wind had picked up considerably. We went into the hall at the front door and looked out the glass pane in the door. I noticed the power lines were swinging around much like a jump rope being turned. Dad suggested we go upstairs to get a better view, but before we reached the stairs, we heard a loud noise on the tin roof. I thought, oh my, the end was near! My dad went back into the other part of the house trying to figure out the cause of the noise. Soon he returned and told us that the wind had blown some loose bricks off a chimney. I breathed a sigh of relief. We went upstairs into the dining room, which was on the road side of the house. From that vantage point, we could see beyond the train tracks into downtown. We also saw some of the houses in the immediate vicinity. I walked into the kitchen and from the back door I watched my basketball goal sway back and forth. That dam Hazel had better not blow my goal over! The brunt of the storm was over in about an hour. We went back downstairs and looked out most of the windows to see if there was an appreciable damage on our property. We only had the pecan trees and the one peach tree that were not very large so all we lost was a few limbs. After the wind subsided, we got in the car and drove around town. Most of what we observed was downed power lines, broken limbs, and metal signs torn up.

After a dinner of sandwiches, we drove to Rocky Mount. Dad was working on a well job there and left the derrick up on the well machine. He was curious as to whether the hurricane blew the rig over. It did. He had to hire a wreaker to pull the well machine back up. There quite a few tree limbs in the road to Rocky Mount, but we were not worried because dad had a spotlight on his car. When he thought he saw something in the road he turned on the spotlight and steered around the limbs. It was a fun trip. The next day the weather was clear and cool and Hazel had become a part of our history.

I was told that March was always a windy month and a great time to fly a kite. I purchased my kites and string from a neighborhood grocery store for twenty cents. Every year I selected a different color of kite. My mother cautioned me about flying my kites too close to power lines. She told me that if the kite or the string came into contact with a line I would be instantly electrocuted. I did not want to die from such a horrible death so I tried to be very careful. She told me if my kite crossed over the power lines let it go rather than face death. I lost many kites. Initially I experienced problems getting my kites off the ground until I found out about kite tails. The best tails were made from torn up sheets and for some reason we had many extra sheets that weren't being used on beds. Once I got the tail tied on my kite, I had no more problems. Kite flying was a lot of fun and it was cheap entertainment. There were a few years I used an extra ball of string to fly my kite even higher. There was a large cow pasture behind my house I would go to fly my kite. The owners did not care if kids flew their kites in their field since they only had about three cows, which never strayed, far from the stable. I did have to watch out for cow shit because even through there were just the three cows they could still make a mess in that field.

Chapter 5

During my young years, I thought a friend meant any kid who would play with me for more than a day. There were times my friends and I had disagreements, but these conflicts never lasted more than a few hours. I had many "friends of necessity," they had unmet needs and I assisted in helping them meet their needs. After school, if kids wanted to play football I supplied the football to meet their need to play football. If we played cowboys, I had an extra gun to meet their need to play cowboys. When I was in high school, I had the car so I was the provider of transportation. I was never alone again, unless I wanted to be.

Many years passed and most of these acquaintances moved on, although a few still live there. I went away to college as several others did while some stayed in the area and worked where they could find work and some enlisted in one of the branches of military service. Luckily, no one I knew was killed in Vietnam, a conflict I never quite understood. I periodically saw some of the people I grew up with while I was home on holiday breaks or during the summers. I we would provide updates to each other then saw them at the local hamburger joint. The exchanges became more infrequent because I preferred to stay at my parent's house 95% of the time when I was in town.

By the time I reached my adolescent years, I had developed some time-tested ideas about real friends. If a boy was nice to me, I felt comfortable being around him. I seemed to gravitate to new boys who moved into town. Eventually I became friends with most of them. All of these boys seemed different in the sense that when we became connected it was not because of something I could provide for them, they just wanted to be around me. I could be moody at times, but those boys seemed to understand, they cut me some slack and continued to treat me the same. I came to believe a true friend was always there to support you through thick and thin. Through my lifetime, I have had a handful of true friends I could count on to be there when things were not going well.

My first best friend lived next door for about two years before his family moved away. We played together every day. One day we played at his house and the next day he came to my house. We liked to play cowboys or with little medal trucks and cars outside in the sand. We never had any disputes, we just got along really well, and then one day his family moved to Richmond. Often I would ride my bike to up to the train station and stare down the train track in the direction of Richmond. The train was a regular stop in our town in route to Richmond. I would think about my friend, how I missed him and all the fun times we had. His father worked with the railroad and got a transfer to Richmond, Virginia. I only saw him one more time on his way to Florida with his family to look for a new house after his dad had been transferred yet again. It was about this time that I began to realize that life changed constantly and friends I had one day could be gone the next day.

Chapter 6

I learned to ride a bike on my own in our backyard. I do not remember how many times it took for me to stay on the bike, but I was so happy I ran in the house to tell my mother, "Ma, I can ride my bike," and spit on her clean floor. I had somehow gotten into the bad habit of spitting that it had become an involuntary action. My mom scolded me for the spitting and I worked to prevent this disgusting act from happening again. She was more concerned about me spitting on the floor than she was happy about my learning to ride a bike.

I rode my bike everywhere, even to the next town, some four miles from home. It was never much fun riding my bike in the winter, but somehow I managed. My first bike was a Western Flyer "Santa purchased" at the Western Auto Store in Warrenton. I used to purchase quite a bit of merchandise from this store. My mother was very specific about taking care of our "stuff." She made sure we understood to take care of everything because according to her "you may not be able to get anything else." With this edict in mind, I parked my bike on the front porch every night. I never thought about anyone stealing a bike off the front porch because I never heard of any kid's bike being stolen off his front porch. Most kids I knew did not have a front porch. If the bike was wet from a rain, I dried it off with a towel before bringing it up on the porch. I still try to take care of whatever I purchase because I can still hear my mom telling me, "You may not be able to get anything else."

After a year or so, I grew tired of my bike's color so I began a long series of color changes. I had difficulty being satisfied with the latest color, mostly because of the different types of paint I used. Since I seldom had any money, I went down to my dad's store and selected whatever leftover paint I could find. Sometimes the paint was interior flat paint, while other times it would be oil based enamel. Spray paint was not available so I had to use a brush or sometimes a rag. A rag just does not cover a bike very well. The more I painted the bike the worse it looked until I was embarrassed to ride it. After repeated paint jobs on my Western Flyer, I realized it was time for a bike upgrade. I got out the latest Sears and Roebuck catalog and started the process of identifying a new bike.

Our Sunday rituals were a Methodist Church service, Sunday school, fried chicken for lunch, and a drive in the country in the afternoon. My mom always prepared fried chicken, mashed potatoes and Green Giant peas for Sunday lunch. We each got one piece of chicken and I was served the drumstick. Someone decided I liked the drumstick so it was put on my plate. I might have liked to try other parts of the chicken. Many years later, I had a chicken breast and now if I eat chicken it is a breast or I do not have chicken. I preferred to mix my green peas with my mashed potatoes so I pushed the peas down into the mashed potatoes before eating them.

After church, we stopped at a gas station on the way home to get some ice cream. I would go inside with dad and he would let me select the flavor of ice cream. I always liked Pine State chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, but I got bolder and bolder and started selecting other flavors like lemon, butter pecan, and cherry vanilla. I am surprised now to think how a pint of ice cream was enough for I loved it and my dad liked it more than I did. My mom and my sister preferred cakes.

After lunch dad would take a nap before our Sunday drives or "spins". We usually drove to one of two places, Kerr Lake or some relative's house. We had many relatives and I had no idea how we were related to all of them. When we drove to Kerr Lake, the route was always the same. We would leave our house and drive across the state line into Virginia onto some really narrow secondary roads. I was never impressed with Virginia's secondary roads system. We would drive across the dam, turn left and head for North Bend Park. We drove into the park all the way to the end, turned around and drove back up the road in the direction of the dam. This was the same route every Sunday, every year. My dad usually stopped at one of three service stations every week to purchase the same snacks. He would ask did we want "a Coke and some square nabs?" We would respond by saying, "yes, we do." The question was never framed like, "what would you like," to which we might have replied, "Not square nabs, but maybe ice cream or candy." We learned to "cooperate" and eat the square nabs and wash them down with a Coke. It was okay.

When we went to see relatives, I either sat in a chair until time to leave or went outside. There was no TV and no other kids, as the relatives were older uncles and aunts whose children were all grown and long gone. Children like me, were not asked questions like, "how is school going, learning anything?" No one ever asked me to perform, as today's adults seem to want kids to do. If they had asked, I am not sure what my performance would have been. I was there to be "seen and not heard." I was not interested in listening to what the adults were talking about so I tried to find somewhere else to go. Most homes we visited had plenty of land so if I walked around outside long enough I could always find something interesting to look at or to do. The visits never seemed to last very long and that was fine with me. After we departed, we drove straight home.

There was one particular Sunday I elected not to go on "a spin." I told my parents, "I think I'll stay here and finish watching this Redskins game." During the fifties Redskins football games were telecast every Sunday. The Washington Redskins NFL team was located 200 miles from our town so most people in our area who followed professional football were Redskins fans. I had requested a lightweight bike for Christmas and had taken it upon myself to begin "looking around" for the bike. I initiated this practice when I was twelve, the year I found my shotgun in a box with Christmas paper wrapped around it in the front room closet. When I got the chance, I went into the front room, opened the closet door, grabbed the box and shook it. I never figured out what kind of gun was in the box. Two years later and I found yet another gift, the Austrian lightweight bike upstairs in a bedroom closet. As soon as my parents were out of sight, I jumped up and ran upstairs to the bedroom. I opened the door and there it was the Austrian lightweight bike! Just about every Sunday I told them I wanted to finish watching the game. I wondered if they ever figured out what I was doing. If they did, they never told me. Some Sundays I tried to go with my parents for a ride, but it was hard because if I went I wouldn't get to see my bike for a least another week. I progressed to the point where I was taking the bike out of the closet and riding it around as there was no furniture in that bedroom. We did not have enough furniture to furnish all the rooms. I thought Christmas would never come, but when it finally did, I got up about 4:30 a.m. and ran into the front room to "see my new bike!" I was just as excited as if I had never laid eyes on it. I rode that bike until, August 24, 1960, when I became sixteen and I got my driver's license.

Chapter 7

I do not remember the first time I had an attack of asthma, but I do remember when I had it, I could not breathe. The only way I could sleep at night was to lay with my head down on my pillow with my butt up in the air. All I wanted was to stretch out in my bed and get some sleep, but I could only assume this position briefly before I had to get back up on my knees. Often times when the attacks got so bad my dad would take me to our family doctor to get a shot of "adrenalin." This shot gave immediate relief but I could feel my heart racing a hundred miles an hour. Once I got home, I was really hyperactive for several hours. I continued to have asthma throughout my youth, especially during the fall months. Through the generosity of an aunt and uncle who lived in Richmond, Virginia, I was taken to an asthma clinic in Richmond to determine what I was allergic to and to hopefully cure my asthma. Since most of my trips to Richmond were to attend the asthma clinic I don't have favorable memories of Richmond. During my first visit to the clinic, I was led into an examining room and told to take off my shirt, but not my undershirt. A nurse came in with two rectangular trays full of hypodermic needles. I had no idea what she intended to do with all those needles. I assumed my appointment was going to focus on me providing a chronology of my asthma attacks. No, that was not the case; the nurse took needle one by one and inserted them under the skin on each arm. I tried to count the needles, but after twenty, I stopped. When the nurse left the room I noticed my skin was swelling around some of the areas on my arm she had inserted the needles. After about 30 minutes, the nurse returned and examined each arm. She blurted an "um," took some notes on a clipboard and left the room. At no time did she tell me what she was doing and why. I reached the conclusion that they must be trying to determine what was causing me to have attacks of asthma. Some things in life would require me to ask questions, but I was not ready to start that day. I visited the clinic every morning for the next three days. On the second day, I had more allergy tests, but this time the nurse brought in a tray of small bottles with eyedroppers. She walked over to me with what appeared to be a nail in her hand. She took the nail and made half-inch scratches up and down each of my arms. Even after all these years when I think of this procedure, it hurts. I did not cry, but I wanted to. After she finished both arms, I looked down and saw redness around each of the scratches while my arms were throbbing. Next, the nurse took an eyedropper of solution from each of the little bottles and squeezed some of the liquid over each one of the scratches. My arms were covered with giant patches. At the end of the third day, I met with the doctor to explain the results of the allergy tests. Basically, I was told I was allergic to just about everything on the planet. The doctor prescribed some allergy shots to be administered each week by my family doctor. The clinic would send boxes of this medicine to us to take to my doctor each time I got my shot. This weekly shot was supposed to rid me of asthma in time, but no one knew this for sure. My parents bought a new pillow made of foam for my bed. I noticed there were fewer eggs served to me for breakfast. There were fewer homemade chocolate treats prepared by my mother after school. The clinic experts had sent an extensive list of foods and other things I should avoid while I continued the allergy shots. I played outside less because there were all kinds of grass and weeds on the list. There were many trees listed, especially pines and since most of our trees were pines, I stayed out of the woods. I continued to take the allergy shots for several years and by the time I reached high school, I stopped having asthma that prevented me from living normally for years. Even though the attacks were over I never would have much lung capacity to run very far. Even when I tried to play sports and was in fair shape, I never could do much running without being winded. When I tried to play football as a 100-pound freshman the coach would yell at me as I huffed and puffed around the goal posts at the end of practice, "cigarettes about to get you," he would yell. The son of a bitch! I never had a cigarette in my life, but for some reason the coach needed to say those things. He was just a smart ass for whatever reason. No one except my mother understood how bad my asthma attacks were. One night when I was very young and having difficulty breathing my mother held me and rocked me all night. I never forgot the act of love and I still have the rocking chair in my house.

In addition to asthma, I developed eczema. It first appeared on my left cheek. The doctor prescribed some black tar salve to use. This black tar stunk to high heaven and didn't work very well. It was embarrassing when I went out in public with tar on my face. I used many other products for several years, but was never prescribed any medication that worked to remove the blotches on my skin or reduce the itching. The itching was the main problem because it was hard not to scratch places on your body that itched. There weren't many places on my body I didn't have eczema at one time or the other. The worst patches were on the backs of both knees and when they itched I scratched them until they bled. The only thing that helped was putting hot water on the spots. When I went out for the basketball team my sophomore year the eczema patches got so big I bought some knee pads to cover the patches. The pads worked well to hide the patches, but when they got hot the patches itched like crazy. By my senior year the eczema went away and I never had a patch of it again. Between the difficulty breathing because of asthma and the constant itching because of eczema I still wonder how I ever did much of anything during that period of my life.

During my first year in elementary school my mother walked me to and from school every day. One day she was not on time to pick me up and I cried. That was the only day she was late. The first week of school our teacher organized the class into reading groups called the red birds and the blue birds. I was assigned to the red birds group. One night during my reading time with my mom I told her I was in the red bird reading group. I told her who the other kids were in my group. The next day she made a rare visit to school to speak with my teacher. My mom was a stay at home mom and she seldom ventured out except to the grocery store and to church. She asked the teacher why I was placed in the red birds group. She told the teacher I could read well because I read to her every night before going to bed. She insisted the teacher put me in the blue bird group. The teacher relented and I was placed in the blue birds reading group the next day. My mother never had anything good to say about that teacher again. Anytime the woman's name was mentioned mom made some negative comments. Perhaps I'm a better reader today because my mom advocated for my switch to the blue birds reading group.

I hated getting out of bed every morning to go to school, especially in the winter months. There was no central heat and the closest heat source to my bedroom was in my parents' bedroom. The room was heated by a pot bellied coal stove, thus not much heat ever made it my room. I slept with several blankets and a handmade quilt over me so by the time I got up I was too comfortable to want move. Our bedroom doors were never closed so when mom yelled from the dining room for us to get up we both heard her. I would reluctantly get out of bed and run into the dining room and stand with my rear end as close to the Warm Morning stove as possible. Once I had warmed up I would dress for school in front of the stove. On one unusually cold morning I stood too close to the stove and burnt a hole in my ass. My mother bandaged my ass up with gauge pads and tape. I went to school that morning with a taped up ass.

I wet the bed often in my youth. I did not know why I did this disgusting thing. Any time my mother found out I had wet the bed she yelled at me, "boy did you wet the bed again?" I couldn't get away, the sheets were wet and my pajamas were wet, so I admitted that I had once again pissed my bed. Sometimes I wondered if my mother thought I was intentionally wetting the bed, but I tried to assure her that I was not trying to "spite "her. During the winter months I did not plan to wake up having pissed myself. My bed was cold enough without a pint of cold piss to deal with. My mother got a rubber sheet to put under my bed sheet. All this rubber sheet did was keeping some of the moisture from getting on an already yellow mattress. I suppose at some point my parents asked our family doctor, "why does that boy keep wetting his bed?" If they got an answer they never shared it with me. My diagnosis was that it was related to all the anxiety I endured during my youth. My mother and father had marital problems which didn't help my maturation. My daddy was spoiled by his parents, my grandparents. He was also a quite a social animal who enjoyed drinking in the company of his many friends which was always done away from home. He and his friends drank mostly in cars before, during, and after a ball game or while playing poker or shooting pool. Whatever the activity there was a drink or "taste" or two consumed. Many times when I got in our red pickup to go some place with my dad he would often get a "taste" before we left. He kept a bottle of whiskey under the driver's side of the truck and a soft drink in the glove compartment. He would get the bottle from under the seat and take a big drink and while he was holding the liquor in his mouth he would reach in the glove box and take out the soft drink, remove the cap, and pour it on top of the booze. What a hell of a way to drink liquor I thought. Liquor was never brought into our house because if my mother found a bottle she would pour the entire contents down the kitchen sink. That used to piss my dad off quite a bit, but he learned that he'd better find somewhere else to store his liquor. Consequently, when he drank at other places he probably drank more and stayed away from home longer than if he had been allowed to consume a "taste" in his home. When dad came home late with liquor on his breath my mother would start an argument. Since their room was next to mine, I witnessed the entire verbal exchange. Maybe these arguments had something to do with me pissing my bed. I guessed my parents never took any responsibility for my anxieties. I later surmised that anxiety also contributed to my attacks of asthma and eczema. I also chewed the inside of my mouth raw and pulled the skin off my lips and ate the skin. Other than pissing the bed, frequent attacks of asthma, eczema over the exposed parts of my body, chewing in insides of my mouth, and eating the skin off my lips, I was pretty "normal". My parents continued to have these big arguments and I continued to be anxious. There were nights my mother would get my sister and I out of bed, get us dressed and walk us down town looking for my dad. Sometimes she would find him at the pool room and sometimes she would not find him at all. One Wednesday night my dad left right after dinner to go get some snacks, but he never returned. He was gone for four days and nights. On Saturday time was approaching for me to go to my afternoon movie matinee, but still no dad. Without dad I wouldn't have the movie money and my Saturday would be ruined. I waited and waited for him to come, but he never did and I missed the movie. Since my dad had not been home to take my mom to get the groceries, there wasn't much food left in the house, but she managed to scrape something together for dinner. He finally arrived home about 5:00pm. My sister and I were seated at the table when he came in with a few groceries in his arms that he laid on the kitchen table. My sister looked up from her plate of canned hash and asked, "Where have you been?" His answer came to be a family classic; he said "working." Working! Like hell he had been working! My mother lit into him calling him every name in the book. She pulled things out of the sideboard in the dining room and threw them at him. She grabbed a lamp and tried to break it over his head. While this was going on I sat calmly in the living room watching TV. That night I wet the bed again.

His worst episode was when he went out early one night and didn't tell anybody anything. He didn't even ask if we wanted some snacks or anything, he just ate dinner and walked out. That day I had been painting our downstairs bathroom, the one next to the dining room. I managed to find some gross, disgusting orange enamel paint in the back of the store and brought it home. I hated it but it's all I could find and I really wanted that bathroom painted. No one else was all that concerned with the appearance of the walls in the bathroom. The paint was oil based enamel which was difficult enough to use, but even more difficult was the old paint brush I used I had found in the store basement. I finished up the paint project at about 9:00pm and while I was putting all the materials away I heard a car pull into our driveway. All the windows were raised so all outside sounds could be heard. The next thing I knew the car came by the dining room window, which was the room my mom, sister, and I were in. I thought that was strange because my dad never pulled around to the back yard, but always parked in the front by one of our pecan trees. He walked in the back door and opened the refrigerator and grabbed a snack and ate it. He then walked into the bathroom to inspect my project. "Mighty nice," he said. Then he went to his bedroom and went to bed. When I got up the next morning and had breakfast my mom asked if I wanted to go with her to take my sister to a friend's house. I said I would go with them so we three walked out to the car. My mother went around the front of the car to the driver's side, but before she got in I told her to come around the passenger side as I had noticed a hole in the rear side window. By that time my mother got around the other side of the car I was showing my sister the hole. My mom asked me what I thought it was and I told her it looked like a bullet hole. We got in the car pretending we hadn't seen a bullet hole in the rear side window. The lady who rented our upstairs apartment came home for lunch. She knocked on our living room door and when my mother let her in she told my mother what she had heard. The word on the street was that a man had been shot the previous night while he was in a car drinking liquor with my father and another man. She mentioned that the alleged gunman had been arrested and the man he had shot had died.

My father had gone to bed, got up, ate breakfast, and went to work and never mentioned any of this to my mother. My mother lost it and started running around the house yelling "scandal," "scandal," "scandal." I numbed it out and left the house. I went to the house of the deceased man to see his son who I often played with. When I got to his house we went for a walk and I asked him how he was doing and he told me O.K. he guessed and he hoped the gunshot didn't mess up our car. Many years later he would tell me that the morning after the shooting the authorities came to inform his mother that her husband had been shot. Upon hearing voices the boy got out of his bed and came in the room to see who was visiting. His mother said, "Your father has been killed, go back to bed."

My dad started drinking more and more until one night he had a convulsion and my mom had to call the doctor. My room was still next to my parents and when my father started the convulsion he made these sounds I had never heard. These sounds frightened the shit out of me. When the doctor arrived my dad was over the episode and began cursing the doctor for being there, telling him to "get the hell out."

The trial for the alleged gunman opened at the county courthouse during the first week of school. My mom was concerned that students might want to talk about this at school, but no one ever mentioned the trial to me. The murderer was convicted, but his sentence carried the possibility of a parole. In twenty years he would be set free. The policeman who arrested the killer was still the chief of police when the man was released. The officer sent word that if this man returned to our town he would shoot him. The man never returned.

As dad continued to drink he seemed to be headed down a path of destruction. One night during Christmas vacation as he was sitting by the fireplace in the front room listening to a U.N.C. basketball game he had another convulsion. After the episode was over my mother called my grandparents and they drove to our house to discuss what to do. The next day my grandparents had my father's brother take him to an alcohol rehabilitation clinic in Richmond. My dad stayed for a week then returned home. To my knowledge he never drank one more drop of alcohol of rest of his life.

Even though my parents were having these continual arguments and crises I still had to get up five days a week and attend school. When you grow up in a dysfunctional family you have to learn how to survive. I learned to survive by focusing on getting through the day. By the time I got to school each morning I had blocked out whatever was going on when I left our house. School became a safe haven and was a much calmer place to be.
Chapter 8

Our school was what was known as a union school with all twelve grades being in the same building. It was a very safe place to be for most of a day. The 1st and 2nd grades were on the second floor while grades 3-8 were on the second floor. The high school classes were either on the first floor or in the basement except the agriculture classes which were held in a separate building. Practically every high school male was enrolled in an agriculture class every year. Most of the boys in our school came from farm families. Since these boys were expected to return to the farm after graduation the agriculture classes were necessary training for a career in farming.

Every morning while eating breakfast I watched the Today show with Dave Garraway. I was a regular reader of the Durham Morning Herald which was delivered to our house each morning. There were current copies of Time, the Saturday Evening Post, Collier's and the Reader's Digest in our house all the time. We also had copies of the weekly county newspaper, the Warren Record. In our school classes we read and discussed the Weekly Reader, a newspaper specially designed for kids. I felt well informed of current events in the country as well as the world.

When I was in the 2nd grade there were numerous news stories about the nuclear threat from the Russians. There were many movies made about this possibility and I saw a few of the movies, but I didn't spend much time worrying about such an attack. We had the same emergency drills in case of an attack that all the other students across the country practiced. After I read about the bombs the U.S. dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and saw pictures of the devastation I couldn't imagine how squatting down in the floor next to a concrete wall with my hands over my head would help a dam bit. I figured that no Russian in his right mind would ever call for an extermination of our town. I didn't see our town as a strategic target nor did I think any nation, Russia included, would have enough hostility toward any other nation to launch another nuclear attack. I might have underestimated some people.

I looked forward to starting the second grade because mom allowed me to walk to school by myself, except when it rained, and then dad took me and my sister in his truck. For a few days I walked with my sister, but we stopped because she had friends she wanted to walk with and I didn't care to walk with any older girls.

I made all "A"s in the second grade, which was the only time during my entire twelve years in school. There were two unpleasant memories of my second grade school experience. The first bad memory was the day the teacher slapped the shit out of me and another classmate because we were laughing about something. After she hit me the left side of my face was throbbing for what seemed an eternity. In about 30 seconds she walked back over to our desks and slapped us again because we were still laughing. I was impressed as to how quick on her feet she was, I mean, bam, she's back on top of me slapping the right side of my face! That was as hard as I ever got hit in the face. Today such a physical attack would be classified as corporal punishment. It was hard for me to like a teacher who slapped the shit out of me twice.

The second unpleasant event was the day I shit my pants. The teacher dismissed the class for afternoon recess. While I was on the playground my stomach felt queasy so I ran back to the school building to go to the restroom, but I did not make it. It happened fast, a few growls, a churning in my stomach, and then my pants filled up with screw ball shit. I didn't know what else to do so I turned around and walked back out to the playground with shit in my pants until recess was over. Hoping no one would realize I had the package in my pants, when we left the playground I was the last one to return to the classroom. I hoped I could get through the rest of the day without further attention to my accident since we only had one more class period until school was dismissed. But as always you have one smart ass in every class. These assholes just don't miss a trick. You just can't get anything past them, not even a pair of pants full of shit. Mister Smartass kept blurting out in class, "Um, something sure stinks in here; something sure stinks in this classroom!" I thought, OK, asshole everyone heard you, just do your homework and let me get through this period without being identified. But no, the son of a bitch keeps yelling out, "something stinks in here!" That last class period seemed like the longest hour I ever spent. I'm happy to report I never shit my pants at a school again. I made it to the bell and as always, at the end of each day the teacher played some stupid song on the piano while we marched out. I never heard this tune anywhere before or after my time in the 2nd grade. After I had gotten home it was several hours before I told mom about the accident, but I think my mother was aware of this mess from the outset. I think she was hoping I would just tell her, "mom, I shit my pants at school and I need to be cleaned. " I didn't want my family to have to sit there eating dinner while smelling half day old shit. She helped me get cleaned up before we sat down to another nice, quiet meal. I tried to be sensitive to my family, especially after my mom had cooked a nice meal.

I loved the Halloween carnivals at our school. I favorite activity was the "Go Fish" booth because I always got a prize on the end of my hook. After the first few trips I noticed that everyone was getting a prize and I thought getting a prize had to do with who was the better "fisherman." Each year my mother would buy me a Halloween costume from the dime store. The costumes were made of a fabric called cheesecloth, which was very thin, but that was no problem because it was never cold in late October. The first three costumes she bought were the devil, a skeleton, and a black cat. When I got older I realized I shouldn't trick or treat in a kitty cat suit so I only wore scary masks. I always looked forward to tricking or treating because I liked candy and most people gave candy. No one had a jack o lantern on their porches to signal to kids they were tricking or treating. I didn't care about the jack o lantern because I'd never even seen a pumpkin except in books. My friends and I just went to houses and knocked on doors until an adult came out and either gave us candy or told us to get the hell away from their house. I tricked or treated with a group because it was more fun and probably safer than going alone. If we were not treated some kids always wanted to retaliate, but I urged calm. There was one house we frequented because they always gave us a lot of candy. What we didn't like was being invited to come inside. Once inside the man wanted us to take our masks off and gave our names. While we were doing this his small kid sat between him and his wife and the three interacted among themselves regarding their "guests." They laughed at our names, masks, costumes and just about anything else we mentioned. We provided some real entertainment for those folks. I hated to go through all that, but they provided us with a lot of candy. I guess it was what you call a trade off.

I learned to use profanity in the second grade. I had heard my parents utter several curse words, but I hesitated to use them. The words I learned to use dealt with human elimination. I followed these words up with all sorts of bad names to call people. Later I implemented an advanced vocabulary centering on sex acts. It took a while to figure out all the ins and outs of this sex stuff. I had the words down, but I was not sure what all they meant. I also learned some obscene gestures to go with the already extensive profanity vocabulary. I learned to flash my middle finger to express some non-verbal expression that sent a very powerful message. I was never entirely clear what the meaning of that "finger" was and I'm not sure now what it means, but when pointed at another person they get really pissed. I flashed that finger often and to many. My favorite obscene gesture necessitated the use of both hands. To initiate the gesture you would hold up a hand of your choosing, then with a finger from the other hand proceed to point at each finger of the other hand starting with the small finger ending up with your thumb and index finger closed as to form a circle or "hole." While pointing to each finger you would utter in order, "kiss," then the next finger, "my," next finger, "ass," and then with the last two fingers, the index finger and the thumb you would close them to make a hole, then you would say, "hole!" You would be more emphatic on the last word, "hole!" "Kiss my ass, HOLE! " I used this one a lot, but I haven't seen it used since 1955.

Chapter 9

In 1954, my grandfather bought our first television, a 24" Westinghouse encased in a wood cabinet. I came home from school one day and there it was, sitting smack in the middle of the dining room table, which was the largest table we had available for a 24" Westinghouse table model TV. After dinner dad and I went to granddad's house to set up the television he had purchased for himself and grandma. We sat there for a couple of hours watching a snowy screen because reception was just not that good with rabbit ears. After we got an outside antenna with a rotor installed we got a decent picture. We were able to get 4-5 clear channels and about 4-5 snowy, fuzzy ones. At first there were no shows until about 10 in the morning, but since I was at school it didn't matter much to me. For a while my afternoons shifted from playing outside to watching kid's shows, but after a few months I got tired of the shows and went back outside. The best shows were in the evening hours. There were numerous live performances we don't see today. The fifties was called "the Golden Age of Television," I was there and I can confirm that it indeed was.

As more people purchased TV's fewer people attended the movies. The local theater ceased to offer the Saturday afternoon matinees, which had been a staple of my Saturdays for many years. The theater offered fewer and fewer shows until they only showed movies during the evening hours on the weekends. The last movie shown at our theater was the Legend of Davey Crockett in 1958. I was in attendance even though I had already seen the movie several times on television. The building was used briefly for teenage dances before it was turned into a furniture store.

As long as I lived in our house on Main Street I was expected to go to church and Sunday school every Sunday. Once inside the church I just sat there quietly in the pew until the service was over. It was nice to get to stand up during the hour, but I didn't care for the singing. I enjoyed offering time because I got to see now much money was in the collection plate. Dad usually put in a dollar and my sister and I dropped in a quarter mother had given us. After the service we walked directly to our Sunday school classes. The lessons were centered on stories from the Bible that didn't make much sense. The lesson that frightened me the most was the story of the Ark and 40 days and nights of rain when God decided to drown everyone except Noah, his family and some animals. I left confused about this, they told us stories of this loving God, but then I heard this story of God gone wild and zapping everyone. So which is he, loving or hating, or both? One thing for sure after that Sunday school lesson every time it rained for more than 3 days I wondered if God decided to drown us all for reasons only he knew. I was concerned about this.

For lunch after church we always had fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and canned green peas. I always liked to take a spoon of peas and push them down into the potatoes, still do. I was served the drum stick, but I never knew why I was served that particular piece of chicken. I never liked the dark meat on the drum stick. I don't remember who got the breast but I never did. We were all served one piece of chicken and that was it. My mom must have only purchased four pieces of chicken to cook because once you ate your piece that was it. There were no conversations while we ate. We didn't talk about our plans for the afternoon, the current news, our shitty neighbors or anything else; we just ate, then left the table.

Each summer I attended Vacation Bible School for a week at our church. Other kids in my church also attend an additional Bible school at the Baptist Church, but I thought once was sufficient for me. During class time we were told more scary stories like we had already heard in Sunday school. All kinds of bad stuff would happen if we "sinned." I got the message in Sunday school so I did not want to hear more of this. I guess my parents thought I needed constant reminders about all the things I should and shouldn't do. After our lesson we did some crafts, then went outside and chased each other. We returned to class for a sugary snack washed down with a sugary drink. Next we were marched up to the sanctuary for some singing. My favorite song was "Church in the Wildwood." I really got off on that song! Then we were dismissed to go home.

On the last night of VBS we were acknowledged for our attendance. The award was an index card with the dates for each day written in ink and below each date there was a little gold star attached for each day you attended. I was happy to receive my index card with five stars because I was there every day. I couldn't wait to share this with my parents, but once I showed them the card they returned to more important adult activities.

One year some enterprising adult at church came up some grand idea to have a Christmas pageant featuring all the little darlings from the church. I was one of the little darlings. There was a selection committee to determine the key participants, Mary and Joseph, the three wise men, the Magi if you will, and some wondering shepherds. They had a doll baby for Jesus and older Sunday school classes made the required animals out of cardboard. I was selected to be one of the wise men. I would use my bathrobe and made a king's crown out of construction paper. My costume was complete. I had to wear this outfit every night we practiced. We practiced often, but just how much practice did I need for my role? All I had to do was walk down the aisle and stand close to Mary and Joseph while looking at the crib. After the first night of practice I think I had my part nailed. I appeared as a wise man 2 more years before they opted to go with younger actors.

Easter was another holiday I eagerly anticipated. I never grasped the reason why Easter occurred at a different time each year, but I came to rely on the latest calendar. Every Easter my dad took me to the Roth-Stewart Department Store in Henderson to buy a new spring suit, a dress shirt, a tie, and a pair of shoes. The salesmen were very knowledgeable of the correct sizing and the alterations, if necessary, were always perfect. The shoes I selected were a perfect complement to my new suit and as always I enjoyed smelling the inside of the shoes. On Easter Sunday we attended church to hear a sermon about Jesus leaving the earth, but then after folks said he was gone, others swore they saw him back on earth. The story was hard for a kid to grasp. Immediately after church the kids had an Easter egg hunt. I normally participated in at least three Easter egg hunts, one at school, one at home, and one at church. There was always a prize for the kid who found the most eggs, but I never won the prize. I loved anything with sugar so the more eggs I found the more sugar I had to eat. The eggs used for the hunts were the sugar eggs with the marshmallow centers. I never participated in an Easter egg hunt with real chicken eggs boiled and painted. The only time I saw those eggs was as a decoration on my mother's dining room table. I ate whatever sugar eggs I found on the egg hunts, but my mother was concerned that the eggs might have been hidden close to screw ball shit or something so she bought me some "good eggs" as she called them for me to eat after my egg hunts. By the time I got home I was full of the eggs I found, but I didn't tell her this, I just ate the "good eggs" too.
Chapter 10

My dad loved sports, especially baseball and he played semi-pro baseball until his late thirties. As long as he played my family went to his baseball games every Saturday and Sunday. He played the second base position. Before every game he went by the ice plant to get some big chunks of ice to add to his water bucket. He had a metal dipper he put in the bucket in lieu of a cup or glass. Everyone on the team used the dipper to get a drink of cold water. Years later I asked a relative, "what kind of baseball player was my dad, I mean, was he good or what?" The response was, "well, I can say this, he could turn up a half pint of liquor then step up and hit a baseball in the trees in left field." I took that response to mean he was a fair country ball player.

Anyway, as I said my dad liked baseball, so I assumed I should like it. As a kid I often went into the pantry and got my dad's baseball shirt and put it on. Then I took his glove outside and pretended I was playing baseball. I would throw the ball up in the air and catch it, then repeat the process. I later learned to throw the baseball against the foundation of our house as to emulate a ground ball. I'd field it, and then throw it back against the foundation pretending that I was throwing the ball to first base. My dad's glove was right handed and I was left handed. I would take the glove off, and then throw the ball with my left hand, then put the glove back on my left hand. This presented a problem for me in pick up baseball games when kids allowed other kids to use their gloves when they came to bat. There was never a right handed glove available so I had to use a left- hand glove. At the time I didn't have my own right handed glove. When I took the field with a borrowed left handed glove rather than use it on my left hand I would put the glove on my right hand which was rather awkward. I made this work.

My dad eventually bought me a right hand baseball glove. He had a clerk at Rose's dime store special order my glove. The glove seemed to take forever to be delivered to the store. Once I had my own glove I didn't need to play with my dad's glove. I knew he treasured his own glove and was glad I now had my own. Never was this more evident than the day I played with his glove and laid it down in the backyard to go in the house for a cold drink. When I returned to the yard the glove was missing. I searched all over the yard but could not find the glove. I always had familiar thoughts when I first lost something. First, there was denial, like "shit, I wasn't really using the item." I would go to where the item was kept and look, but I knew it was not there. Then I would rationalize even more, "OK, I did take it outside, I just didn't look where I know I left it." Then there was, "OK, I brought it out here, used it, but put it in a different place." Then there was the final thought, the panic mode, where the hell is the dam glove? Did someone sneak in my yard and take it? I looked and looked, but could not find my dad's glove. O.K., no panic because I knew he never came home early so I still had several more hours to figure this out. Within the hour I heard the sound of that pickup pulling into the driveway, son of a bitch! He's NEVER home this early, but for some reason he's early tonight. Before he entered the house I rushed to mom and told her I still couldn't find the glove and for her to tell dad what happened. When he got in the house she told him that his glove was missing mainly because I was using it outside and then it just disappeared. When dad confronted me he was about as upset as I ever saw him get and he let me know that if the glove did not turn up "bad shit would happen!" I got the message. Next day I went to school and spent most of the day retracing my steps of the previous day as to what I did with that glove, the most prized object apparently my dad ever owned. I could come up with nothing. When I got home I received some good news from mom. She informed me that our dog was in the front yard that morning chewing on the dam glove, but luckily he had not gotten very far, just chewing the leather strings that connected the fingers of the glove. Mom took the glove away from the dog and brought it into the house. Boy was I happy! My dad seemed pleased when he got home and mom told him she had found the glove. I was relieved!

I continued to hone my baseball skills in the privacy of my own yard. There were no efforts in our town directed toward organizing a little league baseball team. In the meantime I collected baseball cards as did most of my playmates and we spent many hours negotiating with each other regarding trades.

One of my favorite past times was to select two major league teams and play a full nine inning game in my back yard using the back steps as my "baseball field." Sometimes I'd have "an away game" in the front yard. I would pick the lineups and write the batting orders on an index card and put the card in my back pocket. I started out using a regular baseball and my glove. I would throw the ball against the back steps and react as the ball came off one of the steps. If the ball rolled back to me it was a routine grounder and I would field it and throw to first base which was back against the steps. If the ball came off the steps in the air it was a fly ball and the fantasy batter was out. If the ball came off the steps and sailed over my head it was a home run. I spent hours upon hours playing this game. When I got bored with the back yard steps I would move to the front steps. One day dad removed the screen door on the front door to have the screen wire replaced. The screen door protected the front door which had a large pane of glass in the top part of the door. I had an "away game" scheduled for the front steps and I was not going to suspend this most important game. I started throwing the ball against the steps and the ball was bouncing back to me as always. On occasion the ball bounced in the opposite direction, much like a foul ball. On the back steps this posed no problem because there was nothing behind the stairs except the side of the house. I knew I was taking a chance here as a time or two the ball bounced back and hit the wooden frame around the front door. I should have stopped there. Good judgment would have suggested the game be suspended, but I had to get this game played. The pitcher (me) looks in, gets the sign, looks back at the runner at second and comes home with a fast ball right down the middle! The ball bounces backward right into the middle of that glass pane. There is a lot noise from the glass breaking. The next thing I know my dad, who is taking his normal noonday nap is at the door. He mumbled something unintelligible and returned to the bedroom to finish his nap. That was the last "away game" I played with a real baseball using the front steps. I was always a quick learner, screw up, correct it, say you're sorry if threatened, then move on, always be willing to learn.

After the glass incident I switched from using baseballs to tennis balls. I bought a can of tennis balls and continued playing my baseball game. The tennis ball actually worked better as it came off the steps quicker, which helped me become quicker on my feet in fielding the grounders. The flies traveled further, requiring even more skill to make a catch, but the longer fly also led to more home runs. I wasn't done yet, there would be more improvements to the game. I decided I need some night games on my schedule. found a drop cord (a cord with a light bulb at the end of it) in our pantry which would supply all the light I needed to light the field. We had an outside electrical receptacle just inside the crawl space door below a kitchen window. We also had a big tree just to the left of the window that I used to hang the drop cord. I filled out my batting orders, got my glove and tennis ball and night baseball was underway! I never logged the number of hours I spent a throwing that tennis ball up against the back steps, but I enjoyed every pitch.My dad owned 3 wooded lots across the highway from our house and often if there was no one to play with I would go into those woods. I was free to do whatever I wanted in these woods. One time I used my scout hatchet and cut down some small pine trees and made a tree house. I also made several lean-to's. I saw these woods as supplementary woods, to be used when I couldn't get to the larger woods that were further away. Big woods or small woods I spent much of my time taking in the sights and sounds and smells of the great outdoors. I often wonder if I were 10-12 years old now would I still want to go into the woods after school.

One summer dad gave the topsoil from one of the lots to be used at a new African-American school, Northside High School. For whatever reason African-American students were required to attend their own school. There was already a high school in town, the one I attended, but another was still built. Anyway, once the soil was removed there was a nice level field that looked much like a small size baseball field. My dad stored some of his drain pipes on the lot along with some cement blocks. After several days of thinking and planning I decided to turn the field into "Yankee Stadium South." I moved the drain pipes to another location and took the few cement blocks and made a center field fence. Try to imagine the field. Left field is longer, but at the end there is a road that goes to people's houses. Other than early in the morning or late in the afternoon the traffic was light. In center field I had my wall which was between the field and the main highway where there was almost always some traffic. Right field was the short field. Beyond the space between home plate and first base there was not more than twenty feet until you were in the road. Once you crossed the road there was a bank and a fence and beyond that was our backyard. Play ball!

I told several boys at school one day about my baseball field and invited them over to play after school. I walked home and went in to get a snack before headed across the highway to my ball park. I assumed the other boys would arrive soon. I finished my snack and went outside and down Main Street to cross Highway No. 158 to get to my park. I noticed a State Highway Commission tractor right in the middle of my field! I was pissed! What sons of bitches would do such a thing, they had other places to park that dam tractor, like on the edge of the property, but they chose the center of the lot. There would be no way we could play baseball with that tractor in the way. Soon the other boys arrived and we surveyed the situation. I got an idea. Maybe we could move the dam thing, that is, if the keys were in the ignition. I looked behind the wheel and sure enough the keys were in the ignition!! I wanted the tractor moved, but I wasn't going to drive that tractor. I asked if any of the other boys would help out by moving this vehicle. One of my best childhood friends, originally from Pennsylvania, offered to perform the task. He got up on the tractor and cranked it up, soon it was moving forward, and then he put it in reverse and moved it backward. He seemed very comfortable with managing this vehicle. Then I thought, what the hell, while he's on the thing we might as well clean our field off just like the grounds crews do in the major leagues. I was concerned someone might see us so I positioned a boy at both ends of the field and when they saw a car coming they yelled and the boy cut the engine and jumped off the tractor until the car passed. Pretty soon we were comfortable with our procedures and the field was looking good. The boy got off the tractor, and then we chose up side and were ready to begin our game.

We commenced playing our baseball when next we noticed our town police chief was driving up. I wondered what he wanted. When he approached the field he motioned for us to come over to where he was. He told us a neighbor had called and told him we were driving a state tractor. He gave us a mini lecture about something, I don't' remember, but it was a lecture adult to children. He then told us we were to appear before the mayor of all people next week. We were devastated, pissed was a better word. I did feel bad because I coaxed my friend into driving the tractor. I was confused as to what offense we had committed, but I assumed we would meet with the mayor in his office next week. When dad I got I explained the situation and I thought we were in the right. The dam tractor was on his property and all we did was move the thing. I felt like he was supportive and he reinforced this opinion of mine when he called the mayor and requested the meeting be cancelled. The mayor, who was also the dry cleaning person who shrunk my nice blazer into three sizes below what we brought it in as, insisted the meeting go on as previously scheduled. Dad backed off and the following week my friends and I had a high level meeting with an elected official, the mayor of Norlina. I was surprised there wasn't any press coverage of this most important event. The mayor greeted us and reviewed, as if we needed a review, the situation. Then we were lectured about good and evil and mom and her delicious apple pie, then some words about patriotism and the flag and he was finished.The state tractor was moved off my dad's lot the next week and we resumed playing baseball in the afternoons after school. I'm not sure what lesson I was supposed to learn.

During the summer of 1956 some conscientious men in our town finally started a little league baseball program. We practiced a lot but had few games. I watched most of those games from the bench, which pissed me off a great deal. I mean, I had been practicing at home, taking grounders, catching flies, and even practiced under night time playing conditions, and now the bench. Near the end of the season I was inserted at second base midway through a game. A left handed player isn't normally assigned to play second base, but at that point I was only interested in being on the field in any position. During the first inning I was responsible all three put outs. I caught two popups and tagged a runner out in a rundown between second and third base. I was very pleased with my effort.

The next summer, 1957, I moved up to the Pony League. We had tryouts and I made the team. Our sponsor, the Ruritan Club, provided us with new uniforms. We played a twenty game schedule and I got to play sparingly in most of the games, but I did not get a base hit the entire season. In one game I thought I beat out a hit to first but the first baseman dropped the ball and the umpire ruled the play an error. Another time I hit a fly ball down to third base and the boy dropped the ball, but this time the umpire called the "infield fly rule" so I couldn't count the fly as a hit. My shining moment that year was when I got to pitch 3 innings each in two of our games. My big strike out pitch was a changeup. I played in right field for most of the games, and I really enjoyed my opportunities as the pitcher

The next year, the summer before I entered the 9th grade I started every game in right field. I had very few balls hit to me the entire year, but I caught everything that was hit to me and nothing got past me. Our third baseman was a bit wild on his throws to first, so I started running in from right field to back up the first baseman and on several occasions I threw the runner out trying to advance to second. I never saw anyone run from right field and back up first base on a throw from the infield. I was a baseball innovator!

The last year of the Pony League was my best year, but we only won 4 games. I was the leadoff batter and had a batting average of .272. I got on base over 50% of my at bats. I played right field again and was bored to death most innings, but I caught all fly balls hit to me.

One of my fondest baseball recollections was in 1959; the first time dad took me to Griffith Stadium in Washington, D.C. to see the New York Yankees (my team) play the Washington Senators. The Senators won 3-1 and Hector Lopez, a left fielder acquired from the Kansas City Athletics, hit a home run. I saw my favorite player, Mickey Mantle play. My dad's cousin went with us and managed by get my baseball autographed by Enos Slaughter (Slaughter was from Roxboro, North Carolina).

On July 19, 1961 in the heat of the home run race between Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris, dad took me to Washington's Griffith Stadium again to see the Yankees and the Senators play. The Senators won 12-2, but Mantle got his 36th home run (he would hit 54 that year), but Maris failed to get a hit. Left hander Al Downing started his first major league game. The Yankees lost the second game of the doubleheader, 8-4. Maris would break Babe Ruth's single season home run record when he hit his 61st home run on the last day of the season. Sixty-one home runs in 1961! Mantle was "injured" shortly after the doubleheader we attended and was unable to continue the home run race. Years later I read he had gonorrhea which rendered him unable to suit up the last few weeks of the season.
Chapter 11

Dad also liked football and was quite an athlete in high school, so good in fact he got a scholarship to the University of North Carolina. I developed an interest in the game because he took me to some of high school games and on Saturdays along with dad I listened to some colleges games. One Christmas I wanted a "football suit." On Christmas morning I awakened to find a blue football jersey and pants, some shoulder pads and a red helmet under the tree. I remember wearing this suit to a high school football game I attended with dad. Dad made a joke to some of his friends about the helmet, "do you know where I can find a red hat?" They all had a big laugh about my red helmet, but I did not understand their joke. That night the visiting team's uniforms were all red and they had at least 4-5 fully outfitted teams that filled up a whole section of the bleachers. I thought a totally red football uniform was a bit too much red.

I created a football game I could play on the dining room table. I would sketch out all eleven players on a sheet of notebook paper. Using my crayons, I would color each football player using the team colors. I had quite a number of teams. I would line two teams up against each other and then using my hand I would move the players around as I wanted.

I received an electric football game for Christmas one year and it was a big disappointment. When played the two teams were positioned as the game's participants desired, then the game switch was turned on. The board would vibrate and the medal players would go all over the board, usually in a direction other than the way you wanted. The only time a participant had much control of the action was on field goal tries. The little felt football was placed into this contraption and a lever was pulled back, then released and the football went flying. The field goal device was quite accurate, but not very realistic as you could make attempts from as far away as you wanted. At that time it was the only electronic football game on the market. Not long after Christmas I put the set in my bedroom closet and that's where it remained until I moved out.

I was involved in many football games after school, usually in my next door neighbor's large side yard. I never liked playing tackle football because all of the kids were larger than I was. Two hand touch football was a much more acceptable way to play this game and was probably the play it was originally played. If there was no football game after school I would don my football suit and red helmet and play my own game in my backyard. I would select the teams and the players I would pretend to be. I would run, and then fall down as if I had been tackled. I would throw the football a little out in front of me then make a diving catch. One time my black cocker spaniel learned how to tackle me. I would begin to run and this dog would get behind one of my legs and wrap his front paws around my leg and hang on until I fell to the ground. He was quite a playmate, but one day he got out of our fenced in backyard and got hit by a car. In order to give my field a more realistic look I would use some of my mom's flour to line off my field. I liked playing football on some level in my youth, but as I grew older I decided I had rather watch a game than participate in it.
Chapter 12

My first recollection of organized basketball was the night my father took me to see our high school basketball teams play at the National Guard Armory, which was located in Warrenton. In the early fifties our school did not have a gym so our home high games were held in the armory. John Graham High School in Warrenton also used the armory for their home games. There were folding metal chairs along both sides of the court and seating was first come, first serve. The armory had a balcony, so my dad and I climbed the stairs and got good seats in the front row. As I noticed our players warming up I was amazed at how many basketballs they had. It seemed like each player had his own ball. Once the horn sounded the two teams returned to their respective benches for some last minute instructions from the coach. I noticed a student gathering up all the basketballs and putting them into a green bag. I don't remember much about the game, just some shooting and missing, more shooting and more missing. While the game was in progress I noticed that people seated in the balcony on the other side of the court were making noise by banging on the sides of the balcony with their hands. I soon figured out why they were doing it. While one of our players was shooting free throws the people in the balcony beat on the sides just about the time our player let the ball go. He missed the first shot and then he missed the second free throw as the opposing teams fans kept banging on the sides of the balcony. The next time one of the opposing team's players came to the line to shoot his free throws I banged on my side of the balcony. I soon found that this was more fun than watching the game. I became interested only in free throw shooting because that was the best opportunity to disrupt the action of the game. It seemed to me the game came down to which side could make the most noise. I learned that fans yelling and screaming can affect the outcome of games.

The first time I picked up a real basketball and tried to do something with it was during the fall of my third year in school. A classmate invited me to his house after school one day to "play" basketball. I tried to shoot the ball to the basket, which seemed high, but I just did not have the strength. My friend was physically precocious and had no trouble shooting. I was amazed at how well he could shoot the ball and we were the same ages. After a while I just stopped trying to get the ball to the rim and just focused on fetching the ball so my friend could shoot. When I left his house for home it seemed to take forever to reach my house. Later that year this boy would move next door to me on Main Street. For a few years we were pretty good friends and played a lot together, but that would change.

I came to enjoy the game of basketball and in my sixth year of school dad built a basketball goal for our backyard. I focused on shooting one handed set shots from anywhere my strength would allow. Later I would advance to the jump shot, but at first it was hard to get the ball over my head, so I shot from the height of my chest. Each day when I got home from school I went outside and shot baskets until it was too dark to see the goal. I wore down what little grass we had around the basketball goal.

In the seventh grade I wanted a basketball and a clock radio for Christmas. Some of my Christmas excitement was limited because for two months prior to Christmas every time the trunk of dad's car was opened I saw a new basketball rolling from one side of the car to the other. I tried hard not to notice the ball, but it was difficult. I was not sure why dad decided to keep this gift in the trunk of the car. The clock radio was much nicer than I expected and I would spend a lot of time, especially at night listening to various programs.With my basketball I practiced after school and after dinner. I finally got the strength to get the ball over my head to shoot a jump shot. I got to be pretty good at shooting, but I never practiced the other fundamentals of the game such as ball handling. To me the game was about shooting the ball through the basket.

I felt I had a good chance to make the junior high basketball team. We practiced every day after school for about a week then at the end of practice on Friday the coach told us that on Monday morning he would post the team roster on the bulletin board next to the principal's office. I was anxious all through the weekend yet I felt confident that I would see my name on that roster Monday morning. I spent some time weighing my chances against the boys who went out for the team and I felt I was at least ahead of several of them. I got through the weekend and was up early Monday morning, anxiously anticipating my name listed on that roster. I ate a hot breakfast, then grabbed my books and headed out the door. I was feeling ambivalent as I wanted to get to school quickly and see my name, but then I didn't want to get there too early and not find my name on the list. It was hard. I got to school in about fifteen minutes and opened one of the large double doors at the entrance of the school and walked to the bulletin board. There were several boys already inspecting the roster. I squeezed in between two boys and began to examine the list of 12 players.I was not in the top 5-6, um, then I viewed the bottom 5-6 and sure enough my name was missing, I did not make the team, I would not get a uniform, I would not ride the bus to the away games, I would not be practicing with the team, I did not make the team, shit! I felt really bad. I was sad for that entire morning. thought I was better than 3-4 players, but these thoughts were useless, the team had been selected. I headed back to the backyard after school to shoot more baskets so maybe next year I would be on that roster. That year I attended a few of the games but I was still pissed for I knew I was better than some of the boys playing.

I did use my other Christmas gift, the clock radio, to listen to college basketball games. I mostly listened to games played by Duke, North Carolina, N.C. State and Wake Forest. The next day I would replay the game in the back yard and serve as play by play announcer. I spent many hours with this activity. Each year my allegiance to a particular team would change based on a particular player or players that I liked. I didn't always like a team because they had a better record, but if I could relate to a certain player or players their team was who I supported. I liked the play by play announcers, Ray Reeve, Add Penfield, Bill Jackson, and Bill Curry, the "mouth of the south." 1956-57, was the year the North Carolina Tar heels had a 32-0 record in route to a national championship. It was also the year that WUNC-TV started telecasting the UNC games with "broad vision," you watched the picture on your TV, but to listened to the play by play on your radio. It was a strange system but for the first time we got to see the U.N.C. home games on television.

I managed to make the junior high basketball team in my eighth grade year. I started the year sitting on the bench, but I did play and score in all the games. My life time highlight was in the next to the last game. The game was a classic nip and tuck battle against a team we had previously defeated. One team would surge ahead then the other team would take the lead. Our "star" fouled out I the last five minutes of the game so things got scary. Our team was undefeated and we just didn't want to lose. With about 20 seconds left in the game and the score tied, we fouled one of their players that put him on the free throw line for a one and one. Before the referees called both teams to set their positions on the foul line I called our center over and said, "If this guy misses and you get the rebound I'm breaking for our basket so try to through me a pass for a lay-up." While I was standing close to the mid court circle I don't recall what I was thinking as the opposing player eyed the rim, bounced the ball several times, then released the ball. It all happened so fast, as the ball fell off the left side of the rim and my teammate corralled the ball and passed it ahead to me. I caught the ball in stride and dribbled as fast as I could to our basket. When I got into the lane I slowed up because I wanted to make sure I was under control when I shot the lay-up. As I stopped my dribble and grabbed the ball with two hands and pushed off of my right foot in my ascent to the basket the opposing player fouled me from behind. I missed the lay-up, but I got two foul shots. At this point there was 12 seconds left on the clock. The hardest free throws to make with time running out in a game are two shots to tie a game. I stepped to the line and felt no pressure at all, for if I missed both shots the game was still tied and we could possibly get the rebound and a shot before time ran out or perhaps get fouled. I didn't think about the other team getting the ball.

I bounced the ball two or three times, took a deep breath, eyed the basket, and the put up the first shot. The ball dropped cleanly through the orange rim. We now had a one point lead, which to me was the most important thing. I repeated my routine and released the second shot, but it fell off the right side of the rim and the opposing team got the rebound. We applied some pressure in the back court, but wanted to be careful not to foul. In those 12 seconds they managed to get the ball to their end of the court and take two shots, missing both attempts before the horn sounded signaling the end of the game with our perfect season still intact.After I got dressed and left the front entrance of the gym I was on cloud nine! We had won and I had made the shot to win the game. I couldn't wait to get home to tell my parents. I never got much positive feedback from my parents whenever I did something I thought was really special. Maybe I didn't do all that much. I my mother never saw me participate in any game of any sport. I doubted if she had any idea how the games were played. When I told her about the game and I most important role she had little to say. My dad did attend some afternoon games, but since this game was played on a Saturday morning he couldn't attend since he had to work. When he got home I told him about the game and his response was, "that's mighty nice." Our last game was played the following week and I started my first game of the season. I felt as though I had "arrived," I was on the starting team! We were playing a team we had defeated before so we didn't expect a serious challenge and we won handily. The junior high basketball season had come to an end and I was on an undefeated team. I looked forward to continue playing basketball when I entered high school next year.

During this period an older boy who lived several blocks from Main Street often came over to one of the boy's houses on our street to play basketball. We played a lot of basketball during this time. He used to talk about how fast I shot the ball once I got possession of it. He started calling me "Flash," and continued to call me by that name until he graduated from high school and entered the air force. It was the only nickname I had during those years I actually liked while the other names I have intentionally forgotten.
Chapter 13

My first involvement with the scouts was as a member of a Cub Scout Pack. Our meetings were in an old liquor store about 2 blocks from my house. The liquor store was relocated to U.S. Highway No. 1, which ran through the center of town. I think this store relocation increased sales. The meetings were held every Tuesday night at 7:00 p.m. Our den mothers were two women, one was the mother of another scout who worked in a grocery store across the street and the other lady ran the town boarding house near the bus station. For some reason, my father was involved on some level with this program and came to some of the early meetings, but then ceased to attend. When he was there he just sat and listened. The meetings were well organized and I have always been pleased when people in charge of something are organized. The den mothers read from some book, and then we had some hands on crafts, followed by a physical activity usually in a circle. One physical activity I remember most was the night these ladies brought boxing gloves to the meeting. They paired us off and let us beat the shit out of each other. I wasn't fond of this exercise but when it was my turn I donned the gloves and after an exchange of jabs I landed a hard left to the right eye of the other boy. The rest of the scouts cheered as I was not known to possess any boxing skills. I think they were shocked when I actually fought back and landed a punch. I was pleased with my performance but fighting for any reason was not something I desired.

Each scout pack was identified by the name of some animal and each pack had several dens of about 6 boys to each den. All boys were placed in packs based on age, the wolf pack from first grade to age eight, the bear pack at age 9 or the Webelos pack at age 10. I was in the bear pack for boys age nine. All Cub Scouts aspired to reach the Bobcat designation. In order to receive the badge a scout would have to stand up in front of the den mothers and the pack and recite from memory the Cub Scout motto, the promise, and the law of the pack. Then the scout had to demonstrate the handshake, the salute, and the sign. Each week there were some assignments in our scout manual we had to finish before the next pack meeting. Our parents had to sign our manual confirming that we had completed our assignments. When we got to the meeting the den mother would review this status of our assignments and sign their names attesting that we did, in fact, complete those assignments. I did manage to stay in a pack long enough to earn my Bobcat badge. The following year there were no den mothers, no den and no Cub Scouts. I never really knew what caused the pack to disband, but I enjoyed the brief time I spent at the meetings. I still have my Bobcat badge in a cardboard box.

When I was 10 years old I opted to join the Boy Scouts. Scout Troop 618. The troop met at the V.F.W. Hall which was within sight of my house. When I joined most of the boys were older, therefore, I was a little bit intimidated, but as time passed I became relaxed with the age demographics. I wasn't in the Cub Scouts long enough to purchase a uniform, but I did manage to buy a cap. When I entered the Boy Scouts I expected to be a member for several years, consequently, I began buying my uniform one piece at the time. I eventually had all the components, the cap, the pants, the shirt, and the neckerchief, which was a large handkerchief worn around your neck. Each troop had a different color neckerchief, which distinguished one troop from the others during events like scout camporees. The uniform gave you a sense of pride in belonging to an organization with such a long and proud history of being prepared. I enjoyed putting on my uniform each week before attending our meetings. We met once a week and between the meetings we worked on completing certain requirements to attain some rank. The scout leader or his assistant had to sign off on each requirement in your scout handbook. The first rank was Tenderfoot and I reached this level with relative ease. The next level was Second Class which took longer, but I eventually got there. I would never attain the First Class rank because I had to swim 50 yards and back and I could not swim. I wished I had been able to swim so I could pass that final requirement to get my First Class rank. There were no community pools or private citizens with pools in their yards. Most kids I knew who could swim learned how in farm ponds. The Second Class rank was the highest rank I attained while a member of Troop 618.

Our scout leaders spent most of the meeting talking about activities such as camping trips that we never took. A camping trip would be planned and then for some reason it was abruptly cancelled. I was in the Boy Scouts 3 years and we went camping twice, so that's an average of less than one camping trip per year. The last camping trip I took was at Kerr Lake. After our dinner, cleanup, and storytelling around the campfire we prepared for bed. Three of us were lying in our sleeping bags inside the tent telling funny stories and laughing. The scoutmaster came in the tent and told us to be quiet. As soon as he left we resumed telling our stories and laughing. The scoutmaster returned to our tent and told us we were suspended from attending any scout meetings for 6 weeks! My career had ended as a Second Class Scout, for I never returned to the V.F.W. Hall after the suspense

A couple of years later two men with military backgrounds started a new club for boys called the Rangers. I had heard of the Texas Rangers and the Army Rangers. Our Rangers would be roughly patterned after the Army Rangers. We met every week at the V.F.W. Hall and as did the Boy Scout leaders these men did a lot of talking about what we were going to do. They explained to us that we would be trained to set up a base camp and learn some strategies to launch an attack upon an enemy. We would have Ranger uniforms consisting of blue jeans and denim work shirts. The leaders had us paint our army helmet liners black and our logo, a lightning bolt, signifying our quick strike capability, painted red.

After all the talking our leaders arranged a weekend of war games at the pump pond, at place where water ran over a dam and you could walk across to the other side. We were divided into two armies and each army was told where camp would be made once we got to the pump pond. On Saturday morning our leaders picked us up in several trucks and drove us to the pump pond. Once we unloaded the trucks we made our camps. Each leader was in charge of an "army" and after making camp each army assembled and planned their "attack." The winning side would be the army who captured a Ranger from the opposing army. I wondered why we would want to go running around in pitch dark and try walking across a dam you could fall 40 feet into the water below. I could not swim. Plus there were highland moccasin snakes, chiggers, ticks, and mosquitoes all over this area. I guess we thought we were having fun.

Our leader wanted us to go to the pond and hide and wait for the other army to venture out from their camp. We assumed they would come to the pond and since we were be there first we'd grab one boy and this stupid game would be over. Three of us had bigger plans, to find their camp while everyone was gone and do something, but we were not sure what. It took us a while to find the camp. The one of the older boys then came up with a great idea! Let's piss in one of the boy's canteens! We thought that would be hilarious so we searched around for the canteen of a boy none of us really liked. Luckily there were names attached to most of the camp gear so finding a canteen with his name on it was not all that hard. When we found the canteen the older kid unzipped his fly and pulled it out. He picked up the canteen and twisted off the cap. The canteen was three-fourths full so he poured out some of the water. He put that thing within an inch of the opening of that canteen and let it fly. We really thought that was funny! The instigator, for some strange reason, ran back to where our army was positioned at the pond to tell our leader about what he had done. Why he did that, who knows. Anyway, the leader did not think this act was one bit amusing. He immediately suspended our instigator from the Rangers for yes, six weeks. Our leader did not suspend me and the other boy, but out of a show of solidarity for the older boy we both decided not to return to the Ranger meetings. My tenure with the Rangers was over.
Chapter 14

I have enjoyed being outside except in July and August in North Carolina. The heat coupled with 100% humidity is simply not very pleasant. Overall, I have always liked the seasons in North Carolina because when it gets too hot or too cold I know it does not last. We have four distinct seasons with fall and spring being the most pleasant. During those two seasons you can open windows and doors and hear the sounds of nature. The air feels fresh and clean even though it probably is not either.

As a child I spent much time in the woods near my house. When I got older and could drive I went to my grandfather's farm instead. Sometimes after school a friend and I would walk from school to my house, then by his house, then miles down a dirt road into our favorite woods. These woods were special because at a particular entry place we could pick up a stream and if we were willing to walk far enough down by that stream we would eventually get to Devil's Rock. The Devil's Rock had several imprints which certainly could be taken as footprints from a human being or perhaps something more exciting, like the devil. There were many stories about how the prints got into the rocks, but the usual one was that the devil was marking this area as belonging to him and only him and if you came here you were "on your own." I didn't believe such nonsense, but it was more fun to believe such crap and play along than to announce your skepticism. Anyway, every time I walked down to Devil's Rock we pretended that maybe something on a supernatural level might happen. It never did.

Another favorite place of mine was nearby, it was called Steep Bottom. The name explains what you would except to see once you got there. Standing on a ridge you looked down and saw a deep crevice, a steep bottom. Other than looking down into the crevice the only other thing to do was to walk down into the crevice. It was easy going down, but you had to be careful not to lose your balance and fall on some of the rocks at the bottom. The climb back up was a different challenge and by the time you got back to the top of the ridge you knew dam well there would be no need to do that again. Once down and back should cover a visit to Steep Bottom.

Another mile or so down the road would get you to the Pump Pond. There was a dam at the end of the pond with about four inches of water cascading over the dam all the time. You would walk across, but you had to expect to get your feet wet. My friends and I walked across that dam more times than I could ever count, but I never thought much about falling into the pond and drowning. I knew I could not swim, but what the hell, I had to do something. On the other side of the pond were several fields where occasionally one might see a cow or two. People often came down to the pond to shoot their guns. One time we came upon two men we knew shooting a targets with an Army carbine rifle. There were shell casings all over the ground. I wondered where they got this Army rifle since neither was in the service at the time. Anyway, they were nice enough to let us fire the rifle. The rifle was fun to shoot and did not kick back as many shotguns did.

When we weren't at these places we walked in the surrounding fields searching for arrowheads. I spent much time looking for these artifacts but I never found more than two or three, but the search was fun. When I couldn't find any arrowheads I tried to make arrowheads like the Indians, but I never figured out exactly how Indians made their arrowheads. I gave up trying to reproduce arrowheads.
Chapter 15

My grandparents were a stabilizing influence in my youth. We called grandmother Big Mama and grandfather, Big Daddy. Their house was in the country, approximately 2 miles from our house. My parents often took my sister and me to visit our grandparents. They were always glad to see us and gave us hugs, something neither of my parents did. We were not a family of huggers. The few times my mother tried to hug me as an adult it felt strained and not loving, like if she hugged me too much she would wrinkle her dress or she might catch something. My grandparents hugged us and this meant to me that they loved us. I cannot explain why my parents were never huggers.

When we visited our grandparents during the spring and summer months we would sit on the front porch. The porch had a nice railing all around the front and the sides, but the most important part of the porch was the swing. The swing was located on one end of the porch overlooking a small country road. I loved getting into that swing with my mother and sister. I could not understand why that swing did not fall since there were only two cables holding it up.

Big Daddy and daddy sat out in the rockers smoking Luckies (my dad smoked Chesterfields) and talking politics. They were both diehard Republicans and as long as I lived there I never knew or heard of any other Republicans in that community. All I ever heard was that the Democratic Party was in control of everything.

Big Daddy attended North Carolina A. & M. (N.C. State University) in the early nineteen hundreds. After leaving school he went into the water well drilling business with one of his brothers. They drilled water wells all over the southeastern United States. They returned to Warren County and continued to drill wells within a hundred mile radius of Norlina. They drilled a lot of wells and by the mid fifties there were not many people in the region who did not have a well drilled by my granddaddy and his brother. The water from the well at my parent's house was the best water, bar none, that I ever consumed. It always tasted really good and was cold, like it just came from the refrigerator. Big Daddy drilled that well.

During the school year the only time I saw my grandparents was at church on Sunday. Big Daddy was instrumental in the foundation of the church that our family attended. On Sunday the four of us usually sat in pews behind my grandparents. Big Daddy was a very religious person and read his Bible daily. One Christmas Big Daddy gave me a copy of the New Testament with my name imprinted in gold letters. When I removed the gift wrapping I immediately noticed a bookmark in the Bible. I pulled the bookmark out of the Bible and discovered it was a crisp, new dollar bill. A dollar could buy a lot of goods and services. When I saw Big Daddy over the holidays he asked me if I liked his gift. Of course I said I liked it, but I was not planning on reading it every day like he was. He asked me did I notice the passage of Scripture where I found the dollar I was so quick to pull that dollar out I didn't think about any Scripture passage. He had placed the dollar on the page that included Psalm 100. He had wanted me to read the psalm and think about what it said before grabbing the dollar. I still feel bad that I was only thinking about the money. Our grandparents never gave many gifts, but this particular gift was special. I did read the entire contents of that New Testament, several times. More than the gift they gave us love and security.

As I got older I would go down to the store during the summer months and work for my dad and Big Daddy, who had entered into a business partnership. Big Daddy had retired and my dad had assumed the management of the business. Big Daddy was forever summoning me to go with him into the basement to look for something to repair. Many times we would disassemble a used water pump, identify the nonworking parts, then return to the office and thumb through various parts catalogs until we found the suitable replacement parts. I would have completed the order form with his direction. He wrote a check for the full amount, enclosed the order form along with the check in an envelope, sealed it, addressed it, and placed a stamp on it. I rode my bike to the post office and mailed the order.

My dad picked up our order several weeks later from the post office. When I got to the store I opened the box, checked the order, then ran down the basement steps and started to reassemble the water pump. It was especially rewarding that I was able to reassemble the water pump without Big Daddy's help. When he arrived at the store that morning I was so proud to be able show him the finished product. The final task was to paint the pump. After cleaning the pump I added a new coat of paint from some paint I found in the back of the store. The water pump was ready to sell.

One summer I repaired a water pump without any assistance.I disassembled the entire pump, ordered the necessary replacement parts and when the parts arrived I reassembled the pump and painted it. Dad suggested a sales price of $70.00 and told me to put the pump in the display window at the front of the store. One day after school I dropped by the store and noticed my pump was not in the display window. I rushed in and found my father and before I could say anything he told me, "I sold your pump today." I was elated as he opened his wallet to give me my money. I noticed his wallet was full of bills as he searched for the correct amount. He pulled out a ten dollar bill and handed it to me. I looked at the ten dollar bill, and then looked at my dad. He said nothing more nor did I. I did not ask, "Where is the other $60.00?" I took the ten dollars and left the store and walked home. I was very frustrated, but that was the last water pump I ever refurbished to sell.

As I got older I cut Big Daddy's grass in the summer with a push mower that took most of the morning. Sometimes he had me performing maintenance on his car of which I knew very little. One time he asked me to replace the rear brake shoes. I had no idea how to replace brake shoes since I had never done the work before. I broke a seal on the rear wheel cylinders and lost most of the brake fluid. I went inside granddad's house and told him I did not know how to replace the brake shoes and he should get someone else to finish the job. I don't know who he got to replace the brakes. I felt like a failure because I did not have the expertise to complete the job for my Big Daddy.

Big Daddy's visits to the store would become increasingly infrequent. I was still at the store enough to witness these changes. Instead of arriving at the store when it opened at 8:00 am he would come in at 10:00 am and stay for about an hour then return home. He would usually return to the store after 2:00 pm and stay for about another hour then return home. As long as Big Daddy was in this world he took a nap every day after lunch as did my dad. I never knew anyone else then or now who did this. Only when my dad was out on a well job did he not take a nap after lunch. One day I heard dad and Big Daddy talk about "retirement," but I had not heard the term before so I did not know what they were talking about. I would later learn that it meant a time when an older person, such as Big Daddy, did not come to work anymore.

Big Daddy took prescription medicine on a regular basis and after I got my driver's license I drove to Warrenton to get his prescription filled. I drove to my grandparent's house to get the empty bottle and one dollar to cover the cost of the prescription. This prescription was a codeine based cough syrup of which he became addicted. One day when I returned from Warrenton with the prescription I noticed his car was at the store so I decided to stop and leave it with him. When I walked into the store I noticed his older brother, seated next to Big Daddy "shooting the breeze." I gave Big Daddy the prescription and went over and sat down. He pulled the white paper off the bottle, opened the top and took a big drink of the medicine. Then he asked his brother if he wanted a drink and he indicated he did. His brother took a swig and announced, "Um, that's pretty strong, isn't it." I realized that it must have been a bit more than just "cough syrup." He would continue to take this "prescription" until the day he died.

One of the saddest days I experienced of Big Daddy's visits to the store was the day he drove up to the front of the store with the right side of his car bashed in. He had been sideswiped or had sideswiped someone else, but I never heard what really happened. He had me try to remove some of the dents from the side of the car, but I had very little success. I was beginning to realize that perhaps he was getting too old to drive. Shortly after this accident he did drive less and less, driving only to the store and to church on Sunday.

Big Mama was always inside doing house chores. She could be observed running a broom over the floor or making preparations for the next meal. I never saw her in their house without her apron. The only time she did not wear an apron was at church. She walked with a slight limp, but I never knew why. She called my mother every day and they talked for long periods of time. Big Mama was a good friend to my mother and loved her as she did her son and her grandchildren.

When I entered college I seldom saw my grandparents. When I came home from college on breaks, frankly, I didn't want to visit them. I was selfish with my time and they were old. In 1965 I was in my dorm room taking a nap when an uncle called and told me that Big Daddy had died. He went to sleep the previous night and never woke up. I returned to Norlina to attend the funeral and during the service and I saw my father cry for the first time. My dad loved his father and knew he had always been there for him and now he was gone. I sat there with little emotion and I'm not sure why. I saw Big Mama only one more time before she died three years later in a nursing home in Henderson. I never visited her and I cannot explain that decision either. I cannot explain why when I got older and my grandparents got older that I did not go to see them. They were so much a part of my early years and provided a security blanket for me when I needed it. I should have visited them more in their final years.
Chapter 16

My mother had a difficult time giving or receiving love from others. Her parents chose to kill themselves at different times rather than remain on this earth to raise their three children. She would live a lifetime of insecurity because she never understood why they elected to leave her.

These scars had a profound bearing on my mother in her adult years. She had a difficult time being too close to anyone, including her husband and her children. My mother was only two years old when her father blew his head off. He was a farmer, married with three children, and for reasons not known chose to kill himself in 1918. My mother was fourteen when her mother killed herself in 1930 by jumping in a well. I cannot imagine how she must have felt without either parent to nurture her. She did not talk about her parents' deaths often, but when she did she would reiterate that she just didn't understand why they would kill themselves. She grew up very insecure, which created problems when she married my dad. When he was a young man wanting to do "man things", she was very skeptical of his motives. When he came home late at night there was almost always an argument. I heard most of these arguments and was able to "numb them out "of my mind. I heard every hurtful word, but I just blocked it all out and I always knew that at some point the argument would be over and everyone would go to bed. The next morning would be a different day and whatever precipitated the argument would be gone. My mom would prepare breakfast and clean the house and my dad would go to work and my sister and I would go to school. Sometimes there would be days or perhaps weeks before another argument. I always had hoped that I had heard my last one.

One night my mother tried to break a table lamp over my dad's head while I watched television in the same room. I saw and heard the whole battle, but I just blocked it out and continued to watch television. The next day I just got up and went about my typical day. I was ALWAYS hopeful that the previous night's fight was the last one. If there were weeks before the next argument I would totally forget they ever occurred. These disputes evidently caused some anxiety for me as I went through years of bed wetting, chewing the inside of my mouth until it was raw, pulling the skin off my lips and eating it, having asthma attacks and eczema over much of my body. No one in a professional capacity ever told me these things were brought on by my anxieties, but my opinion was that they did. I have never accused my parents of causing me to have all of these problems. I believe you take the hand you're dealt, look at all the cards, keep the ones you want, discard the bad cards and work hard to get better cards.My mother was always there, to feed us, to wash our clothes, to care for us when we were sick, but she lacked genuine empathy when we were feeling the most vulnerable. Anytime I came home with a problem she listened but seldom helped me with the solution. I always felt alone after sharing my problem with her. Sometimes her response suggested that maybe I was the "source of the problem" or that there was something "wrong with me." These responses did two things for me; one, I learned to realize that if I had a problem I had better be able to resolve it and two, I learned not to tell her everything. Just one time I would have liked for her to listen to me, hug me and tell me it would be alright and maybe offer one suggestion as to how I might solve the problem. I didn't want her to solve anything. I did learn to address my problems and identify appropriate solutions. I learned earlier than most of the kids around me to strive for total independence. I was learning to take full responsibility for my actions and expect no help from anyone.

My mother did not have many friends; consequently most of her social interactions were with relatives. The wife of a distant cousin of my dad's befriended my mother and for several years she was my mother's closest friend. She had her driver's license and the Mercury was always parked at home while her husband worked. Many times she drove to our house to pick up my mother, sister, and I to take us to the movies or to the lake. She and her husband lived with his brother and his wife which was not a good long term situation. Her husband continually promised he would build a house. This promise went on for years and the woman became more and more frustrated until finally she decided to get a job as a waitress at a local restaurant to help pay for the construction of a house. The more she worked the more other men became interested in her as she was a very attractive woman. The couple soon became more distant and she eventually took the three children and moved into a rooming house in town. I used to play with the three brothers quite often when we were young, but after they moved to town I seldom got to see them. On a couple of occasions the husband, the distant cousin of my dad's, came to our house to seek counsel from our parents. Perhaps these were the wrong people to seek advice from, but he did anyway. As the months went by there was no reconciliation and she eventually took the kids and moved back to her home in Texas. We never heard from her again. The husband continued to live with his brother for many years until he remarried a much younger woman and moved away. My mother never had another close friend in her life.
Chapter 17

In the fall of 1959 I entered high school with some trepidation. I didn't have to go very far to get to the high school because the elementary grades and the high school were in the same building. All of the elementary grades except the first and second grades were on the second floor. All of the high school classes except physical education and vocational agriculture were on the first floor. In one year I was the oldest students on the second floor to being one of the youngest students on the first floor left me with some ambivalence. I was glad to leave second floor as I had heard many wonderful things about being in high school. I had also heard the negative side of entering high school, in particular the hazing of freshman students by the upper classmen. I had no other option so I just jumped in and was determined to make the best of the situation. I enjoyed changing classrooms for each course. It was much better than sitting in the same room all day as I had done in the elementary grades. I enrolled in vocational agriculture, English I, Algebra I, civics, and physical education. Most boys were from farm families so they took agriculture all four years of high school. The course content dealt primarily with farming, but we also had shop class twice a week. I really enjoyed shop and learned to build several small wooden items. Our first shop class assignment was to compile a tool book. Each student bought a composition book, then found pictures of tools and cut out the pictures and pasted them into their composition book. Our teacher gave us a minimum list of tools to find for a passing grade. You could improve your grade by adding more tools and the final grade was determined by which students had the most pictures of tools. The students with the largest number of tools got the best grades. I don't remember how many tools I ended up with, but I received an A for my tool book. Another requirement was to recite the F.F. A. creed in front of the class. I made an A for my recitation. I enjoyed my agriculture class, but after that first year I decided I didn't want to take any further agriculture courses since I was not planning to be a farmer.

Students enrolled in vocational agriculture joined the F.F.A. (Future Farmers of America). Part of that membership was the annual freshman initiation by the upperclassmen. The time had come for the F.F.A.s' freshmen initiation rites. Freshmen enrolled in vocational agriculture were required to wear green hands made from construction paper around their necks for one week. If an upper classman caught a freshman voc ag student without his green hand around his neck he had to perform whatever silly task the upperclassman requested. I got caught without my green hand one day and had to take an upperclassmen's books to class. Other students had to sing songs upperclassmen requested in the hallway between classes or retrieve lunch trays from tables in the cafeteria and take them to the kitchen window.On Friday night the F.F.A. freshmen were required to come to the ag building to be initiated. We were all aware of the "stories" of previous initiations. When we arrived that night we sat in our usual seats in our classroom. The upperclassmen came into the classroom and tied a blindfold around each of the boy's heads. One by one the boys were escorted to the shop. While one boy was taken the rest of us sat with the blindfolds on and listened to the sounds emanating from the shop. There was a lot of grunting and moaning and yelling "no!" As we waited for our turn our anxieties rose to a fever pitch. I was not looking forward to this and was beginning to second guess my choice of classes. Being blindfolded, I could not tell how many boys had been taken back, but after what seemed like an hour two upperclassmen came up behind me and grabbed me and walked me back into the shop and sat me down. First they told me to open my mouth, and then they shoved something long, wet and soft into my mouth, and then told me to chew. I had heard that they gave freshmen earthworms to eat, but I told myself that this thing in my mouth was probably something else. After chewing for a minute or so I realized it was not bad and had sort of a sweet taste. Once I swallowed the "earthworm" they got me up and moved me to another station and sat me down again. This time they took my left hand and guided it down into a bucket of some kind. Then they told me to move my hand around in the pail. Next, they told me to continue to move my hand around until I found a solid mass. Once I found this mass they told me to grasp the mass and just hold it in my hand, then they told me to squeeze it until my index finger met my thumb. Next they told me to search for another mass in the bucket and when I found it to grasp it, pick it up, and bring my hand with the mass out of the bucket. Then they told me to move my right hand over to meet the left hand holding this mass. Next they told me to squeeze the mass with both hands, and then move both hands closer to my face. I had complied to this point. If the contents of the bucket were screwball shit, I had played along as far as I was willing to go. I was not putting this shit on my face or into my mouth, F.F.A. or no F.F.A. I yelled for the teacher, but the upperclassmen told me, "O.K., lower your hands over the bucket and release the contents in your hands," which I did very quickly. They jerked me up out of the chair and took me to another station. I could hear the sound of a switch being turned on then the roar of a saw. They took my left arm and placed it on a board which felt like a two by four stud. Then they tied something around my arm and the board. Then they lowered my arm and the stud down to what I guessed was the saw table. Then they began to move my arm and the stud down the saw table. At this point I assumed they were moving my arm and the board into the direction of the saw blade. Now I didn't really think they were going to cut my arm off, but they sure were going to try to scare the shit out of me. As the saw blade began to cut into the upper end of the stud I really freaked for what if the saw hit a knot in the wood and bucked back, it happens, and somehow my arm really was pushed into the saw? I had a flashback of the boy, who lived in our upstairs apartment, had his left hand mangled in a shop accident two years ago. I had seen his left hand often when he lived at our house. While the saw cut through the stud I could visualize my left hand looking like that boy's hand. I needed to try to be calm and just endure another act of craziness on the way to being initiated into the F.F.A. In a few more seconds the sound of the saw cutting into wood ceased. My arm was taken off the saw table and I heard the saw switch being cut off.

The upperclassmen escorted me back to the classroom and sat me down in my seat. In a few minutes I could hear voices so I assumed the upperclassmen and the remaining freshmen were returning to the classroom. In another minute or two we were told to remove our blindfolds. Our teacher addressed the class and told us the F.F.A. "initiation" was officially over. He distributed copies of the F.F.A. creed to all of us and in unison he led us in reciting the F.F.A. creed. We were dismissed to go home and the craziness had ended.

Each October F.F.A. students had an opportunity to attend the North Carolina State Fair held in the state capital of Raleigh, North Carolina. Traditionally the F.F.A. and the F.H.A. (Future Homemakers of America) got to take a day off from school to attend the state fair. This was a statewide event and no classes were held on fair day. Students bought their tickets in advance and each school providing transportation for their students. Prior to departing for the fair there were frequent rumors about which boy was "going with" which girl and who was expected to "make out" or "get it on" with whomever. This part of the trip was much more interesting to hear about than hearing about which rides students were going to ride or what food they were going to consume. I was aware of some of these "stories" because I kept my ears open at school and at home. My sister was a senior so I heard quite a bit. In morning after the fair during home room I heard about who did what and with whom. There were rumors of some "scores" on the bus. I wondered where the dam bus driver was. Where was/were the teacher(s) assigned to chaperon?

In 1959 I did not attend the state fair nor did I attend in any of the other years I was in high school. There was a disagreement with my parents over the amount of money I needed to attend so I just decided not to go. After our "discussion" I was too pissed with my parents to approach them for money to in the succeeding days leading up to the departure for the fair. Students who did not travel to the fair were required to attend class. There were 2-3 students other than me at school on fair day. When I graduated from high school I was one of the few students who NEVER attended the state fair. It would be twenty years before I attended the state fair and when I did finally go I found out it was just a larger county fair, which I did attend every year.
Chapter 18

During my youth I was privileged have nice clothes. Prior to the start of school every fall we got new "school clothes." My parents would let me have a pair of new shoes (which I liked to smell!), 2-3 pairs of dungarees, 2-3 new shirts, and a jacket. By the time I entered high school it was critical that not only did I have new clothes, but the clothes had to be different from the ones other students wore. On the first day of my freshman year I arrived at school wearing a pair of red pants with a black and red mock cardigan bloused over my pants. I thought I looked pretty good, but comments from other students about my outfit were negative. There were such comments as, "how far did you have to chase him," and you look like a "n-word." Screw them!

On the first day of my sophomore year I donned a pair of pants with wide black and light brown, almost yellow, vertical stripes. The negative comments were pretty much the same as my freshman year. My last two years I toned down the fashion statement and wore "Ivey League" pants with a buckle in the back and shirts with button down collars. I wore a pair of brown loafers, but there was no penny in the slot.

My mother had one sister she talked to frequently on the telephone, but visits to see each other were infrequent. When we did visit my aunt, usually at Christmas, she always had a large bag of hand me down clothes for me from my cousin, who was one year older than me. These clothes were always the top brands and in good shape. Often my cousin's clothes were better than the new clothes bought for me at the beginning of school. I looked forward to these trips to enhance my wardrobe.

Clothes that I received at Christmas were almost always disappointing. When I was ten years old I wanted a pair of Acme cowboy boots. When Christmas morning came the first thing I saw under my side of the tree was my pair of brand new leather cowboy boots. I picked up my boots and went over to the couch and sat down to try them on. As soon as I pulled them on and stood up I realized that they were too small. I did not tell my mother right away that they were too small, but as the day wore on she asked why I wasn't wearing my new boots so I had to tell her they were too small. She told me the boots could not be returned, but once I "broke them in" they would be fine. I did try to wear these boots and "break them in," but every time I wore them for any length of time my feet hurt. These Acme leather cowboy boots were just too dam small, too bad no one could take them back to the store. Why? The pair of beautiful, leather Acme cowboy boots would wind up in a closet in our dining room and there they remained for years and nothing more was ever said about them.

Another year I requested a popular light blue pair of dungarees and a matching vee neck sweater for Christmas. This was a popular outfit that I needed to feel good about myself. Christmas morning arrived and I went into the front room and there on the couch was my pair of light blue dungarees and my light blue matching vee neck sweater. First I tried on my dungarees and they fit fine. Next I picked up the sweater and pretended that what I saw was in fact not what I saw; the sweater appeared to be too small. I raised the sweater over my shoulders and pulled it over my head. The bottom of the sweater did not come close to the belt loops on my new pants. I grabbed the bottom of the sweater and pulled and pulled, but the sweater refused to come down over the top of my new dungarees. I got up and walked around the house in my new dungarees and my much too small vie neck sweater. Soon I had enough so I went to my room and took the sweater off. When I returned to the kitchen where my mother was preparing our Christmas breakfast she asked why I took off my sweater and I told her, "it's too small." Her reply was that we could somehow "stretch it out" and it should be fine. For days which came to be weeks I tried and she tried to make the sweater larger, but my vee neck sweater would not get any larger. The sweater wound up in the dining room closet beside the leather Acme cowboy boots. Now there is a good ending to this sweater story because that very Christmas when we went to see mom's sister she had a bag of hand me down clothes for me. One of the first articles of clothing I pulled out of the bag was a light blue vee neck sweater that was my size! It was a perfect fit and was a top brand sweater. I was as happy as if I had found it with my light blue dungarees under the tree on Christmas morning.

Once I entered high school my mother arbitrarily decided that there would be no need to wrap gifts to open on Christmas morning. No, no more of that foolishness as I was too old for that crap. A few weeks before Christmas mom took me to a department store. I picked out a shirt, a pair of pants and a sweater. She would pay for the clothes and we would return home. She put the bag of clothes in the front room closet until Christmas. On Christmas morning I would get up and go in the front room and find my shirt, pants, and sweater she had purchased a few weeks ago spread out on the couch. Merry Christmas! All through high school I never opened another Christmas gift from my parents. I got clothes selected by me and purchased by my mother and kept in the front room closet until Christmas morning. I never understood why my mother elected to do this, but I never asked her about it. I did get the clothes I wanted if I could be satisfied with what I found in the one store we went to, and the clothes always fit, so I guess that was some improvement.

There was one other Christmas when I was a young, like 10 or 12, that I received two packs of underwear that were too small. I told my mother that the briefs were too small, but she seemed to think, once again, that somehow if I worked at it they could eventually fit. I never understood why she couldn't get the correct sizes in the first place, I mean how hard was it to look inside the existing clothes I was wearing and find my size which was on a label. She could have asked me, "what size shirt do you wear and what size pair of pants will you need?" My mother NEVER returned any gifts she bought. When I became a big time Christmas shopper I found out the correct sizes before I bought anyone clothing. I kept all my receipts in an envelope marked Christmas receipts. If someone opened a gift of clothing and it did not fit, I would return the gift and exchange it. If my kids ever got any clothes that didn't fit or in a color they didn't like I took it back. They never had to "make it work."

Many years later my mother asked me what I might want for Christmas and I told her a pair of size 9 suede leather "Hush Puppy" shoes. I went up to visit one day during the Christmas season to exchange gifts as by that time I was not spending Christmas day at her house. Based on the shape my gift box I assumed it must be the suede shoes I had requested. I remembered all the previous times she bought clothes that did not fit, but this time I made it clear as to the size I needed. I pulled off the "pre-used" wrapping paper (every Christmas my mother gathered the wrapping paper after the gifts were opened and stored it in the dining room closet to be used the next Christmas) and sure enough the box was labeled "Hush Puppies," which was the brand of shoes I had requested. I took the top off of the box and pulled the tissue paper away and there they were a pair of suede leather shoes. I did not look inside the shoe to notice the size, but I did stick my nose down inside to get a smell of the shoe. The smell was not typical, but I didn't think much of it. I took off the shoes I was wearing and tried on my Hush Puppies. I laced up the shoes and then stood up and walked a few steps. The shoes seemed a little loose, but I had told her my size. I told her the shoes were fine and then she said, "Oh that's good as I was concerned as to whether or not you could wear them, dad couldn't." She had bought these dam shoes for my father but since he couldn't wear them, she wrapped them up and gave them to me and then told me she did! Merry Christmas! The shoes were a size 10.
Chapter 19

I rode my lightweight Austrian bike to school every day except when it rained, and then my father would drive me to class. I had a .410 gauge shotgun, but my mother wouldn't allow me to go hunting except with my father and he possessed no love for hunting. I had no friends with driver's licenses, so I had no way to get around other than on my bike. I attended all of the high school sports contests our varsity teams played. By the fall of 1959 our movie theater had closed because everyone was watching television. I watched quite a bit of television myself. Dad had stopped drinking, so he never went back downtown at night he just sat in front of the TV and watched every show on the channels we could receive. With our antenna and rotor on top of the house we could usually get a clear picture on one of the three main networks. We always watched the shows dad wanted to see. He especially liked Jackie Gleason, Milton Berle, Sid Caesar and all of the westerns, Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, The Rifleman, Maverick, Cheyenne, Sugar foot, and of course, Gunsmoke on Saturday night. I always tried to stay up until dad went to bed so I could change the channel selector to see what other shows were playing. I would ask my mom and sister if the show I had turned to was O.K. with them.

When the summer break came I went down to dad's store and worked either at the store or went with him on well or plumbing jobs. During the summer months he let me watch over the store while he went home for lunch and a nap. When customers came in I would try to attend to their needs. There was no merchandise in the store that ever had a price marked on it. My dad knew what the price was and my granddaddy, when he was there, he knew, but I didn't. When a customer wanted to make a purchase I had to tell him I didn't know the price and if they would come back in about an hour my dad would be back and he could help him. It didn't take too long doing this that I became extremely frustrated. I thought, dad asked me to mind the store, I just needed to know what stuff cost. One day while my dad was home napping I made a major decision, the next time someone came in the store and wanted to buy something I would sell them whatever they needed at some price. How would I know the price, I would just make an educated guess. I did this a few times and was wrong every time and incurred the wrath of dad when he returned. I continued to wonder, he knows what things cost, why can't he tell me so I can provide the correct price for our customers? Why the mystery? I never got an answer, but this was just another time that I identified a problem and tried to come up with a solution. I made a decision, I devoted the rest of the summer, as long as it took, to organize every dam piece of merchandise in that store. I demanded that my dad give me a price for everything. I labeled each item and wrote the price on the label. I placed all the same items on their own shelves or in bins together. On the edge of the shelf or bin I attached the label so everyone would know what the item was and how much it cost. I spent the entire summer on this job and when I finished I was very proud of myself. I was especially proud the days when dad returned from his siesta and found I had sold some merchandise at the correct price. I never got any positive feedback from him regarding this major organizing effort, but I knew that I had performed a worthwhile task for his business.

That summer I would finally get to go to the skating rink. The skating rink was at the far end of town and it was a rather healthy walk. For years I wanted to visit this place. From early evening 'til late at night you could hear rock and roll music blaring from speakers mounted outside. I knew boys who were allowed to go and they said the skating rink was a great place. Not only was there a roller skating rink, but a bowling alley, a juke box for dancing, and a snack bar with as much junk food as anyone would want to eat. They also served beer to adults which when consumed past a reasonable point reinforced an occasional fight. My mother thought the rink was a "rough place" which is why she had not felt comfortable letting me go there, that is, until that summer.

I was shocked the day my mom decided to let me go with a friend to the rink. A friend came by my house to walk with me. He prepared me on what to expect once we got to the skating rink. "Just stick with me and you'll be alright," he said. It sounded like a sensible plan to me. It was Saturday night and I had my five dollars dad gave me for cleaning the store, so I really felt rich and was prepared, if necessary, to spend every cent to have a good time. I had been waiting for years to get in this place and now since the time had arrived, I was not going to let money get in the way of my fun.

Whenever I went to a place I never been as a teen someone often asked me, "What are you doing here?" I didn't have a good response so I answered with my own question, "Who's that on that record?" (That means who is the recording artist responsible for singing that song on the jukebox?). They would answer my question and forget that they asked me a question. This technique worked well for me.

Everyone else that spoke to me at the skating rink treated me as though I was a "regular." These duck pins were about the size of a softball. At the other end of the bowling lane was a person who set up the pins after each frame. My friend told me to try to roll the bowling ball hard enough to get one or more of the pins to "fly up" and hit the pin setter. I didn't think that was what I wanted to do.

After a few games of bowling we went to the snack bar for some fries and a chocolate shake as I was always hungry. We had been the only boys bowling with the duck pins so I told my friend I wanted to bowl a few games with the regular pins and bowling balls.

Before returning to the bowling lanes we walked into the skating rink. Skating was another skill I did not possess so I just watched people of all ages skate around the rink. We left the skating rink and walked to the front area where the juke box was located. There were several couples dancing. I had not yet learned to dance, but three years later Chubby Checker would come to my rescue when he came up with a simple dance called the Twist.

We went back to the bowling lanes and paid for a game of regular bowling. Every bowling ball I picked up was too heavy. I kept picking up balls until I found an 8 pound ball that was just right. This game was much harder than the game using the duck pins. The larger ball was harder to control and through 10 frames of a game I rolled at least balls into the gutter in at least five frames. I never improved as a bowler because I never learned the proper techniques of the game.

After bowling three games the time was approaching 10:00pm my mother told me to be home before 10:30pm so I told my friend I needed to leave. He said he wanted to stay until 11:00pm so I walked home alone. The street was pretty dark as there was no lighting and only two houses between the skating rink and the end of the street. It took me about thirty minutes to get home. My mother, as always, was up when I got home and asked me how I enjoyed my evening. I told her it was fine, but after all those years of hearing music from the outside speakers and listening to other kids talking about how great the skating rink was, I wasn't all that impressed. I went back to the skating rink a couple more times that summer and never returned after that. As I entered high school fewer and fewer of the people I knew went to the skating rink.
Chapter 20

I entered the 10th grade in the fall of 1960. decided not to go out for the football team since I still weighed only 98 pounds. One Friday afternoon at the end of the school day a classmate invited me to his house on Saturday to hunt. I was 15 but still had not been hunting since Christmas day in 1956. My shotgun had collected quite a bit of dust sitting behind the door in my bedroom. I told my friend that I would check with my mom and call him that night. When I got home from school I went directly to the kitchen where mom was preparing our dinner and asked her if I could go hunting on Saturday. I told her who I was going hunting with and since she knew this boy was responsible and from "good parents," she consented. I was elated and immediately called my friend and told him I could go hunting with him the next day. He offered to have his older brother pick me up and bring me back to my house after hunting. I asked my mom if this arrangement was acceptable and she said it was fine with her. I told my friend and he said he would ask his brother to get me around 8:00am.

My friends' brother arrived at my house on time and I was ready. My friend lived about 3 miles out in the country. When we arrived at his house I was introduced to his mother. My friend and his brother, who was also going to hunt with us, got their shotguns and we all three walked out to the car to get my bolt action .410 gauge shotgun. We planned to hunt for doves which were usually located in fields. The dove had to be in the air before we could shoot at them. We walked and walked and walked some more. We walked to another field, then another field. At lunch time we returned to the house for some sandwiches his mom had prepared. After lunch and a brief rest we returned to the same fields, but still no doves. At about four o'clock we gave up the hunt and returned to the house. We did not fire one shot all day!

After we had soft drinks my friend's brother drove me home. During the drive he mentioned the teen dances at women's club on Friday and Saturday nights. I told him I had never been to these dances. He said he was tired of going but would probably go that night and he would be happy to come by and pick me up if I wanted to go. I excused myself by telling him that I might be going to the skating rink. I was having great difficulty getting up the nerve to go to the dances because I did not want to hear, "what are you doing here," as silly as it might seem.

My favorite teacher that year was my biology teacher. He was ahead of his time; therefore he didn't stay at our school very long. He had joined the faculty the previous year. My sister, who graduated as the valedictorian of her class, enrolled in his physics course. My sister's academic reputation had preceded me because when every one of my teachers called my name from their class rolls they asked if I was my sister's brother. I replied, "Yes," then they expressed unrealistic expectations for me, "oh, I'll be expecting big things from you," or even worse, "are you as smart as your sister?" Why should I have to respond to such nonsense? My biology teacher was "the" science teacher for the entire high school. He was very interesting and because he was I became interested in biology, so much so that for the first six weeks I made an "A" in his class. One day after class I talked to him about hunting doves. He mentioned that he was going by a local hardware store that afternoon and pick up a new 12 gauge automatic shotgun. He offered to take me with him dove hunting after he picked up his new shotgun. I was certainly interested as this could my second hunting trip of the season. I needed to get permission from my mom so I ran home at lunch to ask her. My mom had met this teacher when he was my sister's physics teacher and she was much more comfortable with me hunting with a responsible adult. I told her after school I would ride with him to get his new shotgun, and then we would come by the house to speak to her and get my shotgun. I couldn't wait for the school day to end! To get to hunt with an adult who probably knew how to hunt doves would be a wonderful way to spend a fall afternoon. After school I went to the teacher's classroom, but I had to wait a few minutes until he finished talking to a student. We left the school building and headed to his car, a four door sedan. I sat in the car while he went into the hardware store to get his new shotgun. When he came out he was holding the new shotgun with both hands and what a purchase it was! I would have loved to own such a shotgun. He put the shotgun in his trunk and we drove to my house to get my shotgun, then we rode out to a large field several miles outside of town. Before we got out of the car I could already see doves flying all over the field. I assumed they were doves as I had never seen a dove. We commenced to load the maximum of the three shells allowed by law into our shotguns. I had purchased an additional box of shells to go with the box I received for Christmas in 1956. I still had all but 3 shells from that original box, but decided to bring an extra box, anticipating I would be very busy that afternoon. Within an hour I had exhausted an entire box of shells and had killed not one bird. My teacher was busy walking the field picking up the doves he had brought down. I really enjoyed the afternoon, but was disappointed at not shooting one dove. When we got ready to leave the teacher explained to me the finer points of bird hunting. He said that to be able to shoot a bird in flight you had to lead the bird several feet. In other words, aim the shotgun several feet in front of the path of the bird and you would have a good chance of hitting the target. I wished I had that information before I shot up a whole box of shells. I didn't forget the hunting lesson. For the next several years I would only hunt on my grandparents' farm where I never saw a dove or much of anything else to shoot at.

By the end of the fall semester my biology teacher had resigned. I never knew the reason(s) for his departure, but I figured it had to do with his teaching style, his overall personality, and maybe a few other things I didn't know. His replacement was an Episcopal minister's wife. I never had the same interest in science again. She was extremely boring because all she did every day was talk, talk, talk, and talk some more. The next year I had her for chemistry because I needed another science course to meet graduation requirements and she was at least as boring as the previous year. I did not to take physics my senior year although I probably should have.

Some people considered me to be "shy," even though I had been loud enough to get suspended from the Boy Scouts for laughing on a camping trip. I had received an "A" for reciting the F.F.A. creed in front of a class of vocational agriculture students. I had even done an impression of Elvis in front of my 6th grade class, but I was still considered to be, shy. Shy, I never liked that word, but it was a word people wrapped around my neck. I just never had comments to make about everything, but I did speak up when I had something to say about things that interested me. In my adult years I had a second cousin one night tell me while we were eating dinner at a restaurant, "I didn't know you could talk!" What he meant was that as a child when he was around me I didn't have much to say. I don't recall him asking me anything or I would have responded. In my childhood when kids were around adults they were expected to "be seen and not heard." Unless an adult asked you a question you didn't say anything or "perform" as many parents will have their kids do today. Today parents will be with other adults having a conversation and they allow their kids to interrupt and talk about anything, turn flips, sang, or do just about anything. This did not happen when and where I grew up.

The shy label was later changed to "quiet." During my senior year I was pronounced the "the quietest" student in the senior class, a class "superlative" honor I did not appreciate. It pissed me off then and it still does today whenever I think of it. By then I was going to the dances on Friday and Saturday nights. As a senior when we returned on the activity bus from basketball games I would sit in the back of the bus singing scapula Ben E. King's "Stand by me." I was dating and in the spring of my senior year I had a girlfriend and "they" still selected me as the quietest student in the class. I was so pissed I initially refused to have my picture taken with the girl who was labeled the quietest girl, but then I thought I didn't want her to think I didn't want to take the picture with her so I agreed to take the photo.

I never saw a ballot where we all voted for who was most talented, best looking, most likely to succeed, most athletic, and quietest. I never found out that the "that" was that made these decisions. I reviewed previous copies of high school yearbooks and NEVER found a senior superlative given for "the quietest." So what was it about 1962 that made these "decision makers" select me and the girl as the quietest? I must have been a quiet person.
Chapter 21

I went out for the football team my freshman year in high school, but quit the team after the first two weeks of practice. I elected not to try out for the basketball or baseball teams that year. The teams were coached by the same man who coached football. He also coached the girl's basketball team. The word around school was, "you don't ever quit on coach, especially football if you ever desire to play any other sport at this school."

I elected not to participate in football in my sophomore year, but I did go out for basketball. Since the coach did not cut anyone I was on the team. I practiced with the team, but was only allowed to dress out for home games in the old, different looking uniforms. We had a good team that built big leads early in the game. The second team played the second quarter, the third team played the third quarter, then the first team was reinserted for the first four minutes of the fourth quarter, then the fourth team, my team, was inserted into the game for the last four minutes. I managed to score in every game except the game I entered with 24 seconds to go. I still managed to get off 3 shots before time expired.

As baseball season started I tried out for first base. I knew being left handed provided a fielding advantage and the position should provide more of a challenge to me than standing out in right field. I tried this new position and I did what the coach asked. At the end of each practice the coach would stand at home plate and hit grounders down to me at first. I tried to catch every one of these balls, but sometimes he hit them so hard that when I missed the ball rolled all the way to a ditch at the end of right field. I would run down to the ditch and retrieve the ball. As soon as I would get back in my position at first base and he would hit another grounder to me and if I couldn't field it the ball would roll all the way to the ditch again. As our early spring practice progressed I felt pretty well about my chances the make the team and get to play first base. I got to practice with the first team infielders every day and I alternated with a senior during our infield practice. The other infielders told me I was better than the senior, so I expected to get to play.

We completed several weeks of practice and were scheduled to play our first game "on the road." After lunch on game day, we were supposed to go to the coach's office to receive our new uniforms prior to leaving for the game. I got there early and waited for my name to be called. It was never called. All the other players had their new uniforms, were dressed, and on the activity bus. He brought out several of the baggy, old uniforms and gave one to me and 3 other boys, then informed us that we could dress for the home games only and would not be able to travel with the team to the away games. He then locked the door to his office and headed to the activity bus. I was not on the bus. Needless to say I was very disappointed. The four of us headed down to the locker room to try on the uniforms. Each boy tried on his uniform and we all reached the same conclusion, the uniforms were simply too large. We took the uniforms back upstairs and placed them in a pile at the coach's office door.

The next day before practice the coach informed us that there were no other uniforms for us to wear. Since we "refused" to wear those old uniforms we couldn't dress for home games and we couldn't attend the away games because coach did not issue the new uniforms. We still went back to practice and practiced every day for the rest of the season without ever getting to participate in any way. I never understood why I didn't get a new uniform and get to play, but more importantly I really never understood why I continued to practice every day.

I began my junior year weighing in at 125 pounds, probably because of more food consumption as I was forever hungry. I decided to go out for the football team, but it was not a team you tried to "make" because this coach never cut anybody. Everyone was on the team, unless they quit, and all got a practice uniform and a game uniform. When I graduated from high school there were 165 students in the high school and 26 students in my graduating class. There were at 40 players on the football team.

The word on the street was "real men play football" and then there is everybody else. I was tired of being lumped into the "everybody else" group. My father had played high school football, but even though he never mentioned he wanted me to play I felt that he did. The other reason I went out for the team was that "the word going around" for years was that playing football spoke volumes to this coach about the person you were. If you played football he had a completely different attitude about you. The "unwritten rule" was without playing football you would seldom if ever get to play any other sport until you "proved yourself" on the football field. I assumed quitting the football team my freshman year worked against me. I wanted to play basketball and even though I was on the team as a sophomore I rarely played.

I played in six games football games and scored a touchdown in one game, which came as a surprise to everyone, including me. I hated the practices and had some degree of fear of getting maimed. I was anxious every day of practice until Thursday when we practiced in "lights," which was coach speak for shorts and tee shirts. On game nights I never expected to get in a game so I didn't worry about any contact. About mid way through the year I got to where I didn't mind the practices or the contact, bring it on! One of my proudest moments during practice was in our annual senior vs. underclassmen scrimmages. The game was treated like a real game and gave the winners certain bragging rights around school. During the last quarter, a senior halfback, who was the best player on the team, was in the open field running to the goal line. Refusing to give up on the play I caught him from behind and brought him down on about the ten yard line. I was surprised I had the speed to catch this guy. We stopped the seniors from scoring again and eventually won the game 7-6. Our team won the conference championship, but we lost in the first round of the state playoffs. I had made it; I participated in football for an entire season! I never played high school football again.

I was excited about the approaching basketball season and I hoped to play more because I had proved to the coach I was a "real man" by playing football. There weren't many boys trying out for basketball who I thought was better than I was. The season began and I mostly watched from the bench. I was usually inserted into games if one of the starters got into early foul trouble or if we were getting beat so badly the coach let everyone play. I have no recollection of making any major contribution in any game that year. By the end of the season I was really pissed because I felt I was better than the boys who played most of the time yet I seldom played. None of them could shoot, I could shoot, but I didn't get many chances. We won about six games the entire year and lost in the first round of the conference tournament bringing our season to a close.I went home very frustrated. The next day when we turned in our basketball uniforms the coach informed us baseball practice would begin the next week. I decided not to play baseball since last year I practiced every day, but never got to play and this year I played football to prove I could "take it," then I sat on the bench for the basketball season. Now, another season of baseball is approaching and I could see zero benefits of sitting on a bench again. I reached another decision; there would be no football next fall. I was through with the coach's eccentrics. I would go out for basketball because that was the sport I most liked and I would deal with whatever decisions were made.

Basketball practice my last year of high school began in mid November, 1961. We played a few games before the Christmas break, but I was watching most of the games from the bench except when one of the starters got into foul trouble. After the Christmas break one of the starters developed some mystery illness and was not able to play again until the season was almost over. This illness provided me with an opportunity to participate in more games. I was usually the first substitute to enter a game and now I got to start games. The team started to win the games against teams we lost to earlier in the season. I usually scored in double figures when I started and played most of the game. I was starting games, scoring points, and we were winning more games than we were losing, but I did feel some sadness because I was in the lineup only because of someone else's misfortune. In our last home game I scored 8 points. The next week the shit hit the fan.

It was late February and I was enjoying listening to Atlantic Coast Conference basketball games on the radio and watching the few available games on TV. One Monday afternoon my dad called from work to ask if I wanted to go to Raleigh to see N.C. State play Wake Forest. Wake Forest had a really good basketball team in 1961-62. They went to the Final Four and have never returned. The Deacons featured All-American Len Chappell and All-ACC guard Billy Packer. Would I give up a chance to see this game? Not on your life. We did have basketball practice every night until Thursday when the conference tournament opened, but I decided to miss one practice for this game. We were scheduled to play a team in the first round of the tournament we had already defeated twice that year.

Dad got home around five o'clock and after we ate dinner we departed for Raleigh. The road to Raleigh was a two lane road that had been recently widened and repaved so getting to Hillsboro Street in an hour was not a problem. My dad and I had been to another game at N.C. State in 1958 when the Wolf pack played a good Duke team that had the best regular season record in the conference, but lost in the conference tournament to the eventual champions, the Maryland Terrapins. My memories of visiting William Neal Reynolds Coliseum were very vivid. First, the place was big; the capacity was 12,500 which was the second largest indoor facility in the Atlantic Coast Conference at the time. When the game got going and the score was tight the place was loud. They had a sound meter in the rafters and when fans got to yelling lights would come on at the bottom of the meter. As the noise increased the lights on the meter continued until all to get brighter and brighter until all the lights were on which signaled the highest noise level. I saw all the lights on the meter come on during the N.C. State vs. Duke Game. The place was very smoky because almost everyone smoked. By half time of the Duke game we could not see the basket at the other end of the court from our seats. That's a lot of smoke. When our new high school gym opened in 1952 there were signs that said, "NO SMOKING" all around the interior walls. If you needed to smoke you went outside. We were ahead of our time.

Dad and I arrived in Raleigh and drove to Hillsboro Street where we turned into the main campus and headed toward the parking lot near the Coliseum. Parking was never a problem and it was free! We walked to the ticket office and purchased our tickets since buying tickets prior to games was not usually necessary. We got to our seats about 20 minutes before tap off. I don't remember much about the game other than Len Chappell got 26 points which was 4-5 points off his average for the year and Wake Forest won by 17 points. I was happy we had been able to see this game because I got to see Len Chappell and Billy Packer, two of my most favorite players. On the way home I thought some more about the game, but I had no thoughts about missing basketball practice.

The next morning I'm up and off to school as usual. When I got to home room I sat down in my seat and looked over my homework assignment for my first period class. As other students arrived I spoke to the ones seated close to my desk. I looked up and saw my next door neighbor, the "star" of the basketball team walking in the direction of my desk. I wondered why he was coming over to my desk since he had not spoken directly to me since the 8th grade. His intentional efforts to totally ignore me for the past four years centered over a dispute my mother had with his mother in 1958. His parents had some chickens, which violated a town ordinance, but on the day of infamy our dog got out of the back yard and went next door and chased the chickens. As far as I knew that's all he did, chased the chickens. Anyway when the neighbor came to talk to my mother about the incident my mother must have "gotten on her face, "which my mother had a history of doing. When my neighbor boy, who I had played with since they moved next door several years before, got home I assumed his mother told him about the incident. From the next day on he NEVER directly spoke to me again as long as I lived in Norlina. I always assumed the chicken affair had something to do with it.So the "star" came over to my desk to tell me that, "coach told me to tell you that if you want to stay on the basketball team you will have to run 50 laps because you missed basketball practice last night." He seemed to relish the opportunity to give me this message. I responded by saying, "dam it, why can't he tell me?" My message got delivered quite rapidly because by second period the coach was standing outside class motioning for me to come out into the hall. I got up from my desk and walked out into the hall. He said, "Someone told me that you wanted me to tell you that you will need to run 50 laps for missing practice, so I'm telling you, you will have to run 50 laps around the gym floor if you want to stay on the team." I said nothing, turned around and went back into my class.

Needless to say I was very pissed. I was pissed at the coach and I was more pissed at the "star" who used to be a good friend. After school I went down to dad's store to tell him about my punishment. He listened but didn't say much. Then I went home and told my mother. As had happened many times before, when I had a problem I didn't expect my parents to do anything about solving it that was always left up to me. I had to decide what response I wanted to make. I stewed about it the rest of the day and night and I elected NOT to attend practice that Tuesday night. My decision had been made by the next morning. There was simply no way in hell I was going to run his 50 laps! We had no dam team rules, so what rules did I break? I was with my father who had offered to take me to a special game. It wasn't like I was up to no good. I wanted to understand why the coach was demanding I run laps, but that explanation would never be received. After school I went back to dad's store. He told me he had called someone who was "close to" the coach, which was, for him, an unusual intervention toward solving a problem for me. My dad told me that even after his "acquaintance" had spoken to the coach he still refused to change his ruling and reiterated that I would have to run the 50 laps to stay on the team. I told dad that I was not going to run any laps. My dad, a man of few words then said, "well, all I can tell you is you won't get to come this way again, so think about it." That was it, he was leaving it up to me as always, but if I really liked the game as I said I did, and then maybe I should just suck it up and run the 50 laps. I went home and thought about it some more. Before I went to sleep I decided, O.K. I will go in tomorrow after school and run the laps, all 50 of them; even though I still felt he was wrong. He is still wrong!

After school was over I walked to the coach's office in the gym. When I got there his door was open. I knocked on the door molding and he motioned for me to come in. I told him I wanted to talk about running the 50 laps, but he began ranting and raving about how slack I was and how wonderful other players were, how they worked hard in tobacco, which had nothing to do with running laps, and on and on. I never got to say another word, but when he took a breath near the end of this 20-30 minute tirade I asked, "When can I run the laps?"

Since school was over he told me I could go down to the dressing room, change into my practice shorts and shirt and come back up and run them. I changed clothes and returned to his office and told him I was ready. I asked if he was coming into the gym to count the laps and he said, "No, you count them." I was shocked he trusted me that much. I ran the dam laps and reported back to his office and there was no further conversation. That night I returned to school and got on the activity bus with the rest of the team and headed to Warrenton for the first game of the conference tournament.

I didn't think about the upcoming game, therefore I had no preconceived notions about my role in this contest. Entering the tournament we had a .500 record, but we had defeated every team in the conference except the first place team. We were so inconsistent I had no idea how far we could go. I was hoping to get to play and somehow contribute. The first half came to a quick end and I had not entered the game. In the middle of the third quarter the coach looked down the bench and motioned for me to go to the scorer's table. I never got into the flow of the game and made only one basket on just 3 shot attempts. We went to overtime and barely won by 3 points. We advanced to the second round to play the team we defeated the previous week in our last game of the season.

The next night the game started and I had a very good view of the contest. Midway through the first half the coach inserted me into the lineup and I remained in the game the rest of the way. As the game progressed the teams exchanged leads. We were in the lead when the fourth quarter started so the other team began to press full court. I was the guard handling the inbounds pass after made baskets. Every time our "star" passed the ball in to me the opposing players would try to wrest the ball away, but were unsuccessful, resulting in a foul. For most of the quarter I was fouled every time I tried to bring the ball up the court. We soon got to the foul limit so every time I was fouled I went to the line to shoot a one and one. I don' t recall how many times I was fouled or how many free throws I made, but at the end of the game we had won by fifteen points and the opposing team never took the ball away from me. When I got back on the activity bus that night to head home I was feeling redeemed. I thought about what dad had said that afternoon at the store, "well, all I can tell you is you won't get to come this way again, so think about it." At that moment I was glad I "thought about it" and was on the bus.

On Saturday night we were in the finals of the conference tournament. We were playing John Graham High School of Warrenton, our biggest rivals having beaten us twice during the regular season. Finally, my one shining moment had arrived. After all the adversity, I started the game and when the starting lineups were announced by the public address announcer my name was called first. I ran out onto the court at the biggest game of the year as a starter and had been instrumental in whatever success the team had. My euphoria was short lived as John Graham gave us a sound beating by 42 points. Our season was over. But wait, it was not over, because the conference tournament runner-up got to participate in the state tournament! We were not done. Before we got off the bus at school that night the coach announced a team meeting on Monday after school to discuss our participation in the upcoming state tournament.

Monday came quickly and it was time for our team meeting. The coach began by telling us all the reasons why the season needed to be over. He informed us that we did not have to play in this tournament, we could elect not to go, but in case we decided we wanted to go he said, "I will go with you." How nice of him to offer to volunteer his time to go with us. The team voted unanimously to play in the tournament. The coach made one final comment; he would go with us if we swore that we would play better than we did Saturday night and not embarrass him further. I guess that wasn't too much to ask.

The first game of the state tournament was held on a Tuesday night in Rocky Mount. When we arrived and entered the gym we noticed the other team as we walked onto the court to begin our warm-ups. They had 3 players who were at least 6' 5". We had one player in the entire conference listed at 6'5" and this team had three! Most teams had six footers, some around 6'3" as we did, but not taller. The game started and this team was all over us. They were making shots, getting rebounds for follow up shots and things were not going well for us. Soon the horn sounded signaling halftime and we were behind by 22 points. As soon as we got to the locker room the coach lit into us, "I told you I was not going to come with you if you were going to embarrass me and here we are down 22!" He spent no time explaining any adjustments we needed to make to get back in the game. As a matter of fact, we never discussed much of anything in the dressing room at halftime, so this was nothing new. Halftime ended and we went back on the court. In high school we had eight minute quarters that didn't seem to last that long. The fourth quarter rolled around and we were still behind, then somehow we mounted a comeback and with two minutes to go in the game we were down by 1 point! We came back! I had the ball and as I dribbled across the mid court line I was thinking, "pass this ball." I did not want the ball in my hands near the end of a close game; I wanted to pass it to someone else as soon as possible. I passed to the other guard who penetrated into the lane, did a reverse dribble and was in good shape for a short runner, but it was too short and bounced off the rim. Our "star" tried twice to tap it in rather than grabbing the ball and going back up. The other team got the ball and we had to foul. The game was over as two free throws were made by the other teams 'players. My high school basketball career had come to an end. As I took off my uniform and stuffed it into my bag I didn't think too much about the game being "it," but it was and it would mean much more when fully realized I would no longer get to play on an organized team. There would be no baseball for me this last year of high school, so my sports career was officially over. All I had left was to go to class, the annual junior-senior prom, and the senior trip to Washington and New York.
Chapter 22

Music has always been an important part of my life. The sounds have served to get me through the good times and the bad times. I first experienced music from our old Phil co console radio which was located next to a big window in our dining room. One of the first songs I ever heard on the radio was a country and western song by Eddie Arnold where he yodels, called the "Cattle Call." After I heard that song I tried to sing the lyrics and perform the yodeling. My mother tuned to this station because she enjoyed country music. At night when I was in my bedroom next to my parents bedroom I could hear a softer sound from my dad's radio, called popular music. I would hear male and female voices singing "the softer sound." Occasionally I would hear an instrumental number. My dad's favorite instrumental was Stardust by Hoagie Carmichael. He also liked the big band, swing sound, but by the fifties this sound was getting harder to find on the radio dial.

In 1956 I requested a clock radio for Christmas. The radio I received had a large clock with switches that would allow you to set a timer so the radio would cut off automatically. There was also a switch to set the radio to turn on to music at a particular time in the morning. I spent a lot of time in the evening just listening to music on my new radio. This was the first time I had spent any appreciable time in my room.Each night when I got into to bed I would turn the dial on my radio until I heard a sound that I liked. My favorite evening radio station was WLAC in Nashville, Tennessee. My favorite disc jockey was John R. who played music called rhythm and blues which it sounded good to me. I thought John R. was an African-American because he sounded like the African-Americans I knew. I found out later he was white, but learned to sound like African-Americans. John R. exposed me to artists like Jimmy Reed, Muddy Waters, Bo Diddley, John Lee Hooker, Etta James, and Laverne Baker.

In 1959 I was in high school and my sister was in college so I asked my mom if I could move into one of the bedrooms upstairs. I was a little surprised when she said I could move. I could have the privacy that I never had in my downstairs bedroom. Now I could do my homework in my room instead of at the dining room table and I could listen to my radio longer and I could turn the sound up higher.

Once I got settled in my new room I discovered new radio stations with other sounds that I liked. During the day I listened to several am stations within a fifty mile radius. Usually after 6:00pm the transmitting power of the AM stations was reduced which caused me to search for other stations. I found WKBW in Buffalo, New York, WABC in New York City, and WLS in Chicago. By this time I had stopped listening to WLAC. These stations would to be my nightly favorites throughout high school.

The deejays on these stations became my evening friends as I each night I looked forward their shows. My favorite deejay at WKBW was Tommy Shannon, at WLS it was Dick Bionde, and at WABC Bruce Morrow, "Cousin Brucie," and I also liked Dan Ingram and Charlie Greer at WABC. I spent much time listening to the music played by these men. If a song was about fast cars I imagined I had that car that was the fastest and the nicest looking car in town. If I heard a love song I would imagine that it was me who was with a nice girl were having a good time.

In 1961 I would get a transistor radio. Dad had this radio for sale in his store, but could not sell it so one day I asked him about it and he said I could take it home. Can you imagine, you put a battery into this square box, and then turned the switch on, move the station dial and you got to hear the same music from the same stations you could hear from a clock radio. I really loved this new device and I listened to it probably more than my clock radio until I got an automobile.
Chapter 23

To be able to listen to a car radio you need a car. In the spring of 1961 I was a sophomore. One afternoon while I was practicing baseball dad drove up in a different car. I didn't understand why he had come to my practice, especially in this car. His car was a 1958 two door Plymouth Plaza. The car he was driving was a 19512-door Ford Custom. He motioned for me to come up to the car. I was a little hesitant at first but since I was just standing around waiting for a turn to bat I assumed it would be O.K. The coach saw my father, but didn't say anything, so I walked up to my dad. He asked, "What do you think?" "About what," I said. "The car, what do you think about the car," he inquired. "It's O.K. I guess," then I walked back down to the bench. My dad got in the car and drove off. That was our entire conversation about the car. When I got home after practice my mom was in the front room yelling at my dad. I decided to go upstairs to my room, but I could still hear the gist of the conversation. My mom was mad because my dad had just bought the car he showed me at practice. She was really pissed because he had taken money out of my savings account to help pay for the cost for the car. The price of the car was $495.00 and without asking me, he took $225.00 out of my account and applied it to the purchase price of the vehicle. When he left practice I had a notion he intended to buy the car. He asked me what I thought of the car and I told him, but I wasn't asked compared to what other cars. Had he mentioned he intended a buy a car for me, it would have been nice to look at several cars before selecting one, especially since my money was used to pay for it. While the "discussion" was still in progress I thought, well it was a car and belonged to me and as soon as I get my license I can be free to drive wherever I want. Dad never got in a big hurry about spending money, but when he was he was ready.

It was four months before I could apply for my driver's license so the car stayed parked in the front yard under a pecan tree. When I got home each day I would get the keys, crank the car, and drive from the front yard to the back yard, turn around and drive back to the front yard. This whole route would take about 15 seconds since our front and back yard was not that large. This exercise did not require adult supervision and it was valuable driver training. Several times my mom would drive the car to the lake, find a lightly traveled dirt road and allow me to drive. I felt I was ready to pass my driver's exam long before August, the month I would be sixteen.

During that summer I continued to practice my driving skills every day, repeating my route from the front yard to the back yard, then turn around and drive back to the front yard. I was working at dad's store and every nickel I earned I spent "fixing up" that car. The car was in good mechanical shape as was the exterior with no dents anywhere. I wanted to "customize" this vehicle to look like the cars I had seen in the automotive magazines. I wanted to remove most of the chrome and fill it in with a fiberglass filler, then sand, and paint. My list of modifications included dual exhaust with "mellow tone" mufflers, a switch to open the trunk from the driver's seat, and flame decals on both sides of the car. I found some additional "pinhead" decals that I wanted next to my flames. While the list of exterior enhancements would keep me busy for quite a while, the initial phase of my work would be focused on the interior of the car. The headliner and the door panels needed some brighter fabric. I would replace the instrument knobs with chrome knobs. These projects would require much time and money. I decided to compile a running list of materials used and the costs involved. I had the whole summer to get this car ready and I was confident by August 24, my birthday, I would be ready to drive a real custom show car.

I found an auto parts store, Warshawsky's in Chicago, Illinois that provided catalogs for prospective customers. I wrote to the company and requested a catalog. I received the catalog in about 10 days. I couldn't wait to open the pages to see all the parts I could order. My first order was several yards of upholstery material for my headliner and door panels. I completed the order form and placed my cash into a business envelope and sent the order to Warshawsky's. The order arrived in about two weeks. I opened the box and looked at the upholstery material, it was really red. I had also ordered some silver cord that would be sewn between the headliner seams, making for a truly creative custom job. Dad told me of an auto upholstery shop in Henderson where I might get my project done. I asked dad when he thought we could have the headliner installed. He told me hopefully he would have time during the week to take me, but he couldn't be certain of the exact day. I tried to be patient, but patience was never a virtue I possessed.

On Thursday morning dad told me we could take the car to the upholstery shop later that afternoon. He got one of his workers to drive my car and I rode with dad in his car. When we got there I explained to the upholstery man how I wanted to headliner done with the silver cord between the seams. The man said my specifications posed no problem for they did this type of job all the time. The man would call us when the job was completed. I was very excited as this was my car and I had the opportunity to get the work done exactly as I wanted it.

About three work days later my dad received a call from the upholstery shop that the car was ready. Late that same afternoon we went by our house to pick up mom to drive the car back home after we picked it up at the shop. When we got there the car was parked in front of the shop. I got out of dad's car and ran over to my car and peeked inside. It was beautiful! I grabbed the driver's side door handle and opened the door to get a better view of my headliner. I ran my hands across the headliner then just sat in the car admiring the fine work. I went inside the shop to pay for the work. The total price was $40.00, which took most of the money I had been saving, but I was very pleased. I rode back home with mom at the wheel, constantly looking up at the new headliner and thinking that I didn't have but a few weeks left before I applied for my driver's license.

I continued to work at the store for the rest of the summer saving every dollar I earned for my car projects. My next big purchase was a dual exhaust conversion kit from Warshawsky. Dad helped me install the kit. I bought a new tailpipe and muffler locally at Western Auto to install with the new exhaust pipe. This addition would give the car a deep powerful sound when I stepped on the accelerator.

In order to save money I decided I would upholster all of the door panels using the remaining material I had purchased earlier from Warshawsky. I used dad's heavy duty stapler to secure the new fabric over the door panels. After reupholstering the door panels I painted the dash and the moldings around the windshield and windows using a black spray paint.

Using the rest of my summer earnings I bought some "cruiser" fender skirts that covered the rear wheel wells and part of the lower part of the car halfway between the rear windows back to the rear bumper. I also bought four "moon" wheel covers from Western Auto. My car was now complete and I was ready to ride!

A few weeks before my birthday dad got a driver's license manual from a highway patrolman to help with my preparation for the examination. The previous summer I had taken a required driver's education course at our high school, therefore, all I needed to do was review what I had learned the year before. In our class we had received considerable driving experience which helped immensely with my motoring confidence.

On the morning of my birthday dad had planned to take me to the driver's license examining office. I woke up early, got dressed, finished my breakfast and was ready to go as he came back from the store to take me. When we arrived at the examiner's office there were only two other people ahead of me, another young male about my age and an older male. I sat quietly reading one of the magazines that were available until the examiner was ready for me. He asked how he could help me. I told him I wanted to take my written driver's exam and my road test to get my driver's license. At this time I knew of no other teenager who got their license in one day. Teenagers usually took the written exam, got a driver's permit, and returned in a few weeks to do the road test. Maybe it was because I asked to take both tests and all the others before me did not. I really didn't know the answer, but when I left that day I had my driver's license and I drove home in my customized automobile. Actually I had a fee receipt to keep with me as proof I had passed the tests and paid my fees until I received the official license in the mail in a few weeks. My big ticket to independence had finally been punched! I wouldn't have to ask anyone at anytime to take me anywhere. I really felt grownup. I always thought mom was pretty strict, but she never said much, if anything about my driving. When I left the house she asked where I was going or sometimes before she asked I would tell her.

I received my first traffic citation before my official driver's license card arrived in the mail. One Sunday afternoon I promised a friend I would drive him to Warrenton to meet his girl friend at the movies after our DeMolay meeting. The meeting ran longer than usual, so by the time we got out my friend had missed the beginning of the movie. On the way to Warrenton I passed every car on the road. All at once my friend yells, "There's a dam cop!" Sure enough I looked out my rear view mirror and saw the silver and black 1959 Ford with the big red light flashing on top of the car. I pulled over and the officer asked for my license, but since I had none yet I gave him the receipt the licensing examiner gave me. He asked our destination and I told him the movies. He gave me a brief lecture about teenagers and cars, then wrote a ticket for passing on a yellow line. He could have given me a speeding ticket because I was driving faster than the posted speed.

After I dropped my friend off at the movies I drove around to try to calm down. I was worried what my parents would do once they found out I got a ticket. I was certain as soon as I got to school the next day everyone would know. As soon as I walked into home room the next day, "I heard you got a ticket, what for?" I didn't keep a tally of how many times I was asked that question but it was more than I wanted to hear. That week I managed to get the $7.50 to pay the ticket at the justice of the peace office. I thought, no dam way can I keep this a secret, but I'm not volunteering any information, I'll just deal with it when my parents confront me. By the end of the week the questions at school had ceased and my parents NEVER asked me about the ticket and I NEVER mentioned it to them.

Sometimes good intentions don't always lead to happy endings. One night a friend and I was cruising town after attending a movie. We weren't ready for a hamburger and we certainly weren't ready to call it a night and go home. As we rode down a street in town my friend noticed who he thought was a classmate sitting in a car beside the road. We rode further down the road discussing whether or not we should turn around and go back to offer assistance especially since she appeared to be a classmate of ours. We decided to go back to see if we could help. As we pulled up to the car my friend rolled down the passenger side window. The driver of the other car also rolled down her window, but we both noticed the woman was not the girl we thought she was. Anyway we offered to help the lady, but she said, "No thanks and that she had lost her keys." We pulled off the road in front of her car and attempted to analyze her explanation. She "lost" her keys, but she somehow got the car to the side of a road and the keys were missing. The story made no sense to us. While we were still discussing her dilemma I looked over my left shoulder and noticed someone was getting out of the other car. I told my friend, "here she comes; I guess she's decided what she wants to do." The next thing I knew my door flew open and standing there was not a woman but a man! He said, "What the hell do you mean by this?" I said, "Nothing, we were just trying to help." My friend repeated precisely what I just said. The man then said, "That's my wife." He slammed my door and walked back to his car. My motor was still running so I pulled the gear shift down into drive and took off. I went down to the end of the street and turned left in the direction of downtown. I asked my friend what the man was doing and he said, "He's right behind us." At that point I was in a panic mode while I was second guessing our stopping to help in the first place. Soon we were downtown and for the next 5-10 minutes we drove around the block where the bus station and police station were located. We hoped the policeman on duty would see this strange behavior and maybe stop us and enquire what was going on. We never considered stopping at the police station, why I'll never know. All this time the man is right behind us honking his horn. You might wonder why someone on the street didn't see this activity and wonder what the hell was going on, but they didn't. As we passed the bus station again I told my friend I was driving to his house. I had to make another left turn and was driving so fast I almost ran into a ditch trying to complete the turn. The man was still right on my tail. When we got to my friend's house we jumped out of the car with the engine still running and ran to the front door screaming and banging on the door. My friend's sister came to the door with a look of alarm as we quickly repeated our story. We looked around and the man had pulled into the yard behind my car. When I saw him I told my friend I was headed for the woods through his the backyard. I was prepared to run through the woods and I was betting the man would not catch me. Before I got to the gate to the backyard the man yelled for us to come to his car. I'm not sure why we complied, but we did. When we got to the car the man apologized and so did his wife. She said, "Sometimes he gets like this," and I thought, what, he sometimes has too much to drink? Anyway he told us he was an auto mechanic in Warrenton and if we ever needed anything to come by and see him. We certainly will! When I got home and went to bed I laid there shaking for several hours. I was a wreck as I continued to go over in my mind what could have happened that night. I never stopped to help anyone stranded beside the road again.

I traded cars frequently. By the fall of 1961, I negotiated with dad to trade the car I had spent so much money customizing for a 1956 Ford Fairlane four-door sedan. I wanted a hardtop, but we couldn't find one for the amount of money dad agreed to spend. We visited several used car lots in a fifty mile radius, but settled on trading at a local car lot.

As soon as we drove the car in the yard and I got out I noticed some rusty places around the headlights. Upon closer inspection I found out that if I pushed on that metal with my finger I could push a hole right through the metal. The whole area around those lights felt very soft. In my compulsion I kept pushing on this area until I created a hole in the metal. I immediately inspected the rest of the car and found more rust on the rocker panels, the panels under the front and rear doors. I kneeled down and pushed on these panels and sure enough, those areas were also soft. I asked dad about it and he told me the salesman said this car came from "up North" and those cars were always going to be subject to "some rust" because of the salt they used on the highways during snowy weather. The salesman assured my dad that the car was "mechanically sound," but the issue here was rust. My dad was reluctant to do more, like return the car and get his money. He suggested that if we took the car back we could not get a "car like that" for that amount of money. I at that point I felt I was stuck with the car. But as I had already learned, identify the problem, don't spend time complaining and bitching that nothing can be done, but figure out a solution, then get to work. I went back out to the car and performed a thorough visual inspection of the rust problems. I went back in the house and got my Warshawsky catalog and started looking for rust repair materials. I found a pair of replacement rocker panels. They fit over the current panels and could be secured with sheet metal screws. Next I found some fiberglass repair kits. The rust repair kit allowed you to get rid of as much of the rust and damaged metal that you could, then using some screen wire you could rebuild the area then fill it in with this fiberglass material. Once the fiberglass dried it could be sanded, then painted. I filled out my order blank, enclosed the money, and took the order to the post office. A few weeks later I received my order. I drove the car into the back yard and pulled as close as I could to be back steps to be close to an electrical outlet. I went inside to get my transistor radio to listen to music as I worked. This had the makings of a long, very tedious job.

First, I removed all traces of rust. If the metal was eaten through I took a hammer and beat out the soft metal until I got to harder metal, which would allow me to attach the screen wire to hold the fiberglass material. The work around the headlights took forever because I had to literally rebuild the entire area to hold both headlights in place. When these two areas had been finished I began work on the rocker panels. I set the panels in place over the older rocker panels and secured them with sheet metal screws. The panels were painted with primer paint so they would have to be painted. Cans of spray paint to match the color of my car were not available, not even from Warshawsky. The only paint available was small cans of touch up paint I could buy from the local car dealer.

How was I going to paint the rocker panels and the areas around the headlights? I couldn't afford to have this work done professionally. I went down to dad's store hoping to find some type of tool that would assist me with the project. When I got to the store dad mentioned that there was a paint sprayer in the back of the store, but that it had not been used in years so it might not work. He was right! The whole system was so stopped up with old paint it would take me longer to clean it, even if I could, than I had taken already on the project. I went to his office and told him the sprayer would not work, but I would figure out some other way to paint the car. I left the store and walked back home as the car was still in the back yard.

I continued to think about how to paint those rust spots I had spent so much time repairing. I went in the house and got out my auto parts catalog and thumbed through all the pages looking for some idea, some way I could get this painting done. I could find nothing except expensive paint sprayers. I got up and went into the pantry hoping that I might find something on the shelves that might work. Alas! There it was, right in front of me on the bottom shelf! A Flit spray can. Flit was a bug spray we used quite a bit to kill roaches. Every night, especially in the summer, roaches, a lot of them, would scurry across the floor when we turned on the light in the kitchen. Whoever turned on the light would go into the pantry get the Flit sprayer and spray as many roaches as you could before they ran under something. I thought, well the sprayer works great on the roaches; it's a sprayer, so rather than spray roaches why don't I use the can to spray paint? I had the solution! The Flit can was mostly full so I decided to invest in a new Flit can. I went to the local hardware store and purchased a new Flit can. I had to go to Warrenton to the car dealer to get a can of touch up paint and some paint thinner. When I got back I poured the paint from the small can into the Flit can and added just a little thinner. I went down to the wood shed and tried the sprayer on a piece of wood. I had to push the Flit plunger handle several times to get the spray started, but once it got going it produced a fine steady mist. I was ready to paint my car.

I intended to paint around the headlights first, but before I could get started I realized I needed to cover up the surrounding areas. I went inside and I got mom to get me some old cloth she didn't need. I came back outside and wrapped the cloth around the key areas. I was ready to begin the spraying. I turned away from the car to pump the plunger enough to get the spray started, and then I turned around and started painting. It didn't take long to complete both sections under the headlights. Then I turned my attention to the rocker panels. I used the old cloth to cover up the surrounding areas before spraying. I primed the sprayer and started to paint. The job was done in no time. I stood back and admired my work. I was so proud of the metal and fiberglass work as well as my creative painting work that I thought, "Dam, I'm good." This repair would hold up and look good until I traded cars the next summer. I hoped the car would give good service to the next owner and that the rust areas would not return.

The last summer I lived at home I pressed dad again to trade my 4-door sedan for a 1957 Ford convertible. I found this car on a lot in Durham one night and even though the car was torn all to hell I thought dad and I could "fix it up" and it would be a great car and besides it was a convertible. Against his better judgment he bought this piece of crap and we spent the rest of the summer trying to get it to run. The engine was pretty shot, so we pulled it out and overhauled it at the store. It continued to use oil profusely and smoked so bad it was embarrassing. We bought a used engine from South Hill, Virginia, installed it, and that engine was just as bad as the original one we overhauled. The summer was approaching an end so we stopped trying to make the car run better so I just drove it, bad engine and all to Oak Ridge. By the time I graduated from college I had bought two more cars.
Chapter 24

My first recollection of any kind of "thoughts" or interest in the opposite sex came the first day of the first grade. When all the students got to the classroom our teacher had us sit in a circle. I remember seeing two girls sitting together directly across from where I was sitting. They appeared to be good friends because they talked to each other the whole time we were doing some activity.They both seemed happy and were "cute." I'm not sure if that was the word I was thinking at the time, but today the word would be cute. As I looked around the room I saw no other females who were as interesting these girls. I did look for them each day in our classroom, but I don't recall ever speaking one word to either of them. I used to lie in bed at night thinking about them and wondering what they were doing in their houses and did they have a better life than I did. At school it always seemed to me that they must have a good life because they always appeared cheerful.

During the rest of my elementary school years thoughts of the opposite sex would come and go, mostly go. I would see the aforementioned two girls every day through elementary school, but my interest in both of them waned. A new girl might enroll and I would give her "the eye" as other the males would, but I would never engage them in any conversation. When I was in the 7th grade a new girl moved into our town and she caught my eye right away. She was taller and wore her hair in a pony tail, which was a unique hair style for our school. She had a clear and smooth face and exuded a pleasant smile. The only flaw that I identified was that she was taller, but perhaps this, over time could be overcome. Yes, she smiled at me every time we made eye contact during that year, but she also smiled at everyone else she made eye contact with that year. There were a few times she would speak to me directly and ask me some silly question or she would just make some silly comment. When I replied it was brief, usually one word. One day while we were getting library books a classmate asked this girl about me and wanted to know if she "loved me" and she said, "no, but he is kind of cute." When I heard that I thought, um, dam, but I didn't know what to do with the information.

We had pep rallies during the school day when our football team had home games. Not only did the high school students participate, but the junior high students were also released to attend. The rallies always took place on the football field, but they were not held if it rained. I had decided that when the right time was available I would "make my move" with this tall girl with the pony tail. I was dam tired of classmates telling me I was shy and frightened of girls, I would show them all, and I just needed an opportunity. After our class was dismissed to attend the pep rally I ran down to the field with some other students to get a seat on the bleachers. There were never enough seats so if you were late you would have to stand. I ran down to the field and secured a seat on the top row of one of the bleachers. Soon, the tall girl with the pony tail came and stood directly behind where I was sitting on the bleacher. I didn't even notice she was standing there until she called to me and asked if there was enough room for her. Wow! Here it is, the opportunity I was waiting for, what would I say, do? I told her, "sure, there's room, come on up." At that point there were several comments from students sitting close to me, but I purposefully tried hard not to listen what they were saying. The next thing I knew the tall girl with the pony tail was sitting to the left of me. The pep rally started. The cheerleaders led the student body through the standard pep rally cheers, some players spoke about the upcoming game, and then the principal dismissed the students to return to class. So, there I was, with the opportunity to "break the ice," say something, anything, and I sat there silent. We all got up and walked back to class and that was it. A few of my classmates expressed total shock that the tall girl with the pony tail sat by me. I never had a real conversation with the tall girl with the pony tail, I never asked her if I could come to her house, I never danced with her after a football game, I never met her at a movie, never did anything, but I thought of her often. Two years later she moved away and I never saw her again.

Between junior high and high school females were often on my mind, but usually that was as far as it ever got. I did not talk to girls, who made dating virtually impossible, but most every other male was dating or trying to date a member of the opposite sex.

In March of 1961 I finally had an "official" date. The date was part of a larger planned event. The event was a one day regional DeMolay Conclave in Durham, North Carolina. The DeMolay was the youth component of the Masons which I was a member. One of the featured events in the afternoon was a basketball tournament between teams from the various chapters. After the tournament there would be a catered dinner by the pool at our motel. The highlight of the activities centered on an evening dance. As we checked in our motel we were directed to a table to select our dates. There were four rows of cards for each high school class and on each card were the name, address, phone number, high school class, and height of females from Durham high schools. Each DeMolay was to select his date by picking one of the cards. The young lady was to be called to confirm the time she would be picked up. I reviewed the cards and selected a junior five feet four inches tall. The four of us who were rooming together went back to the motel room to call our dates. I figured the phone call would be much easier than asking for a date face to face. When it was my turn I picked up the rotary phone and slowly dialed each number. I introduced myself and told her I would like to take her to the like to take her to the DeMolay dance. She indicted that would be fine and asked when would I pick her up. I leaned over and asked the boy who had the car what time did he think we could pick her up and he told me, "around 7:00 pm." I gave her the time then we talked briefly about our schools, what our likes and dislikes were, and then I said I had to go as we were leaving in a few minutes for the basketball tournament. I hoped she thought my participation in a basketball tournament was a big deal, but I did not hear her say, "you're going to play in a basketball tournament? That's a big deal to me; oh I can't wait to be close to you!" I didn't hear any of this.

I was pretty excited; finally I was going to have a real date. I will pick up a girl and take her to a dance and dance. Dance? Wait! I've never danced in my life! But I can do this, I've watched Bandstand, I've watched upperclassmen at post game dances, I'm familiar with the steps, I CAN DO THIS! But now time for another activity I really loved, basketball. I mean, how good could this weekend be, a date for a dance, a basketball game, all you can eat free food, and being around some friends while being away from my parents. I felt really independent.

Our basketball game matched us up against the DeMolay Chapter from Durham. One of their players had a basketball scholarship to attend the University of North Carolina in the fall of 1961. We had "the star" from our high school basketball team. The game started out pretty much back and forth, but with their man to man pressure that we were not accustomed to they wore us down. By the half the team from Durham was in control of the game. I felt pretty good about my play as I was getting the ball up the court and was making shots from all over. I was shooting shots from "downtown" and they were dropping. At the half I had 13 points. The second half was like the first with the Durham team pulling further and further away. I scored one basket in the final minute of the second half and finished with 15 points for the game. Overall, I was pleased with my play and at least I got to play the whole game, something I had not gotten to do as a high school junior.

We left the Y.M.C.A. in downtown Durham and returned to our motel. After we got "cleaned up" some of us stayed in the room and watched TV while others went outside and sat around the pool. In March it was too cold to "take a dip," but later that night after several boys got hold of some beer a few did jump into the pool. After our "all you can eat" dinner we went back to our room to make final preparations before picking up our dates. Final preparations included washing our face, brushing our teeth, putting on a handful of after shave or cologne, and combing our hair. We were ready to roll! We headed down the stairs from the second floor to the parking lot. The four of us piled into the car, my friend had purchased my old car after I had traded it for the 4 door sedan. Once we picked up the four girls we would have 8 people in this vehicle, but no one cared. It might be a plus, especially if we really liked our dates and what better way to be close? One by one our dates were picked up. My date was the second girl we picked up and we sat in the back seat on the right side. Pretty soon all 8 of us were in the car headed back to the motel's conference room where the dance was to be held.

We walked to the conference room which was on the first floor. There were many couples already dancing while others were sitting and chatting. We sat for a while and talked about "teenage things" and then when a "slow song" was played I asked her to dance. I did not ask her to dance when any "fast numbers" were being played because I did not know the steps and had been reluctant to ask anyone to teach me. I regret that to this day. Anyway, I had a wonderful evening and I hoped that she did. At 10:00pm the deejay told us the dance would be ending after the next song, Floyd Cramer's "Last Date," one of my all time favorites.

All eight of us headed for the exit and to the parking lot and piled into the car. There was no good night kiss, at least not given or received by me. One of the boys said he kissed his date, but he was lying. After we got our dates safely returned to their homes we went back to our motel and up to our room for a debriefing session. We all agreed that, if possible, we would like to see these girls again, but living 50 miles away could prove difficult. The next day I was a wreck. All I could think about was this girl! I couldn't eat or think about much of anything else, except her. This went on for days, I couldn't stop thinking about her and the time "I" had. I needed to figure out a way to get to see her again. What would it be? Dam! The prom! The annual junior-senior prom was coming up in a few weeks, I should invite her! In order for this to happen I must call her, but what if I get rejected? I just didn't think I could handle rejection, but I wouldn't know unless I called her. I mulled over making this call for days. Every evening I would go to a phone booth, walk in and close the door, pick up the receiver, but freeze up and not make the call. I realized that if I waited too much longer, even if she did say yes, she wouldn't have time to make preparations to attend. I had to act soon or forget it.

O.K. tonight's the night; I call her and just deal with what she says. I must do this tonight! I will eat dinner first, then head up to the only phone booth in this town and make this call. Dinner is over and I'm out the door and into my car and headed to the phone booth at a gas station on the main highway through the middle of town. If I place this call and one of my acquaintances happens to drive by they will see me. What if they do see me making a call, they might ask me tomorrow who I was calling. A concern maybe, but I have no choice here, this is the phone I must use, and no way could I call from home. Every time I used the home phone my parents wanted to know who I was taking too. They didn't even know I had a date in Durham! I drove to the gas station and about the time I pulled in next to the phone booth I noticed someone was already using the phone. What now, did I pull in and wait, maybe perhaps my appearance would pressure them to end their call. Or should I just drive down the road and come back later. I elected to take a drive. I drove out about 5 miles and turned off on a side road and turned around and headed back into town. Surely, the person has finished their call, after all it cost money. When the booth came into view, there he is still talking! Son of a bitch! O.K., that's it, I'm pulling in. I parked the car as close to that booth as I could to make sure that son of a bitch saw me. It must have been another 15 minutes before I saw the man put the receiver back on the hook and open the door. As he left the booth he saw me getting out of my car and he flashed a grin in my direction. The son of a bitch, I got important business to tend to here!

I dialed the number to Durham. The operator came on and told me it would cost 45 cents to place the call. I deposited the money and heard the phone start to ring. This voice sounded like an older voice, oh me; it must be her mother, who I had met the night I picked her up for the dance. Maybe she's not there, oh shit. I asked to speak to the girl and the lady said, "Just a minute." I could hear her calling her daughter to the phone. Soon I heard her voice and what a wonderful sound it was! We talked briefly about what's going on at our schools, but I was long distance, this call was costing money, so I got to get to the real reason for the call. O.K., do it! I told her the details of our upcoming prom. She replied immediately that she appreciated the invitation, but she "had plans." This is the first time, but not the last when I ask a female out that I will be told, "I have plans." What the hell does "have plans" mean? I mean do you have a date, are you going to grandma's house, you're doing volunteer work, you going to a girls sleepover or what? This pisses me off, "had plans," bullshit. Oh, now I get it, "have plans" means "it's none of my dam business."

She "had plans," so I said, "O.K.," and that I would talk to her later and hung up the phone. I was mad and sad at the same time, but I was sure that there was no one else on the face of the earth that I wanted to invite to the prom, it was her or I would go alone, which is exactly what I did, go by myself. I rented a white dinner jacket with black trousers and a black bow tie and a white cummerbund. Before leaving for the prom mom took a picture of me in front of our staircase. The expression on my face was one of dissatisfaction at being asked to pose for a picture. Once I got to the prom I found several other guys sitting at a table without dates. For the remainder of the evening we sat around the table and evaluated all the couples. in attendance I tried hard to forget that night. I vowed that next year, my senior year, I would not be alone at the prom.

Each year prom decorations were done by the junior class. At least I felt some degree of satisfaction this, my junior year, by helping with the decorations. The real challenge was trying to keep the seniors from finding out the theme of the prom. Our theme was "Evening in Paris." There was a committee that met to decide the prom's theme. For several weeks we went to the gym each night to decorate. I did enjoy helping decorate the gym for the prom, but I don't remember what I was actually asked to do. The focus of decorating the gym consisted of covering all the rafters with tobacco plant bed cloth. Plant bed cloth was a thin material and it covered those ugly rafters quite well. By prom night that gym looked like anything but a place to play basketball.

I vowed that as the summer approached this one date at the DeMolay Conclave would not to be in vain. I would somehow use this experience as a stringboard for my "coming out." The DeMolay Conclave would help me to make the transition from being a "dork" to being a normal teenager. At a DeMolay meeting we discussed sponsoring a teen dance as a way to raise some money. We got approval to hold our dance at the women's club, the same venue for all teen dances on Friday and Saturday nights. Each chapter member was assigned a task and mine was ticket sales. I would be sitting at a table at the front door so I would see everyone as they entered the dance. I believed the teens would know when they arrived they had never seen me at the dances so I needed a response to the question I was likely to get, "what are you doing here?" If asked I would just say, "The DeMolay chapter is sponsoring this dance and I'm in charge of ticket sales." O.K., that was a good line, "I'm in charge, "I like that and it really sounded like a good reason for me being there.

Most of the teens I knew asked the classic question, "What are you doing here," when they saw me at the door. I used prepared response, but I got tired of repeating it. I had gotten through my first dance at the woman's club, but I never danced or even talked to any females. This first night made it easier for me to attend future dances. The next time I would not have to explain why I was there.

Chubby Checker entered the picture to assist me with getting on the dance floor. The "Twist" became a popular dance and I thought it was developed to get people like me on the floor. All you had to do was just stand in one place and move your hips one way, then the other while you move your arms forward and back or swing them around in front of you. Even guys more pathetic than me were on the floor! I owed a debt of gratitude to Chubby Checker. With my new dance skills honed I got bold and started dancing with a girl I knew from school who was a year younger and a really nice person. I never had any "grand designs" for her, we just had fun dancing. I added a girl from my church to my list of dance partners. I knew every week these two girls would be at the dance and would always be available to dance with me. I could be seen on the floor dancing most every dance. I even added my own signature outfit. I wore a red vest with a white, button down dress shirt every week. I thought somehow I was cool! I was looking good and feeling very confident. Now I just needed to ask someone to dance who I might want to take out on a date. This would take a while.

One day that summer of 1961, I happened to pick up our morning paper and on the front page were a picture and an article about the girl I took to the DeMolay dance. She had just been crowned Miss Durham for 1961! I had a date with Miss Durham 1961! After reading about the Miss Durham Pageant I raised the bar on my dating criteria to impossible heights which might make future dating a virtual impossibility. I could not go out with just "anybody, "they would have to meet my strict criteria. Within six months I would re-evaluate and relax my criteria a bit.
Chapter 25

I did well in the classroom my last year of high school. My bookkeeping class was predominately female, but I did interact quite a bit with these women. I use the term, "women" because those females seemed more like women than girls. They looked physically older, acted more mature, were serious in class, smoked cigarettes, and they spoke often about marriage. Two of these women were married so obviously they knew more about everything than I did. There were several more that were either in a long term relationship or were engaged to be married. What did I have in common with any of these women? Not a dam thing, other than bookkeeping assignments which is what I mostly talked to them about, bookkeeping. When we got to class the conversation centered around, "can I see your balance sheet or how did you do that ledger entry, etc, entirely bookkeeping stuff. My desk was in the far right corner next to a blackboard. Behind me sat a woman who was "well endowed," i.e., "she had really big tits." It was hard for me or any other normal functioning male not to go straight to the tits when looking at her. She was a large, though not fat, woman who wore a pair of light blue glasses on a cute face. One day in December I was chatting with this woman prior to the start of class and she asked me if I would like to attend a dance at the National Guard Armory. Now, I was flattered to be asked since this was first, a woman who was asking me, me of all people, out on a date and then she was also willing to pick me up? Um, I quickly mulled over this offer and decided that I was not in her league. I probably knew more about bookkeeping than she did, but I doubted I knew much more about anything else than she did. She was a woman and I felt like I was a little boy. I declined her offer and thanked her for the invitation, for my mother tried very hard to get me to be polite to people. Then our class commenced and we were back on studying bookkeeping.

This story did not end after class. When we returned from Christmas break I noticed this woman's desk was empty, matter of fact, her desk was empty for days. I finally asked another "woman" in the class where the classmate was and I was told she got married. "When did she get married?" I inquired and was given the Monday after the weekend she asked me to go with her to the dance at the Armory. This story is over.

Another Christmas holiday was over and I knew that within a year I would be in some college. I still had no idea about college, but our home room teacher, who was the principal, told us one morning that if we expected to enroll in a college next fall we needed to write for catalogs, applications and register for a test he called the S.A.T. (Scholastic Aptitude Test). At home we never discussed any details of college other than I would go because my rich relatives from Richmond, Virginia had set up an educational trust fund for me. My parents never suggested a college or offered to take me to look at a campus or talked about entrance requirements or the S.A.T. test or anything else. I suppose they were trying to reinforce my independence and sound decision making. Every day I wrote letters to colleges requesting catalogs and anything else they wanted to send. As soon as I put new requests for catalogs in the mail I would get several in the mail that day I looked at the pictures and read the entrance requirements in every catalog and I concluded that that college was the place for me, except I reached the same conclusion for every college catalog I reviewed. At one point I was scheduled to attend about 25 colleges as they all looked like just the place for me to further my education. I soon realized that I needed a process to reduce the number of possibilities from 25 schools down to one. First, I would rule out all the four year colleges where my classmates were going. This list included N.C. State, the University of North Carolina, and East Carolina. I added two popular junior colleges, Chowan College and Louisburg College to my list. Second, I decided against any schools in North Carolina that upon further scrutiny I found their catalogs were just not of good quality. Third, I had never been away by myself for more than a night or two, so maybe I needed to remain in the state of North Carolina. Fourth, maybe I needed a really different experience, something unusual. There was one school left on my list, a very unusual place with a nice catalog. They had nice pictures on every page! No one was going there from my class and no one from my school had ever gone there. Why would they, it was a military school. What? I thought I wanted to attend a military school? Why? Well, I thought back, I really enjoyed the "army pictures" I used to see at the local movie house. As a kid I liked to play army. I had been in the Boy Scouts and they were, in some way, like the army plus I had been in the Rangers, a paramilitary youth organization and I liked all that stuff. What else did I need to make a decision? Money was not the issue, the cost didn't matter, and my rich aunt and uncle had that covered. My decision was reached; I would apply for admission to Oak Ridge Military Institute for the fall of 1962! I completed the application form, enclosed the admission fee and drove to the post office to mail the entire package that day.

Our principal provided the dates for the S.A.T. so I registered for the test scheduled in October in Henderson. There were no pre S.A.T. courses or any other preparations, so I had no idea what the test would be like, but I did find out that there was a math part and a verbal part. On the day of the tests I went with a friend to the testing site. We found the room and went in and identified ourselves to the proctor and waited. When everyone had checked in the proctor gave us the instructions then issued the test booklet and we started. It took most of the morning to complete the battery of tests. Before we left the proctor told us we would receive our scores in approximately 8 weeks. The principal received the scores and issued them to the males in his home room then went across the hall to issue the scores to the female home room. The numbers didn't mean anything to me for I had no reference point, but as we compared our scores I quickly discovered I did not make the top score, nowhere near the top, more like near the bottom. I wasn't all that worked up about the numbers because I had read the college catalogs and I knew that schools looked at several criteria in determining student acceptance, so I liked my chances of getting accepted to Oak Ridge.The work was done. My application, admission fees, current transcript, and S.A.T. scores had been forwarded to Oak Ridge. I thought the admission decision shouldn't take long, but I didn't know for sure. There was absolutely no conversation during dinner about admission to college. After all these years of eating dinner every night we still had nothing to talk about. One day I got home from school and there it was lying on the dining room table, an envelope from Oak Ridge Military Institute. I looked at the envelope for a moment, then tore open the end and pulled out a one page letter. The letter was short and to the point, the Oak Ridge "officials" had decided to accept me for the 1962 fall term. They did mention more information would be sent later. I didn't jump up and down or anything; I just selected a college to attend, applied, and got accepted. Now I was back to a bigger issue, still trying to figure out how to get a date. Part of this dilemma was there wasn't anyone at school that I was interested in asking out. I still liked the girl in Durham but after a letter or 2 and an unannounced pop in visit by me, "we" moved on.
Chapter 26

The reminder of the fall of 1961 was uneventful. I attended most of our school's football games, but I was rather indifferent about the outcome. They won 5 games and lost the same amount. I continued to go to the teen dances at least one night per week. I seldom went both Friday and Saturday evenings. I still liked to go to movies, but mostly the Sunday matinees. I had started going to dances at the Rec Center in South Hill, Virginia. I never went by myself, but I never had any problems finding someone to go with me. The Rec Center had a dance hall and a bowling alley. I never bowled there; I just went to try to meet girls at the dance. One particular boy usually went with me. He went "steady" for a while with a girl he met at the Rec Center. I supplied the car so he could see her at the dances each week. One night I got some courage and asked a girl to dance and we really hit it off. We danced all night and I even danced the "bop" to the "fast" songs. I faked it but nobody cared, I just slid my feet back and forth. I left with the U.S. Bonds song, "Quarter to Three" they played all night ringing in my head as I drove home. When I hear that song today I sometimes think of that night. This evening would be the first of what I would call my "one night stands," nights where I met a girl, had a great time, left on good terms and agreed to see her again and yet, for some reason(s) never saw her again. I wrote this girl and she'd write back, but we just never got back together at the Rec Center. I would go a few more times to the Rec Center, but never saw her there. When basketball season started I did not return to South Hill.

Christmas came again and I checked it off, one more Christmas in the series. My mother took me to find a new outfit, a forest green boat neck sweater, a pair of dark brown slacks, and two tattersall shirts. Christmas morning, as usual, my outfit was lying out on the couch. Merry Christmas!

Just before Christmas our basketball season had started and we had won four games while losing two. I was, once again, consistently watching more than I'm playing. My expectations for playing were low since I did not play baseball in the spring and football in the fall. The coach was not going to stop me from being out there unless he kicked me off the team, but he didn't have to let me play.

I continued to perform well in the classroom and when I was at home I was usually upstairs listening to my radio. The only time I came down stairs involved food, to eat dinner or to get a late night snack. I occasionally came downstairs for TV, but I wasn't watching much TV. I continued to attend some of the weekend dances and danced with the same two girls as I had the previous year. Thanks girls for being there!

At the dances I began to notice this red haired freshman girl. I never asked her to dance, but I did notice who she talked to when she was there. Most of the time when she danced she danced with other girls, which was an O.K. thing to do. When we had our school breaks most students went to a little store across the street. The athletes would have a cigarette and the rest of us would get a Pepsi and a Moon Pie. After returning from the store I noticed the red haired girl was standing next to the radiator just inside the door. She spoke first and after that I looked for her each day during break to say "hello. "

I went to the dance Friday night and the red haired girl was there. I danced with the two girls I usually danced with. I noticed she was sitting with another boy, who was a friend of mine. They never danced they just sat and talked. I didn't think anything more about it and continued to dance with my two friends. I found out the next week that she was actually "going steady" with the boy.

Several weeks later I went to the dance and the red haired girl was with her girl friends, not with the boy. I found out that they had "broken up." I decided to "make my move" so I went over and asked her to dance and she accepted. We were together the rest of the night. Before I left the dance word came to me that I had better not come to the hamburger joint after the dance because if I did the boy she broke up with, a "friend" of mine, was going to whip my ass. Why, I wondered did he want to whip me, they had broken up, and so what was his problem. Anyway, the dance ended and I told her goodbye and went straight home. The next day I called the boy to enquire as to what his problem was the previous night and he had calmed down and apologized. Later I recommended a girl he should call for a date, which he did and years later I was an usher at their wedding.

During our school break time I would meet the red haired girl and chat. I found out that since she was a freshman her mother would not let her date. She told me I could come to her house on Friday and/or Saturday nights or we could just meet each other at the dance. I offered to come to see her on the following Saturday night and she told me she would check with her mother to see if it would be alright. The next day at break she told me I could come. What was it about this girl that I liked? I can't describe it in any detail, but I did develop an attraction to females with red hair, she had it and I liked it. She also had freckles and I liked those. Other than that we liked the same music and that was about it.

I would continue to go to her house on Friday and/or Saturday nights for several weeks and one night I gave her my school class ring to wear around her neck. This ring would identify to all concerned that she was going steady with me. After all this time, with less than 2 months before my graduation from high school I was finally going steady with a freshman girl I couldn't even take out on a date. I had progressed from dating Miss Durham to a freshman with red hair and freckles who couldn't get in a car with me. It was working though as we made plans for the junior-senior prom. Her mother would let her go with me if and only if another couple went with us. Of course I agreed to this, I just had to find the other couple. When you had the car this problem did not take long to solve. Within 2 days I had the other couple lined up. Prom night arrived. I got dressed in the same outfit I had rented the previous year, the white dinner jacket with the black trousers. I went downstairs to retrieve the corsage I had purchased earlier in the day out of the refrigerator. I went out to the car, cranked it and headed out to pick up my date. She was ready when I got there. I gave her the corsage and she went to get her mother to help her put it on. After her mother took a few pictures we walked out to the car. We picked up the other couple and drove to the prom which was still held in the gym. The prom theme was Mardi gras and we had a real band instead of a deejay. The food served was forgettable. Around 10:00pm the four of us left the prom and headed to the cemetery to do something neither I nor the red haired girl had done. Taking a date to a cemetery was called "parking," which the minimum exercise was "making out" or kissing each other for a reasonable amount of time. The other couple started making out as soon as they got in the car. When we got to the cemetery I drove around looking for the "perfect place," a place where I could see other cars coming in so if I needed to I could quickly start the car and drive off before they identified who we were. I was a little concerned that being out in the dark at a cemetery a weird person would sneak up and kill all four of us with a baseball bat, but after our first kiss I forgot about all the killer. That's about all I remember, a few kisses, and then we were gone in about 15 minutes. That was the end of the evening's activities as I took the other couple to the girl's house. The boy's parents were to pick him up later because I had told him earlier I planned to stay a while at the red haired girl's house so he needed to plan for another way home.

I stayed at the red haired girl's house until around 12 midnight, and then I left and headed for a party at a classmate's cottage at the lake. When I got there everyone was with their dates because everyone else was dating upperclassmen, not freshmen. I thought about this, but I really didn't care because I liked the red haired girl. I got home at about 1:30am and the next day I turned my attention to the senior trip.

The next Wednesday the senior class departed for Washington and New York on the "senior trip," an annual junket. Sometimes students had to pay additional money to go on the trip, but that depended on how much money the class had raised in the four years of high school. We left on a chartered bus early Wednesday morning to spend two days in Washington and two days in New York. I had already visited both cities with my parents. The bus route went through the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia; consequently it took most of the day to get to D.C. We did manage to get to Washington in time to see the Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln Memorials before we drove to the Arlington National Cemetery to witness the changing of the guard. This was a most impressive ceremony. A soldier marched back and forth in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier until he was relieved at the end of his shift by another soldier. After the ceremony we drove to our hotel and checked in. There were four students assigned to a room. We decided to attend a baseball game at D.C. Stadium between the Washington Senators and the Chicago White Sox. I think the White Sox won the game. We walked back to the motel from the stadium through a scary neighborhood and went right to bed. It had been a long day.

The next morning we toured the White House, which was much easier to get access to enter than it is today. We had our class picture taken on the Capital steps. The last tour we took in Washington was the Bureau of Printing and Engraving where we got to observe money being printed. I thought that was the most interesting site in Washington. By the middle of the afternoon we left for New York City. We arrived on New York around 5:00pm and checked into our hotel in mid-town Manhattan.

After we got settled in our hotel a classmate and I decided to venture out alone. We walked up and down the streets of Manhattan taking in the sites before we stopped to eat at Tad's Steak House. We had a New York strip steak with baked potato for $1.79. After dinner we just walked some more and observed the sights. Before we knew it we were on 42nd Street. There was a famous club called the Peppermint Lounge we had heard about in the famous song, the Peppermint Twist by Joey Dee and the Star lighters. We went in and were promptly asked to leave because we had no jackets, but at least we could say we had been to the Peppermint Lounge. We walked back to the hotel and went to our rooms. The other two boys had returned and after we talked briefly about what we had seen we turned in for the evening.

The next morning the entire class took a tour of the city. The first stop was the Empire State Building where we took an elevator all the way to the top to get a view of five states. We got back on the tour bus and were transported to a ferry that took us to see the Statue of Liberty. We walked up to the top of the Statue. We took the ferry back and then rode to Greenwich Village where I saw my first schizophrenic. We passed Yankee Stadium, but did not stop, but it was a treat for me, being a Yankee fan, to see where the Yankees played. We got back to the hotel early afternoon and were on our own for the rest of the day. It was strange to me that we were "on their own" in New York City.

A friend and I spent most of the afternoon shopping. We went to Macy's, Gimble's, and Sak's 5th Avenue. I bought a small gift for the girl with the red hair at each store. I didn't buy anyone else anything. I put a lot of thought into these gifts. The girl with the red hair would be surprised and I hoped she would like the gifts I bought. That night we ate near the hotel, walked some more, and returned early to our room. The next morning, Sunday, we ate breakfast then hopped on the chartered bus for home. We rode for most of the day, but were back home before dark.

Son of a bitch, I'm not home 10 minutes when the "friend" who used to date the girl with red hair was at my house to tell me that while I was gone the girl with the red hair called him and asked him to come to see her. It took a minute to process what he was telling me, my girl friend, the one I am going steady with, the one who wore my class ring around her neck, the one I took to the prom a week ago, the girl I bought gifts for in New York, that girl with the red hair, invited you, a so called friend, to her house and you went? You went to see her? My girl friend? You are my friend and you went to see her? This was a little too much to take. After he told me "the news" he left. I felt that he was really happy that she asked him to come to see her. I could not understand why a friend, a person that I had done many things with, driven him to movies, dances, and anywhere else he wanted to go, did this.

What was I going to do? Well, I went back in the house, talked to my mom about my trip, and then had dinner. I knew I had to confront the girl with the red hair about this "invitation." I called her and asked if I could come to see her. She checked with her mother then told me I could come, but I couldn't stay long since school was the next day.

I left the house and got in my car and headed to the girl with the red hair's house. I had no clue as to what I intended to say to her, it would be difficult. I felt I had done everything the right way, which maybe was the problem. I was always on time when I went to see her, left her house on time, talked to her parents when I visited, was nice to her little brother, took her to the prom, and brought her gifts from New York and now I find out she asked another boy, a "friend" to come to see her while I was gone.

When I got to her house I gave her the gifts. One by one she opened them and seemed pleased. Then I asked her about the "visit." I do not recall how she explained to me why she invited this boy to see her while we were still going steady and I was out of town. I do know near the end of our talk she told me she didn't want to go steady again. I refused to hear this, did not accept this and told her to think more about what she was saying and that I was leaving. Driving home I hoped that this relationship was not going to end, but I just didn't know what would happen. We talked on the phone every night that week and by Friday night I felt like the end was near. I went to her house that night and stayed just long enough for her to tell me again, "I just don't want to go steady anymore." She gave me my class ring and I got up and stormed out of the house. I got in the car and roared out of the driveway and headed to the end of the street. As I turned out on the highway I was screeching tires.

I drove to the dance. The girl with the red hair arrived later. I was really pissed off at her. I started dancing with a girl from Warrenton. After the dance I took her home. I felt like I had been shit on and I felt really bad. I had a classmate at that time that felt my pain and he tried to help me move on. Over the next few weeks he had his girlfriend set me up with several dates. I will always appreciate what he did for me, a friend, a true friend who was there in time of need. I did not date anyone more than twice so as to not get "too attached" to any one person. Many of my dates were double dates to the drive in movies. Once I got to Oak Ridge I had no idea what the dating scene might be as there were no coeds on campus. I did assume we would be allowed to leave campus and I might get to meet someone interesting. I wasn't all that concerned about it at the time. I continued to attend the Friday and/or Saturday night dances. During the summer the dance location moved from the woman's club to the old movie theater, which had closed in 1958. This venue just wasn't the same. The intimate setting was not there. Teens gravitated to one end or the other and the rest of the floor was vacant. There was more lighting which gave the impression of a sporting event rather than a teenage dance. I did attend a few dances at Pine Lake, Virginia, but I never met anyone or even danced.
Chapter 27

During the summer of 1962 I drilled wells with my uncle. My father did not get along with his brother, but his brother was always kind to me. When I was younger he took me to see several professional wrestling matches. He was really into this charade, but I just went along because it was something to do. His favorite wrestler was Johnny Weaver. In addition to Weaver the wrestlers we saw were Argentine Rocca, who fought using his feet, and Pete Managoff. The matches were usually held at Raleigh Memorial Auditorium. We would leave after work and get back home before 11:00pm. We drilled 3 wells that summer, two near our home and one in southern Virginia. I was beginning to think that the well drilling business was not for me. There was a lot of sitting around watching a drill bit go up and down into a hole in the ground. Approximately every hour we would "bale out" the hole by pouring water down the hole then lowering another tool into the hole to remove the water and mud. This tool had a plunger on the end and once it hit the bottom of the well it would get pushed back up into the casing which opened the end to allow water and mud to enter. Once the baling out was completed and the drill bit was inserted back into the well, we sat down for another hour. I worked all summer making 50 cents per hour drilling wells

I got a letter from my rich uncle in August wanting to know how much money I would need for my year at Oak Ridge Military Institute. This was a good exercise for me as it was the first time in my life I had to prepare and manage a budget. I pulled out my O.R.M.I. catalog and turned to the college expenses. I found the amounts for room and board, tuition and fees, textbooks, laundry, uniforms and miscellaneous items. The catalog also mentioned students should have money for "incidentals," an allowance. I itemized my list of expenses and sent the list to my uncle. In about 10 days I got a check for the entire amount. I had never seen a check for this amount of money. I felt powerful and very independent. I drove to the bank and deposited the check in my account. The college had deadlines for making payments and I wrote personal checks to make these payments. I enjoyed shopping for towels, sheets, underwear, and other articles I needed for college. I solicited no one's assistance with this task, I was on my own, and I was financially independent, at least as long as the money held out. I requested an allowance of $5.00 per week and my uncle sent me that amount for the number of weeks per semester. I learned quickly how to manage this money for an entire year. Sometimes I would not spend my allowance money for an entire week so that the next week I would have $10.00 to spend rather than the $5.00.

One day I received a letter from the Oak Ridge Admissions' Office informing me when I needed to arrive for the fall semester. The arrival date was shortly after my 18th birthday, which was pretty uneventful. When I was a kid my mother had given birthday parties for me, complete with birthday cake and friends bringing birthday presents. By the time I was 10 years old I had no more birthday parties. As a teenager I don't even remember getting a birthday gift, but let's assume I got something, maybe some money.

I was getting excited about leaving home, but I did feel some anxiety about moving to a place I had never seen. I never asked my parents to take me to visit this campus and they never asked me if I wanted to go check it out. All I had was the pictures from the O.R.M.I. catalog. I didn't think a lot about the day to day aspects of military life. I wished the hell I had.

By the time I finished I realized I was taking a lot more stuff than I imagined, but then I thought if I didn't have a particular item I would have to buy it. I got up early the day before I was to leave for Oak Ridge. I tried to plan how this last day, the last day at this address, this room, this place in time, would need to be spent. I was beginning to realize by tomorrow my life would never be the same again. I was trying to decide whether or not it even mattered. I had nothing to compare it to, so I just focused on this day, this last day. I drove to my grandfather's farm, my place of peace and solitude, and walked through the woods and fields. The farm was a place where I could be alone, a place to collect my thoughts and work on life's problems. After leaving the farm I drove over to Kerr Lake. I wanted to go to the lake one last time because it was another place I went to "get away." I drove across the dam, which is supposed to be a mile long, and headed for North Bend Park. I parked the car and walked down to the water and just looked out across the lake. The lake that day was very calm as I looked out across the water for the last time. I reflected on the time my granddaddy's brother, my uncle took me fishing on this lake, the one Sunday dad's brother, my uncle took my sister and I out on a boat he had built, the camping trip with the Boy Scouts when I got suspended for laughing, the senior class picnic, the Sunday afternoon "spins" dad had taken us on, and all the other times I had driven over that dam to the park I was now standing in, looking and thinking about tomorrow and how all this would be in the past.

As I drove back to town I passed my grandparents' house and thought about stopping and saying good bye, but I did not. When I got to the stop sign rather than turn left to go home I turned right and drove to Henderson. Henderson was always a place I liked to go because it was a larger town. If I really wanted to "splurge" on a night out I would go to Henderson. Henderson had more stores, a nicer movie, a drive in, and better hamburger joints. I drove through the downtown area, turned left on Dabney Drive and drove past the Hardee's, turning left to get back to Andrews Avenue and return home.

By the time I got home the morning was over. What was I going to do that afternoon? After lunch I went over to a friend's house to say goodbye. I was at his house for about an hour. I went back home and started to pack my car since I didn't want to in the morning. Late in the afternoon I sat with my mom on our big front porch for it would be a while before I had another opportunity to sit on the front porch and watch the world go by. After about an hour of sitting on the porch my mom went in the house to finalize our "last supper." Before long my dad got home from the store and we all three sat down to eat, with as usual no conversation. I don't remember any special dinner on my last night at home, but I know I ate it as I always had. After dinner we went back out to sit on the porch until it got dark. I had no evening plans so I expected to be at home for the rest of the evening. The phone rang so I got up and went into the hallway to answer the call. The call was from the girl with the red hair. She asked if I would like to come to see her. Now why, after what she did, why now, is she on the line asking me to come to see her? I told her I would be there in about thirty minutes. I guess she caught me in a moment of weakness.

I have no recollection of the conversation we had, none at all, but the outcome was that we would be writing to each other while I was attending Oak Ridge. I left her house at about 10:00pm. I headed back into town, but before going home I decided to drive over to Warrenton one last time. As I was driving back from Warrenton I had the radio on and as I looked out my car window I noticed there was a full moon. While I drove I continued to look back and forth between the road ahead and that full moon and thought as I had earlier that tomorrow everything would be different. A new chapter of my life was about to begin in less than 8 hours. I pulled into the drive at my parent's house and slowly got out of my car that dad and I had worked on most of the summer and walked up the sidewalk to the steps in front of our house. I looked to the right in the direction of the main highway and thought of all the nights that I slept to the noise of this road. Within 24 hours I would not be hearing these sounds, there would be different sounds. I reached for the door and entered the unlocked house. Our house was never locked except for 4 days in the summer when we went to Carolina Beach. The hall light was on so I turned it off and walked through the front room that was seldom used into the dining room. My parents had already gone to bed so I turned on the TV and went into the kitchen to get a last snack of whatever sweets I could find. I went back into the dining room and watched the TV, but I don't recall what I watched. After consuming my snack I put my dirty plate in the kitchen sink and went back in the dining room to turn off the TV. I had to turn on the front room lights and the hall lights before turning off the dining room lights so I could see how to get to the stairs. As I walked through the front room I extinguished the lights on the way to the staircase. The stairs featured a two-way switch so I could turn off the hall light from the top of the stairs. Once I was upstairs I walked into my room and turned on the light, then returned to turn off the hall light.

Once in my room I thought of the Beach boys hit song, "In My Room," which is a song about the importance of having the privacy of your own room. This room had been special to me for the past four years and after tonight the next time I spent a night in this room I will sleep here as a guest. It took years for me to get this privacy and tomorrow I will give it up to share a smaller space for a year with someone I don't even know. I took off my clothes and put them away and selected the clothes I would wear to Oak Ridge the next day. The room was hot so I walked into the hall and turned on the air conditioner window unit. I had kept my underwear on because that what I slept in. I hadn't slept in pajamas since I was 7 years old. I pulled back the spread on my bed and lay down on the soft, white sheets. I looked over at my radio and thought about turning it on, but the songs that got me through the past few years would not be heard, so instead of reaching for the on switch on the radio I reached for the off switch on my table lamp. It was now dark and I needed to go to sleep. I couldn't help but think about the visit to the girl with the red hair and about the beginning of the next phase of my life. The next part of my journey was about to begin.
Chapter 28

The day had arrived for me to depart for Oak Ridge Military Institute and begin the next part of my life. I got up early and finished putting a few more things in my car. My mom was working on my last breakfast as I ran up and down the stairs with more stuff. My dad had gone down town get some gas for his car and to stop by the store to assign the day's jobs for his workers. My parents would drive their car and I would follow in my car. I was finishing breakfast when my dad returned while my mom did some last minute "primping." After my mom washed the dishes we were out the door and ready to drive to Oak Ridge.

I saw a younger friend walking to school when I was driving out of town so I threw up my hand and he waved back. We turned right past the lumber supply store and past the houses of two uncles and my grandparents and soon we entered Interstate 85 headed south. We drove through Durham and as we did I thought of Miss Durham of 1961. I wondered how she was doing and where she might be attending college. I saw the directional sign for Greensboro indicating to stay to the right. I had been this way a few times with my parents, but I never paid any attention to the signage from the back seat. As a driver I was more observant of the landscape and the road signs along the way. We seemed to drive and drive forever. I didn't realize the place was that far away.

When we drove past Greensboro I saw dad's right turn signal on his car so I engaged mine as we pulled off the interstate and down the ramp. When we got to the stop sign I noticed the Oak Ridge sign with an arrow pointing to the right. We turned onto a two lane road and after about a mile I saw another road sign, Oak Ridge, 7 miles. Since I was focused on getting there and getting settled in I didn't pay too much attention to the surroundings. After 7 more miles we came to an intersection with a Town of Oak Ridge sign. There was another sign with Oak Ridge Military Institute on it with a right turn arrow. We turned right and I noticed a small brick building that was the town post office. Next to that building was an old two story frame structure. The sign on the front of this building read Cadet Shop. Attached to the other side of the building was a barber shop. This shop looked like it had been added to the rest of the frame structure at some later date. I passed a wooden structure I assumed was a dorm and it looked like it had been there for a while.

My dad turned left into a parking lot in front of a large old brick building. There were several other cars already parked. Once I got closer I noticed that the sign over the front door said Alumni Hall. We got out of our cars, looked around at what we could see of the campus and walked to the front door. Once we got inside we noticed a man dressed in a military uniform seated at a table. He spoke to us and we returned the acknowledgment. He gave me a sheet of paper with a list of things to do along with directions to the places I was to go. I left my parents at Alumni Hall for I had the list and there was really nothing for them to do. The first stop was the business office. I had already paid all my fees, but I learned how I could deposit money and draw off the account. I opened an account and wrote a $50.00 check as my initial deposit. I was given a room key to my dorm room in Brooks Hall directly across the street. The next stop was the admissions and registrar's office where I registered for my classes. O.R.M.I operated on a quarter system where you enrolled in fewer courses but met more often and finished the term earlier than with a semester system. I signed up for M.S.T. I (Military Science and Tactics I), which was a required course that would teach me all kinds of army stuff. The remainder of my course schedule included English Composition, Business Mathematics, and Accounting I. I went to the bookstore also in Alumni Hall to get my books.I walked across the road to my dorm room to put up my books. I returned to my car and unloaded my belongings and took them to my room. At this time I did not know where my parents were, but I was in my independent mode completing the list of things to do. After a couple of trips back and forth to the car I had all my stuff in the room. I had thrown most of my stuff on the top bunk bed. My roommate, who was from Greensboro, had not yet arrived on campus, I had never slept on a top bunk bed before so I thought this might be fun. I returned to the Alumni Hall to another room to pick up my uniforms. I had sent my size requirements to the school so all that was necessary was to confirm the sizes were correct. Included in the clothing allotment were 2 pairs of light weight pants, 2 pairs of wool pants, 7 cotton shirts, 1 pair of military fatigues, 2 neckties, 1 web belt, 2 Garrison caps, one "parade" hat, 1 rain coat, 1 wool jacket, and 1 pea coat. Students were expected to bring all other necessary clothing articles with them. I had my hands full, but I managed to get these clothes back to my dorm room. The last stop I had to make was the infirmary, a white, cinder block building next to the post office. I did not notice this building when I first drove into the campus. I had to complete my medical history on a form plus who to notify in case of an emergency. I left the infirmary to find my parents. When I got back to Alumni Hall I found them inside walking around looking at the pictures of former battle group commanders. I told them that I was finished with my list of things to do so they could leave anytime they wanted. We exchanged our goodbyes and they got in their car and drove out of the parking lot in direction of the intersection.

I was now on my own for the first time in my life. There was no one to watch over me and tell me what to do. No one to tell me when and what to eat or when to go to bed! I was free! I was completely wrong! When I picked up my uniforms I was told to be in my uniform and be in front of my dorm by 5:00pm. I had been back in my room for about half an hour when a guy taller than I and with a short crew cut walked in with his hands full and spoke to me. He was my roommate from Greensboro. We chatted briefly then he told me would see me later because he had to get checked in. I told him he needed to be in uniform and in front of our dorm by 5pm.

I went across to Alumni Hall to get my car to move it to the campus parking lot located behind the infirmary. Once I got to the parking lot there was a cadet sitting in a folding chair holding a clipboard. He took down some pertinent information about my vehicle, and then told me what the rules were regarding having a car on campus. After this day I was not allowed to drive my car at any time until Saturday morning after inspection. On Saturday my car needed to be back in the parking lot by 1:00am or I would receive enough demerits to be confined to campus on Saturdays for a long time. What happened to that freedom I thought I was getting when I left home? I was thinking I must have picked the wrong school.

I left my car in the parking lot and walked around the remainder of the campus. The campus was not that large so it didn't take very long to complete my tour. All of the buildings were old, very old. I went inside the gym. It reminded me of several of the old high school gyms I had played in, a smaller court, poor lighting, and wooden backboards. I walked downstairs to get a view of the pool that I would never get in. After leaving the gym I walked to the other end of the campus past the barber shop and into the Cadet Shop. There wasn't much to look at in the Cadet Shop. There was a juke box in the middle of the room and off to the side was a counter with a few cases full of merchandise students might need to buy. I noticed an ice cream case and a soft drink machine. That was about it. I left and walked past the dining room, which was located in the bottom of Benbow Hall. Across the street and to the left of Alumni Hall was a large two story mansion. I did not know what this house was for there was no sign. I would learn later it was the "Ghost House (not sure why it was called the Ghost House)," and was the residence of the president of O.R.M.I. I finished my tour of the remainder of the campus and was really thinking about those vehicle rules. Last fall when I was looking at the O.R.M.I. catalog I did not remember any information regarding restrictions on driving a car. Since I received my driver's license in August of 1961 I drove whenever and wherever I wanted. Now I was being told I cannot drive my car except on Saturdays? I spent the entire summer thinking about having more freedom and independence when I got to college. Here I was, at college, and my freedom and independence was being taken away. Maybe I should have checked this place out more thoroughly or at a minimum taken a day and driven up here, but here I am, I picked it and my uncle has paid for it.

When I returned to the dorm my roommate was back so we talked about ourselves and about our observations of this place. Soon other students on the hall came into our room to introduce themselves. The two students who lived directly across from us were our hall leaders. They told us they "ran" the hall and beginning immediately after dinner when they came into our room we had to get up and stand at attention until they told us to "rest." They were "authorized" to come into our room at any time, day or night, without knocking and we had to jump up and stand at attention. They mentioned that at 10:00pm. All radios and lights were to be turned off and we had to go to bed, except for Saturday night. They made it sufficiently clear that their relationship with the rest of us was not to be all that cordial.

Most of the other boys we met that afternoon were from towns in North Carolina that were fairly close to the campus. I met several from South Carolina, Virginia, Pennsylvania, and even one boy from New York and one from New Jersey. Most of the boys I met on the first day seemed to be normal functioning human beings.

As the five o'clock hour approached my roommate and I dressed in our lightweight uniforms. We put on our "summer" caps and headed downstairs as instructed earlier. Once outside we were organized into squads of 11 cadets each. Each squad was led by a squad leader, who was a "second year" cadet. I was assigned to the first squad and my roommate was placed in the fourth squad. We were taught how to perform certain formation commands, such as, attention, dress right dress, at ease, right face, left face, about face, and hand salute. They explained that to "stay in step" when marching you had to start with your left foot, then your right foot, while listening to the cadence call by your leader. If you got "out of step" you placed your right foot behind your left and did a skip to get back in step. Once we had practiced these commands our group marched across the road to Alumni Hall.

Once we were all assembled in our companies in front of Alumni Hall a cadet made some announcements to the entire battle group. He told us he was the battle group commander and that we were divided by dorms into companies. There was Company A, B, C, D and Band Company. I was in Company C or Charlie Company. Each company was led by a company commander. The battle group commander was the only cadet on campus who had the rank of colonel. I wondered how one got to be a cadet colonel.

We were told that we were to assemble in front of Alumni Hall before each meal. Another high ranking officer would be reading any announcements before we marched to the dining or "mess" hall. Each morning at 6:00am the cadet bugler would play "Reveille" which was a call to "rise and shine." After Reveille the bugler blew 1, 2 or 3 short sounds that designated which uniform we were to wear for the day, 1 for summer uniform, 2 for winter uniform, and 3 for raincoats.

The colonel explained the demerit system. If cadets got demerits they had to appear before the campus court held right after lunch in Alumni Hall. The resident adult executive officer with the rank of major served as "judge" and if he ruled in the cadet's favor the demerits were removed, but if not, if cadets had 10 or more demerits within the six weeks grading period they were restricted to campus on Saturdays and were required to attend a study hall plus perform certain other assigned campus chores. You could receive demerits for just about anything an upperclassman wanted to "stick" you for. I learned early that if a cadet got on "the wrong side" of upperclassmen with rank they could be put through pure hell. I witnessed several instances of such actions.

After announcements we were called to attention by the colonel, then with the band company playing, company by company we marched to the mess hall. We were dismissed one company at a time to enter the mess hall. We were on our own to select a seat. Once we reached a table we had to stand at attention at our chairs until the warrant officer in the mess hall announced "take seats." Once we were seated the warrant officer said a brief prayer, which after hearing it 300+ times I memorized it, "Our Father make us thankful for these and all the many blessings, we humbly beg for Christ's sake, amen." What did this mean, begging for Christ's sake? I don't know, but I had to hear it before I could get some food. At the head of each table was an officer who usually started serving the family style food. Of course, he filled up his plate first before passing it down the table. Any food bowls at the other end of the table, if there were any, could be passed by any cadet sitting close to the bowl. Most of the bowls seemed to be confined to the end of the table where the officer was sitting. The first few weeks I got practically nothing to eat for by the time the bowl got to me it was empty, especially at breakfast. The empty bowls were given to the cadet waiters who would bring additional servings to the tables, but this was never done fast enough. Many mornings I left the mess hall hungry. If I were at home my mom would make sure I started the day with a good meal, now I'm here in college and my rich uncle has paid good money and I don't even get to eat! What a pile of shit! But I learned, boy I learned, I got into the mess hall as quickly as I could and found a table with an empty chair next to that dam officer. My missed meals were reduced substantially.

After dinner the cadets were generally free until 7:00pm. Then all cadets were confined to their rooms for closed study. We were allowed a 15 minute break at 8:30p.m. We could go to the restroom or latrine as it was referred to, to other cadets' rooms, or go down to first floor and get a soft drink from a vending machine. At 8:45pm our hall leaders yelled for us to return to our rooms until 10:00 pm, which would be our last break until 6:00 am next morning. That first night I stayed in my room and talked to my roommate while organizing my clothes in one of the closets. By the end of the first week our hall leaders came to our rooms to show us exactly how everything should be arranged prior to Saturday inspection.

The next morning, the first morning away from home I was awakened by the sound of the bugler blowing Reveille. One short blast at the end of Reveille signaled we had to wear our summer uniforms. I was up and dressed in 10 minutes and following a bathroom visit I was ready to go downstairs. I waited for my roommate before leaving our room. When we got downstairs we walked across the street to the front of Alumni Hall. The bugler signaled us to "fall in." We found our companies and our squads and fell into ranks just like we had been told the previous day. Our company commander yelled, "Charlie Company attention!" Then he yelled out, "dress right, dress." All cadets in the squad turned their heads to the right lining up on the first man in the squad until the line was straight. The commander then yelled, "Ready, front," and our left arms would fall to our sides and our heads would turn and look to the front. We might stand at attention for a while, but the commander might call, "company, at ease," meaning we would extend our left leg out with our right leg remaining steady with our arms behind our back and clasped. We could move around and talk, but we could not move the right pivot foot.After the announcements all companies were called to attention, and then company by company we marched across the street to the mess hall. After breakfast we returned to our dorm for "police detail." All first year cadets had to go around the dorm picking up cigarette butts. What a crock of shit! Then we were released to return to our room to straighten things up before attending our morning classes in Alumni Hall.

As the day wore on I began to yearn more and more for home. I was not used to such a rigorous, tight schedule nor was I accustomed to being yelled at and told what to do and how to do it. I didn't come here to be taught organizational skills, hell, I had reorganized my dad's store and I had rebuilt cars. I0 also didn't need any discipline. What the hell I was doing here?

I was really hating all this shit by the second day and wishing I could leave. I was under a rigorous schedule with a lot of yelling. By the third morning I was seriously trying to decide how much longer I could take this shit. After lunch I walked to the post office, but there was no mail. I walked out of the post office and looked to the right at the infirmary. I knew the parking lot was behind the infirmary. I didn't see anyone near the parking lot so I walked to my car and the next thing I know I'm cranking the car and driving out of the parking lot. When I got to the intersection I'm still pondering my move as I look back at the campus, then I turn around and turn left for Interstate 40. I was feeling somewhat guilty yet relieved as I got closer and closer to Interstate 40. I turned onto the interstate and headed east. What I would tell my parents when I got home? By the time I reached Durham I still had not yet decided what I would tell my parents. began to cry because I didn't really know what I wanted to say or to do. I had wanted to be independent for so long, but I still didn't have it

Another hour passed and I turned off Interstate 85 and headed for Norlina. When I got to Norlina I turned right onto Highway 158 past dad's store and I noticed his car under the shed. I made a left turn onto Main Street and into our yard. I ran into house crying which scared the pure living shit out of mom. She had no idea. She tried to find out what was going on, but I was crying too hard to be able to explain. I was finally able to say that I hated Oak Ridge and I wanted to quit and come home. Her response was about the money. My uncle had spent a ton of money to send me to school and now I wanted to come home. She had no idea if any of the money could be reimbursed. She wondered who was going to contact my uncle to inform him about my decision. She mentioned that we'd talk more when dad got home. At this point I went upstairs to my old room, fell across the bed, and continued to blubber. Soon a "friend" noticed my car and came by to see what was going on. I was really embarrassed for him to see me crying. This was the same "friend" who went to see the girl with the red hair, while I was on my senior trip. I had lost trust in him as a true friend and felt he would relish a chance to tell the world what he saw at my house. But he was there and he saw me crying and I told him I had left school. He was gone by the time dad got home from work.

I heard the front door open as I continued to lie on my bed. I figured dad would come up to my room as soon as he got the lowdown from my mom. Sure enough he was up the stairs in a jiffy. He asked me what had happened and I repeated the story I presented to mom. As has already been mentioned, my dad was a man of few words. The room was quiet for what seemed like a full minute, then he gave me a profound message, "well, if you don't go back the dam army will draft you!" Man that hit home! That summer I had registered for the draft and I knew boys who had already entered some branch of the military in order to avoid conscription. This message came in loud and clear and I knew the last thing I really wanted right now was to be drafted. I mean dam, if I couldn't last 3 days at a military school how could I last in the army. Would I go AWOL, get caught and maybe face a jail term? I began come to my senses.

By the time I came down for dinner my dad had called the "major," and told him what had happened and the major told my dad he "understood," and if I decided to return by Sunday evening I would not be punished. My dad called my rich uncle in Richmond and told him what I had done. My uncle was not pleased, but my dad told him he "felt like," I would be returning to O.R.M.I. within a few days. By the time we had finished our dinner I told my parents I was sorry that I had essentially "run away," but I would be returning late Sunday afternoon.

The next bad decision I made that day was to call the girl with the red hair and ask to come to see her. I went to her house in my uniform. I don't remember the exact story I told her, but I am sure whatever I told her was consistent with the story I told my "friend" because I believed he would compare stories with the girl with the red hair at some point. I had rekindled this relationship by going to her house the night before I left for O.R.M.I. and now a week hadn't passed and I was back on her doorstep. I had decided to give this relationship another shot, but I was not sure why.

The next four days flew by and before I knew it was Sunday. After eating Sunday lunch I told my parents to be ready to go to Oak Ridge by 4:00pm. I was going to see the girl with the red hair and I didn't want to have to wait for them when I returned. Mom replied, "what do you mean, we, you will be returning by yourself." This parental response was consistent, I presented a problem, they listened and it was still my problem to solve. I think I knew what their response would be before I asked about their returning Oak Ridge with me, but I guess I had hoped they would have a change of policy. I told my parents I would not be back by the house before driving back to Oak Ridge.

After leaving the girl with the red hair's house I drove straight to Oak Ridge and arrived about 11:30pm. Once the car was parked I had to enter a small building in front of the lot to check in. I walked in and stood at attention in front of the desk, saluted and waited until the officer on duty returned the salute. Then I said, "Sir, cadet (your name, last name, then first initial and middle initial) request permission to check in, sir." The officer found my name on the roster and checked me in. We exchanged salutes and I left the parking lot.

I walked back to Brooks Hall and up the two flights of stairs to my room. My roommate was back so I had to rehash the "incident" with him. Soon the two hall leaders came in from across the hall and I repeated the story for their benefit. I repeated this story several more times before the requests for explanations ceased. After returning to campus I still had my good days and my bad days. There were days I wished I was somewhere else, a college campus I mean, not Vietnam. I would continue to write letters and call home expressing my displeasure, but always mom was quick to point out that of all the schools out there to select I picked Oak Ridge. This place was MY choice and she had me there. If I dropped out I was likely to be drafted, my uncle would lose a bunch of money and it would be highly unlikely that he would ever pay any more of my college expenses. Although my parents never told me, "we will not pay for your college education," I always assumed they would not. My decision had been reached, I was determined to stay a cadet until the end of the school year and I would look into my transfer options for next fall as soon as possible.

Prior to Thanksgiving break I was thinking about transferring to another college. I had given some thought to North Carolina Wesleyan College in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. I had requested a catalog and upon a thorough review I felt this could be the place. What really attracted me most was the campus, it was all new having first opened its' doors in 1956. The enrollment was approximately 700 full time students as opposed to about 200 cadets at Oak Ridge, so Wesleyan was larger but not that much larger. I had contacted the Wesleyan Admissions' Office and requested an appointment over the Thanksgiving break to discuss a possible transfer. I requested the Oak Ridge Registrar forward my transcript to Wesleyan. The appointment was confirmed for the Friday, the day after Thanksgiving.

When I got home on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving I told my parents about my meeting at Wesleyan on Friday. If I was accepted I intended to enroll there for the fall of 1963. My mom was pleased because her sister had recently moved to Rocky Mount so she thought that could be a plus. On Friday I drove the 45 miles to the Wesleyan campus located on Highway 301 North on the outskirts of Rocky Mount. I had no problem finding the admissions office as there were not that many buildings. I walked into the main office area, identified myself and told the receptionist I had an appointment with the Director of Admissions. I took a seat and in a few minutes a man came out of a side office and walked over to where I was sitting. He introduced himself as the Director of Admissions and directed me to his office. He provided an overview of the College, with some emphasis on the programs of study. He examined my transcript from Oak Ridge and informed me that the courses I had taken would transfer. I was pleased when he told me the course in Military Science and Tactics would supplant Wesleyan's physical education credit. He told me that I should expect a final decision on my admission status before Christmas. We concluded our meeting in about an hour and I left his office. I walked around the campus and when I left that day I had a good feeling about attending N.C.W.C.

By the time I headed home for Christmas break I would know whether or not I would be accepted to N.C. Wesleyan College. Each day I couldn't wait to get to the post office and check my mail. As we got closer to our last day before the break I still had not received a letter. I tried not to think about it, but I did. While I felt good about my chances to be admitted I could not be sure until I got that letter. One morning I looked at the December calendar in my dorm room and I realized that I was about to begin the final week of classes and I still had not received a letter. I had decided that if I didn't have a letter by the time I got home for Christmas I would call the Admissions Office.

On Tuesday of the last week before our break I walked to the post office to get my mail. I noticed one envelope in my box with a return address, Admissions Office, N.C. Wesleyan College. I laid my other mail down on the desk in the post office and quickly tore into the Wesleyan envelope. The letter was from the Director of Admissions. I spread the letter out on the desk to scan the page for the word, "accepted." About half way down the page I spotted, "accepted for the fall semester, 1963." I was extremely happy and wanted to share this news. I rushed back to my room and found enough loose change to go back to the Cadet Shop to call mom. When she heard the news she was as excited as she was capable of being. All I needed to do was finish this year as a cadet at Oak Ridge Military Institute.

I performed well in my courses and by the end of the first quarter I had a "B" average, which is exactly the average I had in high school. I continued to write the girl with the red hair and every Saturday after inspections I would drive home to see her. I would spend a little time at my parent's house then I would leave for the girl with the red hair's house. I would stay at her house until 10:00pm. It would take me two and a half hours to make the trip back to Oak Ridge and I never failed to return by the 1:00am curfew. When I drove back to Oak Ridge I had trouble staying awake. I still have this problem. tried many things to stay awake, like turning the radio up really loud or sticking my head out the window. I even stopped at a rest area bathroom and soaked my handkerchief with water and put it on my forehead, but that didn't help either. Finally, I learned that if I stopped the car and walked around for a while, bent my head down close to my waist, I could get some relief. One night my right rear brake cylinder burst just outside of Greensboro causing me to drive into the parking lot using the emergency brake to stop the car. That week my roommate fabricated some story to get the major to allow him to leave campus to take my car to an auto repair shop in Greensboro. By Friday my car was fixed and back in the lot. My roommate was compensated for his fine work. He was a good roommate.

As these Saturday trips home continued I started to think more about this relationship. The girl with the red hair never did anything else that I needed to question, but I still didn't trust her, therefore, I was looking for an exit strategy. Since she was the only girl I had ever "gone with" I had no experience to draw from that could be used to help me with a break-up plan. We had a Christmas dance at Oak Ridge and I invited the girl with the red hair to attend. She stayed with a female classmate of mine from Woman's College in Greensboro. I had a nice time at the dance and I guess the girl with the red hair did. After Christmas my letters "suggested that it was indeed healthy when people are "allowed" to "meet other people" and I further hinted that sometimes people needed to "move on." I think she got my drift, because shortly after a few of those letters, during one of the Saturday visits we broke up again. I don't recall our position statements, but the break up was mutual and this time I was not angry nor did I squeal any tires when I left her house. When I returned to campus I felt a burden had been lifted and perhaps I had wiped this "in the past" slate clean, maybe I was growing up, now wouldn't that be nice? I was ready to get out, see and do new things, and meet new people. I was resigned to the fact that I was going to be a cadet at Oak Ridge Military Institute until May, 1963.

Dorm living during those winter months was hard. The institution shut the heat off every night at 10:00p.m. It was turned it back on at 6:00am. So for eight hours our rooms were very cold. We had wool army blankets for our cots, but I never had enough of those blankets to keep me warm. Most nights I would curl up in a ball up like a dog to try to stay warm. In the morning when we heard Reveille it was hard to get out of bed because the floor we stepped on to felt like a block of ice. Our clothes were also very cold and in order to put on our uniforms we had to take off our pajamas. I remember vividly getting up one morning and trying to look out of our dorm window. I could not see anything because the inside of the window was covered with ice. I had never seen ice on the inside of a window before, nor have I since. Our winter uniforms were quite warm once we got them on. Those 100% wool pants would rub the hair off your leg but they were warm. Our outerwear pea coats were also very warm. It was not a lot of fun standing in formation in front of Alumni Hall when the temperature was in the twenties. Thank goodness the mess hall and our classrooms in Alumni Hall were warm.

I had settled in to the daily rituals and learned to tolerate the activities that were a pain in the ass. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we had drill after our first morning class. We assembled in front of Alumni Hall, marched down the highway to the drill field, which was located on the other side of the gym. We had to learn drill movements with our "weapons" as we were required to call the M-1 rifles. I could stand the drilling twice a week, but the chore I hated most was every Friday afternoon we had to "clean our weapon" at the armory. First, you had to completely disassemble the weapon and clean every bit of oil off of every part. Then you would stand in line with all the parts until a high ranking cadet inspected every dam part. More often than not he would find a little bit of oil on a part and send you back to clean that part. He approved nothing until every bit of oil was removed from every part. Sometimes the lines were long and there were never more than 2 inspectors. After getting your parts checked off you went back to your station and "oiled your weapon!" We just removed all the oil, now we have to put oil back on every part! Once this task was completed we got back in line to get the oiled parts inspected and often the inspectors found either too much oil on the parts or not enough. I hated this as much as anything I have ever been forced to do.

Friday nights were spent preparing our dorm room and hall for Saturday morning inspection. We checked all of our clothing to make sure everything was folded properly and the clothes that were to be hung up were hung in the proper order. All shirts on hangars had to have the buttons buttoned. How stupid was that? We had foot lockers at the end of our bunks and we were required to organize the contents of the locker in a particular way. The collar brass for our shirts had to be cleaned with Brasso brass polish we purchased from the Cadet Shop. Our two pairs of shoes had to be spit shined. I always had problem getting a real good spit shine on my shoes, I just never seemed to get the hang of the proper mix of Griffin Shoe Polish and spit. Maybe there was a problem with the spit. We dusted the room and mopped the floor then waxed it with bowling alley wax. That was the slickest floor I would ever walk on; I guess that's why they use bowling alley wax to wax bowling alleys.

After our room was cleaned we were assigned other chores on the hall, including the one bathroom or "head" as it was called. There were 14 boys on our hall and one bathroom. If you got head duty you cleaned the floor, the shower stall, the commode, and the urinal. The urinal was the most fun chore; it was a large sink with a brass bar that stretched across the top with water running down to flush the piss out. In order the polish the brass bar you had to take your hands (no gloves were available) and unscrew the bar at one end. Then you took your Brasso and a rag and rubbed the bar until it was shiny. After cleaning my "weapon" this was the second most hated task I performed, but I did not have this duty every week.

After breakfast Saturday morning we returned to our rooms to get ready for inspection. The inspections were done by higher ranking officers and every week they rotated among the dorms. Some weeks you would get "an easy inspection" and the next week it might be the reverse. When the inspectors came in the room we jumped to attention while they inspected our uniforms, in particular our split shined shoes and our collar brass. Then they looked at how we made our beds, checked the clothes in the closets, checked the contents of the foot lockers, and checked for dust around the room. When all of the inspections were completed we would have 15 minutes before our companies assembled in front of Alumni Hall for inspection in ranks. The officers checked our uniform just like they had in our rooms. They inspected our weapons for dirt or too much oil, fingerprints or whatever else they wanted to be picky about. They checked each cadet's hair because each week we were supposed to get a haircut at Smitty's. What a gig for Smitty, the barber, an immured clientele. I found out that not everybody got a haircut at Smitty's each week. In some cases a cadet would get his roommate to give a slight trim using a pair of scissors. Others might try to use an electric shaver. Sometimes if the inspecting officer determined a cadet had their hair cut this way he would issue demerits, i.e., "stick a cadet." Once or twice I got bold enough to try an electric razor. When I was inspected the officer looked at my hair and asked, "How long ago did you get a haircut?" I replied, "The first of the week sir." This response was the truth, I did cut my hair the first of the week, but with my shaver, but he didn't ask how or where I cut my hair, but when did I cut my hair, to which I answered, "first of the week, sir." Sometimes you have to lie. I also had an extra dollar in my pocket that old Smitty didn't get.

After the inspection in ranks the cadets were dismissed to do whatever they wanted wherever they wanted as long as they were back on campus by 1:00am. Most of the cadets with cars went one of two places, home if they lived within a reasonable distance, or to Greensboro. The time spent in Greensboro was split between Woman's College (W.C.) and Ham's beer joint. After I returned from the Christmas holidays I was content just to stay on campus and relax. Since most everyone was gone the campus was pretty quiet. I would work on class assignments, listen to ball games, or just take a nap since the heat was on during the day. I wanted to meet other girls I was not in a big hurry.

As the winter quarter wound down I became more interested in going to Greensboro. One day I was talking to a friend on the hall about girls we knew in Greensboro I told him I had a classmate at Woman's College and on Saturday perhaps we could go see her. He thought that was a good idea, consequently after inspections on Saturday my friend and I took his car to Greensboro. We got to the dorm at Woman's College around 2:00pm. We explained to the girl on duty at the front desk who we wanted to see. My female friend was paged and soon she came down to see us. We talked a bit about our first year in college and about how some of our high school classmates were doing. The conversation shifted to our evening plans. I told her that we didn't have any other plans. At the time she was "going with" a male so I didn't consider asking her out on a date. She offered to get both of us a date, so without hesitation we accepted her gracious offer. She said she knew of two girls on her hall that might want to go out. She told us to wait in the reception area while she went to her hall and ask the girls if they were interested. My friend returned and informed us the girls would like to go out, but they were "not available" at that time to come down to meet us. We agreed to pick them up by 7:00pm. We thanked my friend and left the dorm. I felt really good about "taking charge" here. I had managed to leave the Oak Ridge campus, visit a female classmate who I had no real close ties to, and secure dates for my friend and me.That night we arrived at W.C. about 6:45pm. We walked to the dorm and sat down in the reception area until about 5 minutes before seven. I approached the girl on duty and provided the names of the girls to page. In about ten minutes a hall door opened and two girls came out. We had on our cadet uniforms so the moment they spotted us they knew we were their dates. We got up and walked over to where they were standing and we introduced ourselves. We had been told the names of each girl by my friend earlier and which one would be with me and which one would be dating my friend.

We planned to take these girls to the drive in movie. This venue was always a good place for a first date because if the date "wasn't working" for either party all one had to do was just sit there, watch the movie and soon the whole evening would be over. No other living souls would have to see who was in the car. If things were "going well" there could be an opportunity for "making out" or who knows what. My friend was driving and once we got parked his date slid across the seat next to him. As we were discussing our college experience thus far, our backgrounds, and anything else we could think of, my friend's date asked about getting some beer to which my friend responded, "I'm a teetoler." The girl immediately slid back across the front seat and that pretty much set the tone for the rest of the evening. We left right after the movie and took the girls back to their dorm and were back at Oak Ridge before 11:00pm. We never dated either of these girls again.

When I observed the first green grass sprouting up from the ground in March I realized that I would indeed "make it" through the rest of the year. I felt I had endured the worst. The weather had improved. I had maintained a "B" average throughout the quarters. I had continued to meet and spend time with new cadets. I had no problem with the "military life" since most of it had to do with organization which was one of my strong points. I was going off campus more on Saturdays. I was feeling good about how far I had come and I even briefly, very briefly, contemplated returning for another year. I realized the "second year" cadets had some perks the first year cadets did not have. If you made your two ranks the first year, private first class and corporal, which I made, then you had an excellent chance to be a squad leader if you returned for the second year. Squad leaders got to go off campus on Friday nights and they got to sit at the head of the table when we had meals which allowed them to be served first. I weighed these few "perks" against a normal college where you could go and come as you pleased and it was a no brainer, I would definitely not be back.

As May approached there were two big campus events remaining to be held. Parents were invited to the annual Mother's Day Parade. While on campus they would visit the cadets' dorm rooms to get a taste of our life in these small confines and to eat some of the food in the mess hall the cadets had to endure. Actually, most of the food served was quite good. Our parade dress uniforms additionally included a white cover over our officer's hats, pants called "white ducks," and a pair of white gloves. I thought we all looked pretty sharp. I was proud that I was going to finish the year as a cadet at Oak Ridge and my parents would see that I had embraced whatever Oak Ridge had to offer. My company marched 2to the drill field where the parents were seated on some bleachers. Once all the companies were on the drill field the battle group performed drill movements we had been practicing twice a week since August. After we completed these drills we were dismissed to eat and to spend time with our parents. I found my parents and walked with them back to their car as they were ready to return home. I didn't get to show them my dorm room or eat with them in the mess hall. I told them I would be home in a few weeks. My mom informed me that sometime in the next few weeks dad would take her to Jacksonville, Florida to be with my sister for the arrival of her first child. After saying our goodbyes they got in their car and left for Norlina. They had stuff to do. I noticed after we were dismissed many of the cadets were leaving campus with their parents for the rest of the day. I returned to my dorm room to change out of my dress parade outfit and into my summer uniform. Almost everyone on the hall was gone, but I found one cadet in his room listening to the radio. We decided to ride into Greensboro to get some food, since the mess hall would be closed that night. After riding around Greensboro for awhile we stopped at a hamburger joint and got a burger and some fries then returned to campus. That night as I lay in bed I felt pretty good with where I was, the year was almost over, I had performed well in class and with the military regimen on campus, and I had applied to and been accepted to a "regular" college for the upcoming fall term. Within 3 weeks I would be packing up and returning home for the summer before looking forward to a new college experience in August, 1963.

The last "big event" on the Oak Ridge calendar was the annual U.S. Army inspection of the R.O.T.C. program. This was real, real U.S. Army commissioned officers were coming to campus to perform an in depth inspection of every phase of the military components of this school. Included in the inspection was a review of the M.S.T. curriculum, the army instructors, the organization of the armory, the battle group organization, and finally inspecting the cadets in their dorms and in ranks. Their visit would be the next to last week of the school quarter so we would spend that time doing nothing but preparing for their visit. Clean, clean, shine, shine, more clean and more shine is all we did. We also practiced our drill movements as we provided a battle group parade to demonstrate our competencies to the visiting team. During our regular weekly drills we were informed that there would be a drill competition after the parade as part of the criteria used to determine the "cadet of the year." The army officers would evaluate not only cadets' drill competition, but achievement in both military and academic classes, overall disciplinary standing, and inspection in ranks and in dorm rooms. I didn't give much thought to being the outstanding cadet of the year, I just wanted to get the year completed.

After a final day of marching on the drill field, cleaning our weapons in the armory, cleaning our rooms, the latrine and the halls, and preparing organizing our own personal items we felt we were ready for inspection the next day. We turned in at the usual time of 10:00pm. The next morning when we got up I happened to look out our window and noticed two cows tied to separate columns at Alumni Hall. My roommate and I got dressed and hurried down the stairs and across the lawn in the direction of our formation area in front of Alumni Hall. Several cadets already there were laughing and pointing at the cows. Since this was May the weather was warm and the smell of fresh cow shit was pervasive. I saw several piles of cow shit, some on the ground in front of Alumni Hall and some on the steps. Soon the major arrived to access the situation. I wasn't close to where he was standing but by his body language I could tell he was not happy. We fell in to our companies, heard the morning announcements about last minute preparations for our military inspection, and then we marched over to breakfast. Once we got seated and started eating the major got up from his seat and spoke to the cadets. He let it be known that he would find out who was responsible for tying those cows to the columns and they would be punished. He mentioned how totally disgusting the act was and it might have implications as to whether or not O.R.M.I. was reaffirmed as a military school. Without the army supplying the staff to teach the M.S.T. classes, providing the supplies and materials, such as M-1 rifles, O.R.M.I. could not continue as a military institution. So, the point was made, this stupid act with the cows was serious, but for now the cows were being moved to another part of campus until the school staff could determine the rightful owners, which should not take too long since there were only 2-3 dairy farms in the immediate vicinity of the school. The other immediate chore was the removable of the cow shit. The small maintenance staff at the school was hard at work with this chore, so by the time we left the mess hall all that remained of the cow shit was the smell, which permeated throughout for the remainder of the day. By the time we left campus for summer break I had no knowledge of who the perpetrators were and I never did find out who was responsible. If the school officials ever did find out I wonder what the punishment was. Anyway, it certainly was a funny site that morning to see and hear these cows and to see and smell all the piles of cow shit.

The military inspection, once it got started moved quickly. Inspectors came to our rooms as our own officers did every Saturday, but didn't stay long. Soon we were out in formation in front of Alumni Hall for inspection in ranks. While all this was going on other inspectors were inside Alumni Hall interviewing staff and checking records.

The last events were the battle group parade and a drill competition on the drill field. There would be 2 army inspectors for each company who would start drilling the cadets. Then they would slowly take cadets out of formation as they failed to display proper drill techniques. One by one the cadets were falling by the wayside. My company of 44 cadets was soon down to 22, then 11, then 5 and one of those last 5 cadets was me. The inspectors merged our 5 with the 5 from the other 3 companies making 20 cadets still in the competition. The inspectors put the 20 cadets in a circle then called out more drill movements for us to execute. They were going around tapping cadets on the shoulder and one by one the circle became smaller and smaller until it was a circle of 5, then down to 2, I was one of the 2 remaining cadets. Are you kidding me? Me, was I that good in military drill with an M-1 rifle? Dam right, I was, I could do this shit! At that point the other cadet and I were at attention. The other cadet had been our company's first sergeant, who was second in command for our company. He had been a cadet for 3 years. At that time Oak Ridge Military Institute offered grades 9-12, a college prep year for high school graduates, and a 2 year junior college. The cadet had three years of military experience at this college and I was completing my first year. During the late fall term this cadet was busted for having alcohol on campus and he was sent home for a week and given 40 demerits. When he returned to campus his rank of first sergeant had been reduced to private first class plus he had to work off those 40 demerits on Saturdays in closed study halls. So the award for "most outstanding cadet at O.R.M.I. for 1962-63 was between me and a cadet busted for alcohol. I liked my chances and as the week ended and we began our last week I was confident that when the winner of the outstanding cadet was announced my name would be called. All my cadet friends supported me and told me they were sure I would get this award. My confidence was soaring, what a way to go out!

The final week of school had begun and all that was left was final exams, two more days of drill, our day to day rituals, and the announcement of the outstanding cadet. The last day of the term was Friday and at retreat on Wednesday it was announced that the outstanding cadet would be named at Thursday's retreat. I had twenty four more hours to wait, but I still felt confident. Thursday came and it had seemed like a really long day. I had one exam in the morning and one in the afternoon. The bugler signaled us to retreat at 5:00 pm as he had done all year. By this time Friday night the entire campus would be vacant. The battle group was commanded to fall in and the final announcements were read. I expected the outstanding cadet to be named at the end. The other cadet, the one who was given the 40 demerits was in ranks in the 4th squad in the rear of our company that day. After finishing the announcements the officer then said, "and now the outstanding cadet of O.R.M.I. for the 1962-63 school year is...," and I didn't hear my name, but the name of the other cadet, the one who had received 40 demerits, restricted to campus on Saturdays, and had his rank reduced to a private. I was devastated to say the least. As the officer concluded his final remarks we were called to attention to march across the road for our final dinner. I was really upset, pissed off was a better description, but there was nothing I could do.

After dinner I went back to my room to finish my packing before heading home the next day. Several cadets came by to tell me I had gotten "screwed," but that I was the "best," which was little, if any, consolation to me at that point. I was ready to leave; they could have this dam place. The prevailing opinion about choosing that other cadet over me was that he "was returning" next year so they felt that giving this award to a returning cadet indicated more "loyalty" to O.R.M.I. and the entire mission they were about. I had no idea whether or not this opinion was even close to how the decision was determined. At no point did I consider going to talk to "authorities" on campus about how the decision was made. Had I decided to return would I have been selected? I realized as I had already learned that just because you do the best you can and go "by the book" things don't always turn out the way you want them. I tried to view being "No. 2" as not as bad as being one of the first cadets pulled out of ranks in the drill competition, but No. 2 was not as good as being No. 1.

The next morning after the last Reveille I would ever hear at Oak Ridge we marched across the road for our last breakfast. By this time I was getting as much food as I could eat. We were free to leave campus as soon we finished breakfast and packed our cars. After a year of driving home on Saturdays, writing and calling my parents telling them I did not want to be here, the drills, the cold rooms at night, the cleaning of my weapon every Friday, and now I'm in no hurry to leave. Dad had called me earlier in the week to tell me that when I got home Friday we were to leave for Florida to see my sister's new baby. Dad had driven mom down earlier in the month to help out with the baby. I said goodbye to the boys who were still on the hall as I continued to take my belongings to the car. My roommate suggested when we left we should stop and "have a cool one" at a place called Long's out on highway 220. He said it wouldn't be out of my way and it would be the last time we'd see each other, at least for a while. I told him I would and when I finished packing my car I followed him in his car to Long's. Long's was a beer joint and looked like the type of place you might have to shoot your way out of, but when we got there it was about 1:00pm., so I didn't think much more about the looks and feel of the place. My roommate drank a few beers while we talked. I had experienced my dad's abuse of alcohol so I had no interest in consuming any booze at that time. After chatting for at least an hour I told my roommate I had better get going as dad and I were driving to Florida as soon as I got home. We exchanged goodbyes and agreed to stay in touch. I got in my car and drove back out onto highway 220 in the direction of downtown Greensboro. I had no trouble connecting to I-40 which would take me to Durham where I would connect with I-85 to take me the rest of the way home. I got home around 5:00 pm and my dad was livid. He'd been waiting all day and wondered where the hell I had been. He never told me what time he wanted to leave so I was in no big hurry to leave Oak Ridge. Anyway, I quickly unpacked my car including my dirty clothes and repacked some clean clothes and we headed out to Jacksonville, Florida. This would be my second trip to Florida. As we drove down the road I reflected on my year at Oak Ridge, and then daydreamed about all the family trips we had taken.
Chapter 29

The first family trips I recall took place in the early fifties. My grandparents accompanied my family to Ocean View, Virginia. We got two rooms at some big house on the ocean that provided 3 meals per day. This trip marked the first time I had ever seen the Atlantic Ocean. The first time we went down to the beach I loved standing in the water until the last minute then jumping out of the way of a crashing wave. One time I didn't get out of the way fast enough and was knocked down and dragged under the water. This frightened me and I was more cautious after that. Dad brought some old inner tubes for us to ride the waves. I used the tube some, but was a bit uneasy because I couldn't see the ocean floor. Mom actually got on an inner tube and I have the pictures dad took of her on that tube. You'd have to see these pictures to believe it, she was just not a risk taker. Dad was bold and could swim a skill I never acquired. Every morning and afternoon we would go down to the beach. Dad bought me a spade and bucket and I enjoyed filling the bucket up then dumping the sand out. My grandparents spent most of their time sitting in the rocking chairs on the big wraparound porch. The dinners were O.K. if you liked fried fish. When I found out I could get ham for dinner that's what I ordered every night. One night we went down to an amusement park. The only thing I remember about the park was my daddy walking up to mom with some drunken guy and saying, "Here's one of your relatives." Both of my parents looked very uncomfortable while this man stood there. Finally he staggered off down the boardwalk.

The next summer we went to Old Point Comfort, Virginia and stayed at the Chamberlin Hotel. My grandparents again traveled with us. We had to take a ferry to Old Point Comfort. I did not like this ride because the water was rough causing the ferry to sway back and forth the whole way. I was relieved when my dad drove the car off that ferry. We drove and drove as we liked to do and then drove some more. I really had to pee, but I didn't tell anyone. I held it and held it, how I do not know. When we finally arrived at the hotel desk to register I was jumping around trying to hold it. Mom inquired as to what was wrong. "Do you have St. Vitus Dance?" She asked. I said no, but I finally told her that I had to pee badly. When we got to the room I ran past everyone to the bathroom. I think I pissed 5 gallons that afternoon.

The hotel had a lounge where you could watch TV and have an adult beverage. I know because I saw people sitting and holding beer bottles in their hands. The ocean was too rough while we were there so we elected to use the pool. One day we went to Jamestown, Williamsburg, and Yorktown. All of these towns were of historical significance. Jamestown was the site of the first permanent English settlement in the colonies. Williamsburg was the capital of the Virginia Colony, and Yorktown was the site of the Moore House where the treaty was signed to end the Revolutionary War. I thought this history stuff was interesting. We also rode out to Langley Field which was the site of an air base. One night we all went to the movie to see Samson and Delilah. My grandfather liked this movie because it was a story from the Bible. I didn't like it because there was too much killing and some people were just too mean to Samson, I mean putting his eyes out was going too far! This trip was the last vacation trip I took with my grandparents.

In the late fifties and the early sixties an association of well drillers had an annual convention at Carolina Beach, North Carolina. Dad started taking us to this convention in 1958. We usually stayed for 4 nights. I looked forward to these annual junkets. When we arrived at the beach dad gave me some money for my meals and entertainment. I felt very independent to be able go into a restaurant and order a meal and have one person, especially a girl, wait on me, now that was special. I usually ate dinner with my parents, but other than that I didn't see them very often while we were at the beach. Dad even paid for my own room. No kids I knew got those kinds of perks. There were several things I liked to do at Carolina Beach. There was an arcade near our hotel and inside the arcade was a baseball game that I could not play enough. If you were proficient in getting base hits, like a real game, you could continue the game. I spent much time and most of my money at the arcade. The other activity I really enjoyed was at the beach. For 50 cents you could rent a "surf raft" for an hour. The raft was used like a surf board except you laid on it. Grabbing both sides of the raft belly down I tried to catch a wave and ride as far as I could. The hour went really fast.

At night I liked to walk around the boardwalk watching the girls while listening to music coming out of the Ocean Plaza Ballroom, a dance venue for adults. How I longed for the day I would be old enough to go to the Ballroom. I also liked to walk out on the pier and observe the fishermen. I was always impressed with the people who had three or four poles in the ocean at the same time. From the pier I had a great view of the boardwalk and part of Carolina Beach.

After I got my driver's license I rented scooters and rode all over Carolina Beach. The last two years we vacationed at Carolina Beach I was allowed to invite "friends." The year I was a rising high school senior my guest and I managed to meet some girls and have dates the last night. The whole date consisted of the four of us walking around the boardwalk from 7:00 pm to about 10:00 pm, then sitting in the rocking chairs on the big front porch at the hotel. The next day we departed for home. I wrote this girl for several months, but I never saw her again.

The other family trips were taken during our Christmas breaks from school. For some reason in 1957 dad got this wild idea that Christmas afternoon would be a good time to take a trip to Florida. It was not his style to seek input from other family members about this or any other junket. He just told us we were going on a trip and that was the end of it. When we traveled we always got up about 4:30 am to leave. I never liked this but I had no voice in the decision. We drove and drove, until dad either had to pee or was hungry. No one else ever said, "Stop this car, I have to pee," or "I'm hungry." My dad made all the decisions about when and where to stop. I have always had a good bladder. Our sightseeing was done while we drove. Stopping along the way to sightsee was just not a very efficient use of our time. I saw a lot of South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida from the window of a rear passenger seat. We always stayed at nice downtown hotels. There was no interstate highway with chain motels so unless we slept in the car we had to get downtown. I always enjoyed staying in these hotels. Dad made good choices. I liked being on the highest floors because I could ride the elevator longer and had a nicer view of the city. The elevators were operated by people who sat on a small stool for 8 hours and repeatedly asked everyone when they got on, "what floor, please?" I thought these operators had really boring jobs.

Dad liked Howard Johnson's so if we could find one most of our meals were there. Personally, I had no problem eating at HoJo's because they had just the meal I liked, turkey and dressing topped off with my favorite dessert, apple pie a la mode.

We did manage to stop in St. Augustine to visit the oldest schoolhouse in America and we drank from the Fountain of Youth. We got back in the car because we were only half way to our final destination, Miami. I never knew why dad elected to take a trip to Miami.

Dad was a smoker so on these trips he smoked cigars I guess because they lasted longer, thus reducing his need for constant lighting up while driving. I was still an asthmatic, but there had to be priorities. Dad didn't drive with the window down, so we all got some smoke in our lungs. Sometimes I got so nauseous I thought I was going to vomit, but I never did and never asked my dad to put out his cigar.

The other "bad habit" my dad had while driving was picking his nose I mean he would stick his whole index finger up there to corral that bugger. This wasn't all, once he got the bugger on the end of his finger, with both hands still on the steering wheel, he would hold part of the wheel with the remainder of the fingers on his bugger hand while securing the bugger between his index finger and his thumb and then rolling the thing into a ball. After the ball was complete dad thumped that bugger off his thumb with his index finger. Those buggers went everywhere in that car, which was a key reason why I hated to clean the inside of his car.

All of our trips featured a lot of driving, little stopping, a lot of cigars, and some buggers. After driving for days we reached Miami. Great I thought, now we would get to see the sites. My dad kept on driving right through downtown Miami. He spotted the Orange Bowl, "there's the Orange Bowl," he said. I figured this would be a good stop for we watched the Orange Bowl games on TV. The next thing I knew I was looking at the Orange Bowl as it got smaller and smaller from the rear window. Soon we were out of Miami and headed for who knows where. In about 25 miles or so dad pointed at a sign that read, "Everglades." Now all I knew about this area was that nothing was there except about a million alligators, so I wondered why we were driving through this area. There were no stores, no nothing but some trees, tall grass and swampy areas. There were ditches full of water on both sides of the road. Soon mom noticed dad appeared to be sleepy. Why? Hell, he's only driven, morning, noon, and night for three dam days without stopping, why was he tired now? She pressed him to stop, out in the middle of nowhere. He finally agreed to let my sister, who had never driven very much, take the wheel. This would be an excellent place for her to work on her driving skills, the dam Everglades!

We finally saw a clearing; just enough for a car, so we stopped and dad got in the back seat with me and promptly went to sleep. My sister was now sitting in the driver's seat ready to continue our "sightseeing" through the Florida Everglades. I had no idea how long it took for her to drive through the Everglades, it seemed like days, but we eventually got to more normal looking terrain. After several more days of driving, sleeping in motels and eating at Howard Johnson's, we were back in Norlina and I couldn't wait to share my trip experiences with friends.

Our next Christmas journey was to New York City. Our itinerary was the same, driving, except for when dad needed to pee or was hungry, smoking cigars, and thumping buggers all over the car. We drove all Christmas day and arrived in "the Big Apple" after dark and settled in at a nice hotel close to the Empire State Building. The next morning we walked to the Empire State Building, took the elevator to the top and went out to the viewing area and looked at five states everyone said you could see. I guess I saw them. The rest of day was spent riding around looking at the sights from our car windows. We drove past Yankee Stadium but why stop there? The next day we left at 4:30 am and drove home. A good time was had by all.

Yep, the next Christmas we headed out to eastern Kentucky to see some dam oil wells. Yep, we drove night and day, only stopping to pee and eat. We got to eastern Kentucky saw some oil rigs out in some fields then we headed back home. Trip over. A good time was had by all.

The Kentucky trip was our last family trip during our school breaks at Christmas. I don't know why we didn't continue these fun filled excursions, but dad never mentioned another trip nor did anyone else. On some level I felt I was fortunate to go on these trips. I knew of no other kid who got to sit in a smoke filled car with buggers flying all over, infrequent food and bathroom breaks, and great sightseeing from the car window. I had no other friends who got to do any of this fun stuff, especially at Christmas.
Chapter 30

I grew up in a small southern town in the fifties. It has taken me a lifetime to understand how segregation was a part of our day to day existence. I have no recollections whatsoever of any racial strife in our town during my early years. I don't even recall the first African-American citizen I ever saw, maybe because I wasn't aware of them as being different until adults kept reminding me there was a "difference." African-Americans were part of the social fabric of our town. They lived their day to day existence as the Anglos did, just trying to make it, just trying to get through another day. In the fifties the population of Warren County was 75% African-American with 90% of the wealth owned by Angelo-Americans. Most African-Americans worked for white people. As a kid it appeared to me they worked, got paid, and spent their money as whites did, in Norlina. Most activities centered on family, church, and school.

My grandfather and my dad had several African-American employees. One man in particular drilled wells the majority of the time he was employed in their well drilling business. He was a skilled worker and could read and write, which were not skills some of their white employees possessed. During this time, my father and my father's brother worked for my granddaddy and they made the same weekly wages as the African-American man made. I know because when I starting working at the store I reviewed the payroll ledgers and found this to be true. As I got older and I noticed most of the other businesses in our town did not employ African-Americans to full time positions, but they were hired mostly for day jobs or on a part-time basis. I noticed that we had a fair amount of African-American customers. They were always treated the same as the white customers as they should have been. I could never tell any difference in the business interactions at our store so none of this segregation stuff meant much to me as it didn't exist in my immediate environment.

As I entered elementary school I began to learn about racial prejudices. Did I ever hear my parents utter the "n" word, of course because its use was part of the language culture in the South. The word was uttered infrequently, but when it was used, it most often would be when my parents might be frustrated for some reason about something an African-American might have done. They used other derogatory words when they were frustrated with things whites did they did not like, such as "white trash, "which was a term I never liked to refer to other people. Kids at school used the "n" word almost entirely when referring to persons of color and I never saw a teacher call down a kid for using this word.

At our house when we needed home repairs like roofing or painting, the people we hired were usually African-American. They were in the house, on the roof, in the garden because that's where the work to be done was located. Sometimes African-American women were hired to help my mother do some cooking for a big event. A lady came to our house to cook for what seemed a whole week before my sister's wedding. Some of the best food I ever ate was in our house during that time.

As kids we saw other kids who were African-American, but they had their school, their community, and their activities, so the white kids I knew never spent any time wondering what they were doing, why they were doing it, or where and how they were doing it. We were just concerned with what we were doing.

When I started attending my Saturday afternoon matinees I noticed African-Americans were going through a different door to the theater. We all eventually got a seat to watch the movie. I sat downstairs and they sat upstairs and I didn't think much about that either. I thought they had a better view than I did and I wondered why I couldn't sit upstairs or why they couldn't sit downstairs. Nobody was available to explain this.

African-Americans could go into any grocery store or hardware store and spend their money just like the whites did, but if they went to the drug store they could only get a prescription filled or buy merchandise off the shelf. They were allowed to buy a fountain drink, but they had to leave the store to drink it. They could not sit at one of the two tables in the rear of the store and finish their soda. On several occasions I was asked to leave one of these tables when I laughed a little too much or talked too loud. The pharmacist was one of the few pure assholes in our town. No other word would describe him so I use it here. His father was retired, but he did often come to the store to help fill prescriptions also met that same description. Neither of these men liked kids and they certainly did not like Africa-Americans, but they were fine with taking our money.One day I was riding my bike on the sidewalk in front of their drug store and the old man came out and informed me that it was a $5.00 fine for riding a bike on the sidewalk. I said nothing, I just kept riding, but the old man relished the opportunity to call someone down, especially kids.

My rich uncle and aunt from Richmond had an African-American chauffeur/butler and an African-American cook. They were wonderful people and when visiting my relatives' house the first people we embraced were these two special African-American people. They were as important to us as our aunt and uncle were.

The African-American people I knew worked, even the few who didn't appear to have a place called home, still worked, as did the few white people who also didn't seem to have a home.

When my dad started selling TV's at his store he needed someone to service TV repairs. There was a TV-radio repair shop two doors from his store, yet he elected to contract with an African-American repairman to do his repair jobs.

We always took our slacks, coats, sweaters, and shirts to a dry cleaning business downtown. One day my dad took my sport coat to have it cleaned. When he picked several days later it up it had shrunk up about 3 sizes. My dad complained about this but the owner refused to make amends. My dad never went back to that cleaners and started taking our clothes to an African-American cleaners in a nearby town.

It's entirely possible that some white people might have referred to my dad and my granddad as "n" lovers because of the relationships I have described. While I did hear my dad utter the "n" at times, I NEVER heard my grandfather use this word. I never heard my granddad criticize anyone, black or white, and always respected everyone he came in contact with.

The more I attended school the more "facts," I was given regarding race. Most of these facts, I later learned, were more like "bull shit," but it did take a while to muddle through the plethora of misinformation.

During the early sixties I was aware of the civil rights movement, more from reading the paper or watching TV, rather than from school. School integration was seldom mentioned, but one day in class a student asked if our school would ever be integrated and the teacher's reply was, "no, it just wouldn't work because it would keep them from harvesting tobacco." I wondered, but what about these white kids sitting in this room, most of them harvest tobacco and they are here, so why would a tobacco harvest keep African-American kids from coming to this school?

Another teacher told us one day that African-Americans "smelled different." I wondered where in the hell she got that "fact." At that time, my senior year, I had probably been around more African-Americans than anyone in that school, but I hadn't noticed a "smell difference.

When you are young you are exposed to a lot of information about many things and a good bit of it comes from adults. It's a disappointment later in life when you find out that the adults, who you respected and admired, gave you wrong or prejudiced information. I guess they could say someone did the same to them. At some point it needs to end.

One weekend during the mid sixties I was home from college. A friend came by and asked if I wanted to go to Warrenton to see African-Americans demonstrating. My accounts of the civil rights movement were gathered from newspaper accounts and pictures on TV of people like Bull Conner fire hosing kids on the streets. I thought it would be educational to attend one of these rallies. We got there and started walking down the main street when I noticed that there were people lying down in front of a drug store. The cops arrived and took many of them to the police station. I remember thinking they were demonstrating in front of this drug store so they could get a fountain soft drink and maybe stand or sit inside the store and drink it. It was the same issue at the drug store in Norlina because I had already seen the refusal of the clerks to sell an African-American a drink, and then let them consume it inside the store. I was beginning to understand what their issues were.

In 1965 the Civil Rights Act was passed and everything started to change for the better, although there some people both then and now who will never believe these changes were for the better, they just wanted to maintain the status quo.
Chapter 31

My first summer at home from Oak Ridge was awful. Most days I wished I was somewhere else. The few friends I had were either not in town or if they were their interests and mine were different. Only one year had passed since I left yet everything had changed. The usual "teen joints" I went to were not the same and I immediately knew I did not desire to frequent any of these places. This created somewhat of a dilemma, as I had three months before returning to college so where was I going to go when I went out? I spent many nights that summer staying home either watching TV with my parents or listening to the radio in my room. The music, which had been such a big part of my early teen years, even that, was beginning to change and I did not like that either.

Before I started working with my uncle drilling wells I already knew what I was in for, boredom and more boredom, but I did get paid, still at 50 cents per hour rate. This was the last summer I would ever work for my uncle.

When I had time and money I continued to work on my car, but the more I worked on it, the more it smoked and used oil. It provided me with a way to get around, so I had to live with it.

I seldom had any dates. Most of the dates were with high school girls. These girls were nice people, but we simply had nothing whatsoever in common. I didn't give a shit about what went on at their school the past year and I couldn't care less about their upcoming year or their little friends. In turn, they didn't seem to give a shit about hearing me talk about cleaning rooms, brass and weapons or about how interesting my sociology class was. They didn't even know what the hell sociology was. I usually took them to the drive in to see a cheap, really bad movie and to hopefully to make out. I never dated any of these girls more than twice.

I even made brief appearances at Pine Lake, Virginia hoping to rekindle something good from the past. What I found were more people I didn't know or want to know because most of them were younger. That summer was the last time I ever went to Pine Lake.

In mid July I received a long awaited letter from North Carolina Wesleyan College informing me of my roommate, what items to bring, and when to arrive on campus. My roommate was from Newark, Delaware and I was given his telephone number and mailing address. I wrote him a letter telling him something about me and I hoped we could have a good school year rooming together. I do not remember whether or not he responded to my letter. The list of articles to bring was similar to the list I received from Oak Ridge. I sent my school expenses budget request to my rich uncle in Richmond. It was a great lesson in budget preparation and learning to live within a fixed amount. I did appreciate my uncle, who had no good reason I could think of, for paying for my college education. Had he not financed my college experience I doubt I would have attended.

I was determined to get off to a good start at Wesleyan. At Oak Ridge I thought I took too long to get to know the students and I vowed that when I arrived at Wesleyan I would be the most social guy on campus. A nice objective maybe, but would this happen? As soon as I received my money from my Uncle I made a deposit and went shopping to buy things I needed. There were items such as towels and sheets that I did not need to buy. I did buy all new, "normal" clothes and that shopping trip was really fun. How nice it would be NOT to have a wear a dam uniform everyday!

I was required to arrive on the Wesleyan campus a week early for freshmen and transfer orientation. I was glad to get to leave Norlina as that summer was the worst I had experienced to date. As I bid a fond goodbye to mom I hoped that somehow next summer would be different. This time my parents did not come with me. I drove my convertible down a two lane rural road for 45 miles to Rocky Mount. When I drove into the campus entrance I noticed the school's fountain and a sign that listed the dorm names with directional arrows. I was looking for Edgecombe dorm, which was the male dorm for freshmen and transfers. South dorm was the male dorm for the upperclassmen and at the other end of campus were the female dorms, Nash for underclass women and North dorm for upper-class women. The campus had only four dorms. There were a few day students primarily from Rocky Mount.

The parking lot was directly behind the dorm and since I was early, as usual, parking close to a side door was not a problem. As I got out of the car I reminded myself, "Get off to a good start, be friendly, and speak to everyone." I grabbed as much stuff as I could carry and headed to the nearest side door. I already knew that my room was on the third floor so I would have to walk up several flights of stairs. I saw no students between my car and my room. Upon coming back down the stairs I saw a student and his dad coming up the stairs so I immediately spoke to them and they introduced themselves. They were from Richmond, Virginia. I told them I had relatives in Richmond and that I had traveled there often. After our brief conversation I walked back out to the car to get the rest of my things.

When I returned to the third floor the second time there were a few boys moving up and down the hall. I saw a couple of boys in the hall in front of my room so I went out in the hall and introduced myself. As the afternoon wore on I was in and out of rooms as other students were in and out of my room. By nightfall I had met most of the boys on my end of the hall. The cafeteria was opened for dinner at 5:00pm so I went over by myself and got a bite to eat. A meeting was scheduled for 7:00 pm in the first floor reception room of the dorm. After I ate dinner I walked around to get familiar with the rest of the campus.

I returned to my room around 6:30pm and my roommate had arrived with his dad. I noticed he had a different dialect than I did and he had more hair and it was slicked back. I told him the cafeteria was still open if he wanted to eat before our meeting. I offered to walk with him to the cafeteria and he accepted. His dad said his goodbyes and left for the parking lot.

By the time we left the cafeteria we arrived at the first floor just in time for the meeting. I was expecting to see an adult presiding over this meeting, but instead there were two upperclassmen. The entire presentation was negative in tone. I thought I was back at Oak Ridge I just left this shit and didn't need more of it! Most of the information was for freshmen, so I thought why were transfers required to attend? They made it very clear that they were "the men," I mean really key players around campus and that their shit didn't stink. Their last "instruction" was about the "beanies," these stupid looking hats with a big "W" on the front. Anyway, the freshmen were told that they "must" wear these hats every day for the first month of school and in the event they didn't, then "bad shit would happen!" This reminded me of F.F.A. week when all the freshmen had to wear paper green hands, déjà vu! I thought I was finished with this crap, but none of this shit applied to me so why did I need to attend? That night when I left I did not like the two guys who ran the meeting and for three years the more I saw them the more I disliked them. I have never cared for loud, obnoxious, boastful people not then and certainly not now. I learned to tolerate their shit, but I have tried stay away from such people as much as possible.

For the rest of the week there were additional orientations we were required to attend. All "new" students had to take placement tests for math and foreign language. I took the foreign language test for French and I did not do very well. I had taken two years of French in high school, but that was two years ago and I just didn't remember very much. I was placed in a non-credit French class. If I made at least a "B" in that course the first semester I would only need the second semester course to fulfill my foreign language requirement. I placed in the lowest level math course. I only needed one math course and the absolute lowest amount of math should be all I would ever need. I had taken Algebra I and II in high school and didn't do well in either course and I didn't care.

The other orientations were in the library, the infirmary, and the gym. We also had a bus tour of downtown Rocky Mount. I remember we stopped at a tobacco market and I was interviewed by a local radio station personality.

I had registered for Religion, Western Philosophy, Economics, English Literature, and remedial French. When I met my classes I was impressed with my professors and was amazed at their subject knowledge. I had a problem with my Vietnamese economics professor as everyone else did because he was hard to understand. I had intended to major in English because I had done well in English in high school and at Oak Ridge. A semester of English Literature took care of my English major. For most of the semester I had done rather well in the Lit class, but one week a student mentioned to the professor that we had only two tests, but his syllabus had indicated we were to have three. He agreed to give an optional third test the last week before final exams to anyone who felt they could benefit from another test. I did little to prepare for the third test as I already had a "B" average at that point. I arrived to class, which was held in a science lab, but I still had not decided whether or not I wanted take that third test, but I had a hard time cutting classes. I'm sitting there in the lab and I noticed a few students getting up and leaving, but I'm still sitting frozen to my seat, still trying to decide whether to stay or go. The next thing I know a test paper was on my desk! Too late to leave now! I really screwed up on this test which lowered my overall average to a "C." The next week I performed poorly on the final exam and wound up with a "D" in the course. I was devastated, especially for being so dam stupid for taking that third test. I changed my major to Economics.

A dance was held on Saturday night of the first regular week I had met a girl from Durham at an earlier orientation and when I saw her again at the dance I went over and spoke to her. As the night wore on we talked and danced quite a bit. I learned that she was going steady with a boy at the University of North Carolina. I enjoyed her company that night and when I saw her around campus I spoke to her and that was it. I never had a class with her and did not socialize with her on campus the rest of the time I was there.

I would not make contact with any other females for the remainder of my first year at Wesleyan. There were no female students at Oak Ridge, but now at least half the college enrollment at Wesleyan was female and I would make no contact. I was developing some guidelines about this on campus dating. I observed that all the couples on campus were just that, couples. Everywhere you saw one you saw the other. If one or the other had a car and the car was being driven, both people were in the vehicle. I had figured out early that if I got "too close" and a "relationship" was started it could morph into one of those couples. It gave an impression of being like a married couple. Suppose one night I didn't want to eat dinner with her, but with my dorm mates, what would she do, "lose it?" Or vice versa , maybe I would latch on to a real "find" and maybe one night she would want to eat dinner with her friends, no way would I be willing to share her. I created a no win guideline. The more I saw these couples the more I believed I wouldn't want such an arrangement. What if I just dated someone a night or two and I didn't like her, would I have to avoid her for the rest of my college career? I see her coming down the only sidewalk on campus and I have to duck into a grove of trees until she walks past. It's time to go to dinner, but when I get to the cafeteria I noticed she is already in the line or at a table close to the line and I would have to walk past her. I even looked at the other side of this, what if I take her out and she doesn't like me, she goes back to her dorm and bad mouths me so that within 24 hours I'm damaged goods. I would never get another date on that campus. I had to cover all the bases. I vowed that I would seldom if ever, mostly the latter, date anyone on campus. Over time I would make contacts somehow at other schools and dates would be arranged, but until then I had to stay the course. I with few exceptions I invoked these principles for the duration of my stay at Wesleyan.

The first year I spent quite a bit of time studying, certainly more than at Oak Ridge, but the courses I was taking were, by their nature, harder courses. I was in school at a time when the military draft was real and if you received a student deferment to go to college you'd dam well better keep a minimum Grade Point Average (G.P.A) or you would face a very good chance of being drafted and headed to Vietnam.

During the first week we had yet another orientation on how to study. Our presenter told us to look to our left and look to our right because one of us would not make it to graduation. I didn't want to be the one to corroborate this statistic. By the end of the fall semester I had an overall 2.6 G.P.A.

I seldom left the campus during that first year. All of a sudden I had freedom to come and go as I pleased, but elected to stay on campus. There was one place that I did frequent. I'm not sure exactly how my roommate and I began this nightly activity, but we started going to a blowing alley on Highway 301 late at night. Many nights after 12 midnight one or the other of us would ask the other, "hey, roomie do you want to go to the bowling alley and get some pancakes? It was the pancakes at the bowling alley that we went to get on these many nights. I don't recall any unique way these pancakes were prepared or that the syrup was different, but a stack of these pancakes late at night was very good. There were many nights we were finishing a stack of 3-4 pancakes at 1:00am. By 8:00am we were ready to eat again, a full breakfast of eggs, meat, grits, and bread. It was one of those "good college memories." We always had good discussions about all kinds of topics, but I don't recall any specifics. The bowling alley evolved into another place to study, like a library. There were several times a group of us met in the conference room beside the bowling alley to study for upcoming tests. There was a full table of students with textbooks, notes, and stacks of pancakes. Any night we left late for the bowling alley if we saw a door open or a light on we would ask those students if wanted to go with us. I ate more pancakes in those three years than I have since.

When I registered for a class I wanted to know what the expectations were from the instructor. When were papers due and what format was to be used? What kinds of tests were to be given, how many and when? What books were to be read and by when? Just because I entered a class with those expectations didn't mean I always got them. I consistently did one thing in every class where we had textbooks and/or other reading assignments; I read everything as soon as I could. If we had a textbook I read that ASAP and highlighted the key points with a yellow highlighter. There were a few courses I outlined the chapters from the textbook. I usually prepared several days in advance for tests, so on the last night I didn't have to study as much. I was always amazed at the large number of students who would make no preparations prior to a test, but stay up all night reading textbook assignments and reviewing notes and then make a good grade on the test. I tried to stay up all night just one time and at 2:00a.m. I said, "I cannot do this," and went to bed. I had already done my pretest preparation so I did feel I was prepared. So why were my grades not any better? Often I did not understand the questions on many tests, especially essay questions. There was never a time that I didn't feel I knew the material, but if I was unable to understand the question, then I didn't do well. I always had a problem with compare and/or contrast questions. I was never sure what they wanted when they said, "trace" something. What I really didn't understand now was why in the hell did I not go to the professor and ask them to explain the question. All in all A's and B' just were not that important, although I did receive many B's in my classes, I was usually happy to get a C because a C average would allow me to graduate. I never expected to attend graduate school so getting better grades was never my goal.When our holiday breaks came I hated to leave campus. I liked the college environment that much. Other than seeing my parents I had absolutely no social connections at home that I cared about maintaining. There was one "friend" that still lived there. When I went to see him our conversations were mostly about him and his world and he didn't give a dam about what was going on in mine. When I managed to see him all I heard about was how great things were at the grocery store he worked at as a bag boy. He never asked me anything about my life at college and when I tried to tell him about what was going on he had absolutely no interest in listening. As time went on I saw less and less of him.

Another friend, a real friend from home was in the Navy, so I seldom saw him much anymore. For a while he was stationed at Patuxent River Naval Base in Maryland and often, for some reason, would drive home for the weekend. If I happened to be home we would do something together. He had graduated one year ahead of me in high school. He was a true friend and always tried to get me involved in teen activities like dances and other social events. He'd always come back even after times I had not been the most pleasant person around. As his navy career continued he received training as a pilot. He got out of the navy once and began flying commercial airlines, but got bored and reenlisted. He always seemed to be unsettled with whatever he was doing or wherever he was going. He was married at least three times. My parents and I liked the first wife best. One time he and his wife were down from Maryland to visit his family and as always he came by to see my parents. He was the only friend I had my mother liked. On this visit I happened to be at home when they came to the house. My mother gave them a dining room set she had upstairs. He rented a trailer and I helped him load the furniture, and then went back to Maryland with them to help unload the furniture.

I was invited to his second wedding in Winston-Salem. I was surprised at his choice of brides and predicted an early breakup. They were married for six months. After that he was flying all over the country and seldom had time to visit, but he visited me one time in Chapel Hill, North Carolina after I had married. We drove up one Friday night to attend the last football game Norlina High School ever played before consolidating the next year into a new county high school. We had time to talk about the "good old days" and what lay ahead for both of us. I was hoping that somehow he could find peace and settle down with a good person and be happy. That night was the last time I ever saw him.

The next time I heard my friend's voice was on February 12, 1990, 2 days after my mother's death. His sister called him and informed him of my mom's death and he called to express his sympathy. The last words he spoke to me were that he valued our friendship and that he loved me. The next time I heard any news about him was that he was dead of a heart attack. He was the last true friend I had from my youth.

I was lying on my bed in my dorm room listening to the radio and about to doze off when I heard the news about President Kennedy's assassination. My initial thoughts were, "it must be a mistake!" As I continued to listen to reporters I sensed this was no hoax, he was dead and they were not sure who the gunman was. For the rest of the day and the days leading up to the funeral, televised on TV nationally, the overall mood of students on campus was similar to students at all the other colleges in the country, they were shocked, dumfounded, terribly saddened and wondered, what next. All events seemed to move really fast, the rush to Parkland Hospital, the pronouncement that Kennedy was dead, the swearing in of Vice-President Lyndon Johnson, and the devastation of the Kennedy family after this tragic loss. It was a day that stymied our youthful enthusiasm and naivety about a lot of things. Never again would we be so trusting or maybe as hopeful about our future.

I did have a date off campus that year. A college friend knew a girl at Queens College in Charlotte who got me a date so we went to Charlotte to take these girls out. We stayed at some old woman's house next to the campus. We picked the girls up and took them to the drive in. The movie starred James Darren and was about car racing. We took these girls back to their dorm. I never saw that girl again.
Chapter 32

Another year at college and my spring semester was approaching an end. I did not want to go home to drill wells by day and have nowhere to go at night. My roommate and I discussed summer school, maybe we should enroll for summer courses and get ahead on our course requirements. I thought this was a great idea so I wrote my uncle and explained my rationale and how much money I would need. When I told my mom she was disappointed.

I got the check from my uncle for summer school and deposited it in my school account. When the spring term was over I went home for two weeks and sat around the house and watched a lot of TV. I registered for a required math course along with an introduction to education course. I was hoping with just two classes I could put more focus on the math and get it out of the way. The education course just sounded interesting. Dad expanded his product line at the store to include air conditioning window units. He put one unit in his bed room and one more in the hall upstairs. He mentioned he could get a small window unit for my dorm room if I was interested. I was very pleased with his offer because summers our summers were hot and humid. When the time came to pack up and head to Wesleyan I was ready. I arrived, as usual, early one afternoon. We were assigned to the third floor in South dorm which was the upper class dorm. It was a job carrying that air conditioning unit up the stairs, but I managed. By the time my roommate arrived from Delaware, we could have hung up sides of beef in our room! I had that air conditioning unit as low as it would go. We enjoyed the summer and were quite comfortable in our cool room. We had such good "friends" that summer as they were always "dropping by" to check on us and see how things were going and oh, could maybe they study in our room? After a while this shit grew old. We continued to frequent the bowling alley for pancakes late at night.

I was only taking two classes but we met every day with longer class periods. The more I went to math class the more frustrated I got. I developed a mental block with Algebra in high school, and lost confidence in my ability. I got to the point where I didn't give a dam about math. As we approached the end of the term I was on the verge of flunking the course. I couldn't decide whether or not to "take one for the team" and flunk it and take it again or just suck it up, study hard and try to squeak by. I chose the latter. The weekend before exams I went home away from all distractions to focus on preparing for the exam. The exam was on Monday and my education exam was on Tuesday. When Monday came I was as ready as I was ever going to be. I left the classroom with considerable doubts as to whether or not I passed the exam or for that matter, passed the course. I knew it was too close to call. I had never flunked a course so if I failed this math course it would be a first. Our math professor told us that he would post our final grades outside his office door Tuesday morning. Hopefully, I would know what my math grade was before I left campus on Wednesday.

I got up early Tuesday morning and my roommate and I go to the cafeteria to have breakfast. Both of our final exams were that morning and we had decided to stay one more night before going home, to celebrate the end of summer school. I took my serving tray to the kitchen conveyor belt then went by the post office to check my mail. I was procrastinating, for I wanted to know the math grade, but was afraid to find out. Stop this foolishness, just go down to the professor's office and look outside his door for the grade! I walked, but slowly down the walk to the Administration Building. I went up the stairs and turned down the hallway. I knew his office was one of several offices in the center of the hall. I started to look at the names of the professors on the doors, but I didn't see his. Great! Maybe they moved his office just that morning. Maybe the exam papers caught on fire at his house and to be fair he gave everyone an A. Maybe I flunked the dam course. I turned and walked back down the hall and this time I saw his name on the door. I looked below and I saw two pieces of paper, but I couldn't yet make out the writing on either sheet. Maybe one sheet was grades for another course and the other sheet was for my course. I really didn't know what courses he was teaching that summer. I had an immediate flashback to when I was in the 7th grade. I was standing in front of the principal's office hoping to see my name on the junior high basketball roster, but it was not there, just like now when I got closer to that sheet I would see math grades and then there's my name beside a big, fat F! I was close enough and I leaned in closer to that sheet of paper and noticed the name of my math class, Natural Science 11. He told us our grade would be by a number written on top of the first page of our exam. My number was 19, so I had to find Number 19 on that sheet. My eyes moved down the sheet until there it was, number 19 and beside that number was a "D," I have passed with a D! I haven't been here quite a year and now I have my second D, the other was in English Literature last fall. Oh well, I passed and I'm done with the math requirement, I must move on.

I took my education exam and after it was over I returned to my dorm room to rest. The exam was a breeze and the professor had our grades posted by late afternoon. I received my first A as a college student in the education course. When my roommate returned from his last exam I told him about my math grade, disappointed but glad I didn't have to repeat the course. He informed me of one of his grades, a C in western civilization That night we went downtown for dinner and when we returned most everyone had already left, so the dorm was very quiet that night. The next morning after breakfast I went back to the dorm, finished packing, and loaded up the car. I returned to the room to find my roommate still packing, so I told him I was leaving and that I would see him in a few weeks. I went downstairs and out the side door to my car. After three terms I had enough of school and I wondered on the way home if I could attend summer school again or do the alternative, drill dam wells. I elected to postpone my decision.
Chapter 33

The next two weeks went by rapidly. I was packing up again and heading back to Rocky Mount. I had my check from my uncle for fall semester expenses. It would be nice to get back and see some familiar faces around the dorm. We were assigned the third floor in South Hall, the upper class dorm. I didn't take long to unload my car and get organized in mynew room. My roommate would arrive that night. I went to the bookstore to check on some book prices, and then went over to the Administration Building to check on location of some classrooms. When I returned to the dorm I saw a couple of friends and we decided to go into Rocky Mount for dinner. When I returned from dinner my roommate had arrived. We caught up for a couple of hours and by then it was 11:00pm.

Sometime during the fall term dad decided to trade my convertible for a used 1960 Ford 2 door hardtop. At least the car did not smoke or use much oil. Since my "dating principles" called for little if any dating of women on campus I was open to off campus possibilities. When you have the car you always get offers from other young men to "set you up" with a date if they can "double date" with you, which was fine with me. I probably had at least one off campus date per month during that year. I didn't have more than two dates with any one female.

Most of my courses that fall were in economics, my major. Three of the four classes in economics were taught by the Vietnamese professor I had the previous year. I continued to have great difficulty understanding him. While we were on summer break the College hired a new economics professor, a young woman! She was a Duke graduate finishing up her requirements for a Ph.D. in Economics. She was not only smart, but patient with all the dumb questions and answers she got from us. I felt good about my semester in her class and I hoped she would be teaching at least half of the remaining econ courses I needed to graduate.

The toughest course was Money and Banking, since I liked money I thought would do well, but I did not. As the semester started the daily routine was pretty much a carbon copy of the previous year. Get up early, eat breakfast, and go to class, returned to the room, maybe nap, then more food, then some study, and often a visit to the bowling alley late at night. Not a bad life.

I decided that I needed to "resume build" for the future so I investigated campus clubs where I could get involved. Upon review of the available choices nothing really stood out as a great club to spend some time, so I postponed the search for the duration of the semester.

Christmas holidays were upon me again and I would be forced to go home. I would have two weeks at home doing nothing. Our Public Finance professor gave us a "take home" exam to take over the Christmas break. She told us we could complete the exam anytime while we were home, as long as we turned it in the day we returned to class. It sounded like it would be easy. My plan was to go home and study for the exam the first week, and then the second week take the exam. I had two whole weeks to complete the exam. Before I knew it, it was the day before I returned to Wesleyan and I hadn't studied for this exam for one minute! I postponed this work another day and when I woke up the following day I was still staring at my textbook, a set of notes, and the envelope containing the exam. I was planning to leave home late that afternoon and I had done absolutely nothing. I messed around all morning, then after lunch I went upstairs and opened my textbook and notes and started to study. After an hour and a half I stopped. I wondered if I knew enough to at least get a C on this exam. I went downstairs and got a snack, then returned to my room. I went back over the pertinent chapters in the textbook along with the notes that paralleled the readings. I thought I was as ready as I would ever be. I tore open the envelope and began to read the questions. These were not the questions I wanted, I needed another set. I sat there looking over these 5 essay questions again and again. I wondered how long it would take me to write out the answers to the questions. I got my pencil and paper and started to write my answers. By the time I had finished I had about 10 pages of answers. I felt like I had written enough to at least get a C, but I was disappointed that I was not sufficiently motivated to spend more time studying, but I quickly dispensed with that thinking. I folded my answers and placed them in another envelope and sealed it. I planned to deliver the exam answers to the professor's office the next morning. I learned to hate all take home tests.

My mother's sister moved to Rocky Mount two years before I enrolled at Wesleyan. I visited my aunt and uncle several times. My aunt worked at a drug store in a little shopping center on the east side of town near her house. When I was in town I would occasionally ride by the drug store to say hello. One day I just casually mentioned to her if any cute high school girls ever came into the store. "Oh yes, "she said, there was one girl in particular who happened to live within sight of the store.

My aunt told me next time the girl came in the store she would ask her if she wanted to meet me. This sounded fine to me and I left hoping this arrangement could happen soon. Within two weeks my aunt called me and said the girl would like to meet me, and then she gave me her phone number. I called the girl that night and asked her for a date next Saturday night. I went to her house to pick her up and as soon as I saw her I was pleased. We went to the drive in and did "drive in things," then I took her home. I dated her at least one more time, maybe three times. I stopped dating her because I thought the age difference was too great as she was a junior in high school and I was a college junior. I enjoyed her company. I never asked my aunt to "set me up again" and she never offered this service again.

My roommate and I found out about a nursing school in downtown Rocky Mount that was having a "get acquainted dance" on an upcoming Friday night. We thought this event might present some good possibilities for meeting some new girls. Friday arrived and we were ready to go to the dance. We took a boy with us from down the hall that didn't have much of a social life. We coaxed him into going as he was, at first, reluctant to go. The three of us arrived at the nursing school, found a place on the street to park then looked for the dance. When we found the dance we saw mostly female nursing students. We quickly concluded that since the program was overwhelmingly female those girls didn't get be around many males and that fact should be a plus for us. I saw an interesting girl so I walked over and ask her to dance. We chatted as we danced. She was from New Jersey and was in her first year in the nursing program. She was really cute with a short haircut and a nice smile, but she was just a little too tall. I tried to work through this as one of my rules was "no tall girls." My roommate was also dancing and having a good time and strangely enough the other guy, who we called "dancing bear", was out on the floor "getting it done." He was smiling and dancing and talking to this girl and I felt good for him. I was happy to get him to come with us. Before we knew it the dance was ending and we had to leave. The girl I was with told me she had an aunt living and Rocky Mount and that tomorrow she planned to spend Saturday night at her house. I got the "hint" and asked her out Saturday night. I enjoyed myself that night and I looked forward to tomorrow night.

The next night I arrived to pick up the nursing student at her aunt's house. We headed to the drive in, the same one that I had taken the high school girl to earlier. We did "drive in things" and then I took her back to the house. That night was the last time I ever saw her.

During that fall I had two dates back home with a younger girl I had wanted to date, but for some reason it had not happened. My good friend in the navy actually set up the first date for me. The first time I dated her we went to the drive in on Sunday night. The next time I dated her she arranged a date for my roommate and we went to the drive in. I dated this girl to the drive in one more time and never saw her again.

A classmate wanted to date a girl at East Carolina University but he had no car, so I offered to drive him down to Greenville if his friend got me a date. He called his friend and she agreed to find me a date. We drove down to Greenville on a Saturday night and took the girls to the drive in. We drove back to Rocky Mount that night. I never saw that girl again.

The last date during my junior year was in the early spring just before the Easter break. Once again the familiar format, I supplied the car, someone else got me a date. A student I knew from Fairfax, Virginia was going with a girl at Mary Washington College in Fredericksburg, Virginia. She was to get my roommate and I a date if I would provide all the transportation. The dates were confirmed and we left early one cool Saturday morning. It was cloudy with periodic rain showers. We arrived at Mary Washington mid afternoon. The other males we saw had on winter clothes while we had on spring slacks and sport coats. I was wearing a Madras sport coat. We checked in at the front desk and soon the girls were down to meet us. After introductions we left and headed to Shoney's for some late lunch. This was the first time I had taken a girl out to a meal. When we left Shoney's we drove to my friend's house in Fairfax to get some things he needed to take back to Wesleyan. When we left his house we headed for D.C. I let him drive my car since he was familiar with the area. We wound up in Georgetown. We parked the car and started walking. I saw many shops, restaurants, and bars. We selected a bar and went in and sat down. There was a jukebox and we ordered a round of beers. We stayed there until about 11:00pm dancing, drinking beer, and making out. We had to leave or we wouldn't make curfew and the girls would be in trouble. We got in the car and drove away. Soon we were on a four lane road headed to Fredericksburg and it was pouring down rain. My friend was driving too fast so I cautioned him to slow down. I was in the back seat with this girl so I settled back and enjoyed the moment. We arrived back on campus about 15 minutes before the curfew. I had a nice time and I think the girl did. I never saw her again.

When we returned from our Easter break that spring of 1965 we received some sad news, our wonderful new young economics professor and a Wesleyan student from the Washington, D.C. area had been killed in a car accident on the way to Washington the same day we all left for the break. The following week the College President led the student body in a memorial service for our beloved professor during the time set aside for our required chapel services. She died forever young and forever in my heart. She was representative of the times with that youthful excitement about the next day, the next week, the future and tried to share that zest for living with her students. She wore no makeup or lipstick and sometimes her hair did not appear to be combed, but she was a very attractive woman to go along with her academic brilliance. What a loss.

I was still trying to figure out a campus club to join so I applied to join the Circle-K Club, the college wing of the adult Kiwanis clubs. The current club members had to vote to accept me. Most of the members I didn't like, but I hadn't done anything to alienate them, so I expected their approval. Yea, I'm in! I was ready for my first meeting. We were required to wear ties and blazers to these meetings. I received a big Kiwanis patch at the first meeting that had to be sewed on the top pocket of my blazer before the next meeting. Mom had taught me how to sew clothes for my teddy bear and other small farm animals and so those skills allowed me to sew on this Circle K emblem.

My first Circle-K meeting commenced. All they talked about was fund raising. I don't even remember what the money was being raised for, but that was all the club ever did, raise money. The first fund raiser was selling light bulbs. One night we assembled in downtown Rocky Mount at a car dealership and prepared to hit the streets to try to sell these dam light bulbs. A man came out of the show room and approached us and introduced himself as some big time Kiwanis guy. He told us he appreciated what we were doing and he and some other "K" men were going to drive several of us around in their cars to sell these dam light bulbs. They were not going to help with the sales, but instead stay well away from the houses while we go bang on someone's door in complete darkness. They left their cars running with their doors locked just for safety sake, their safety. Now I went back a long ways on door to door fund raising. I tried to sell Christmas cards in the elementary grades. I hated it and I did not expect to like trying to peddle these light bulbs for a cause I didn't even know about. Anyway, 2-3 club members, including me, and this adult headed out to sell boxes and boxes of light bulbs. Hell, everybody used light bulbs. What if we were selling candy, people could just say no, or lie and say they just learned that day they have diabetes. But now, light bulbs, well, they will have no good excuses for not buying as many boxes as they can carry inside. This work, which I hated, should be easier than the Christmas card selling that I also hated.

We had one sale from the first four houses we visited. At one house a man said, "I just bought several boxes today, sorry." Lying son of a bitch! The next house the occupant says, "I would, but I don't have any money or even a checkbook." At the third house an old woman came to the door, but did not open it and said, "go away or I'm calling the police." At the fourth house we managed to sell a four-pack of 60 watt bulbs. At this rate we would not sell our supply of bulbs by my graduation. I'm loving this and loving being in the Circle-K Club! We stopped at 9:00pm. Our grand total for the evening for the entire club was $12.00.

The next big fund raiser was a car wash. One of the local car washes agreed to allow the club to use its car wash and soap for 3 hours. This was their "charity contribution" for the year. Other than getting soaking wet when the weather was still cool I managed to get through this crap. I don't know how many cars I washed, but I haven't washed as many cars since. Soon after the fund raiser I decided in my last year of college I would be bowing out of the Circle - K Club.

Lyndon Johnson visited Rocky Mount in the spring of 1965 to promote his "War on Poverty Program." He was scheduled to fly into a small airport near the College campus. Most of the students were at the airport for hours carrying signs in support of and to welcome L.B.J. to Rocky Mount. I wasn't among the cheering throngs because at the time I had little interest in politics and less interest in Lyndon Johnson. I grew up in a Republican household with parents who lived and died on what Eisenhower and Nixon said and did. I had not yet formed my political philosophy, but until I did I wasn't on the Democratic bandwagon. If the celebrity had been a sports figure, like Bill Russell, I would have been the first in line.
Chapter 34

I decided maybe I would go to summer school somewhere else, like a university, O.K., the University of North Carolina.I applied, was accepted, requested and received my expense money from my uncle and registered for two courses at U.N.C. This would be different, different campus, different students, different cafeteria, different everything. It had the making of a wonderful summer experience.

I had been to Chapel Hill several times with my dad, mostly to attend college football games, so I was familiar with the campus. My dorm was right across from Kenan Stadium, the home of the U.N.C. football team. I had to walk a bit further to my classes than at Wesleyan. I walked by the Louis Round Wilson Library, the largest college library I had been exposed to thus far. After my dinner most nights I would return to Wilson Library to study as I found the environment to be conducive to that purpose. I took an Introduction to Political Science and U.S. History from 1865 'til the present and I made a final grade of B in both classes.

The first night I did not have a roommate, which was fine with me. I met the other guys in the suite that night and they all seemed nice. All were current Carolina students. The next day on campus I just happened to see a boy from Wesleyan. I spoke to him and found out he was there to take a French course and did not have a room assignment. I told him I did not have a roommate and if he'd like he could room with me. The arrangements were made and soon he was moving in. For the 6 weeks all of the guys in our suite got to be very close. We ate dinner together almost every night except on a few occasions when we went down on Franklin Street. At that time I still did not drink alcoholic beverages, so when they went to drink I watched.

After class every day I went to Lenoir Hall, a cafeteria, and had the same meal, roast beef and smashed potatoes. I topped off the meal with a slice lemon chess pie. I never dated anyone on campus or even spoke to a female during the entire summer school. There were not many females in summer school.

My roommate was dating a girl from Durham I met during my first year orientation at Wesleyan. She had broken up with her boy friend and my roomie had "moved in." Anyway, she got me a date with another Wesleyan student, who I did not know. The four of us attended the movie, "What's New Pussycat?" featuring the song of the same name sung by Tom Jones. I thought it was an enjoyable evening, but I never dated that girl again because she was a student at Wesleyan. I had my rules on dating Wesleyan girls.

Summer school ended and I was once again, headed home for the remainder of the summer. I was a rising senior and I vowed to NEVER attend another summer school. That decision lasted for about 15 years until I started a Masters' program.

I still needed a course in Economics Statistics to complete my subject major requirements. I had signed up for the course in my junior year, but dropped the course during the drop/add period. That summer I found a correspondence course in economics statistics from the University of Georgia. The course consisted of written assignments to complete and send to be graded. 95% of my grade would be the final exam. The exam would be mailed to a predetermined college administrator at Wesleyan. A student had one year from beginning to end to complete the assignments and take the final exam. I found the cost of the course to be reasonable, so I completed the paperwork and sent the required fees to U.G.A. while I was in summer school at U.N.C. While at U.N.C. I did complete a few of the assignments, but once I got home from summer school I worked to complete many of the assignments. By the time I got back to Wesleyan I felt good about my progress with the course and believed I would have no problem finishing everything well before the graduation deadline.

Sometimes things don't go as planned. I had good intentions, but I was completing fewer and fewer assignments as the school year wore on. The more assignments I did the harder and more complex the next ones were. Months were passing and nothing was getting done. How can you teach yourself something you don't understand, which was where I was, but I had to finish this course? The course deadline for completion was August of 1966, but that deadline was well past the graduation deadline which I still intended to meet. Soon it was the spring term and I was freaking out. I started to complete some assignments, but I doubted I would walk across the stage in May. May arrived, graduation was held and I was back at home, without a degree, still working on economic statistics assignments. I submitted the last statistics assignments sometime in late June. Once I got the last assignment grades back I requested the Wesleyan Academic Dean supervise the final exam. I sent a letter to my instructor at U.G.A. asking for the exam to be mailed to the Dean of the College at Wesleyan by the date I requested.

I received a letter from the instructor at U.G.A. informing me that the exam had been sent and the dean had been notified when to expect the exam packet. I studied as much as I could stand until exam day. I drove down to Wesleyan College and arrived, as usual, early. I went to the dean's office to let him know I was on campus. He told me when to return, so I went down to the Student Union for a quick snack. When I returned I was led into a conference room by a staff person who would serve as proctor. She opened the exam packet and handed me the test. I noticed it was about 10 pages of mostly multiple choice questions. Some scratch paper was provided by the proctor. I began the test. I was done in about one and a half hours. I gave the test and the scratch paper to the proctor and left the room and drove back home.It was 2-3 weeks before I received the final grade in the mail, a "C+," so I had "technically" graduated, I had completed all of my course requirements for graduation. I contacted the dean and requested he send me a letter confirming that I had met all N.C.W.C. requirements for a degree. I did not receive my degree until May of 1967. Wesleyan only had one graduation ceremony per year. I did not attend the official graduation ceremony in May of 1967 and my degree was mailed to me sometime that summer. This degree currently hangs on my wall in my house.

I learned much about deadlines. This procrastination with completing the statistics course caused me to refocus on being organized, attending to tasks, and working harder to meet deadlines. I still respect other people's deadline to be some place at a certain time or to have work done by a certain date.

I also learned that I liked the independence of the correspondence course. By the time I got to graduate school some 12 years later I relished any opportunity to be on my own and hated any class where I had to sit for 2-3 hours and listen to a professor talk nonstop. Sixteen years after graduate school I would find a doctoral program that provided even more independence.
Chapter 35

I arrived back to campus during the days of freshmen and transfer orientation. I had an epiphany in late summer and decided to change some of my on campus dating rules, not all, but one rule that stated I would have no social contact with any Wesleyan female to; maybe I would have just a little contact since this was my senior year. I knew there were social events for the new freshmen and transfers and my job was being friendly and "helping them along." On that Friday night there was to be a dance for new students and any upperclassmen who had returned. This dance would represent a golden opportunity for "getting social." The night before the dance I drove some friends down to a beer joint. I had never been because I had never had an alcoholic drink. I wondered if anyone would meet me at the door as they did in high school when I finally attended teen social functions and ask, "What are you doing here?" It didn't happen! Nobody said anything. Maybe they thought I had been there all along. It felt great to be part of the scene. Now I need to get a beer. My friends were already at the bar ordering. I observed how they placed their orders and what brands of beer they requested. O.K., I got it, I'm ready. "What'll you have," the bartender asked. "I'll have a tall Schlitz," I directed. Um, why not a regular size beer, why a tall one? I did not know. The beer was placed in front of me at the bar while I sat on a stool. I grabbed the cold tall can and hoisted it to my lips. What would it taste like, Coke, Pepsi, Bubble Up? I turned the can up and took a sip. No! This was what people had been drinking, drinking this stuff tonight? This was what my daddy drank, my uncle drank? Dam, it tasted awful! Somehow I managed to get the entire can down and even ordered a second, but I did not like the taste. I nursed the second can, but never finished it. When I left the beer joint I had a slight buzz. As my dad used to say after having a few drinks, "yep, after I have a few and get a buzz on I feel like a millionaire." I didn't quite feel that good.

During the year when I drank beer it was usually with friends. Often times we went to Lum's, a place famous for hot dogs steamed in beer, but we usually order something else, like pizza. We went to the Retreat which was the favorite tavern of Wesleyan students. When we wanted a more special experience we drove to Wilson and went to the Elbow Room in the Cherry Hotel. The Cherry Hotel was famous as a place where you could purchase sex. I don't think the hotels' name was in any way related to sex. The Elbow Room had good draft beer. was a member of the Turtle Club. When a club member arrived and ordered the first beer the server would ask, "Are you a member of the Turtle Club?" If you responded, "you bet your sweet ass I am, "you got a free draft. This offer was only good on the first order and only if you gave the correct response. The Elbow Room also had some pretty good pizza which tasted great with the beer.

We returned to campus and walked to the Student Union to see what was going on. We noticed a few coeds just outside the Union. I walked up the steps pretending I have a bigger buzz than I really had and started talking to these girls. I felt like I was making some impression by the time I shared my college profile. One girl was from Pennsylvania and yes, she was a freshman. Hell, no big deal I had been involved with freshmen girls before, I go way back on dating younger women. Before we finished the conversation I agreed to take her and her roommate shopping the next morning in downtown Rocky Mount. The next morning I picked them about 10:00am at Nash Hall. I got them back to Nash Hall and all I said was, "I'll see you at the dance." I was not picking her up at the dorm, as that constitutes a date. I had to be careful not to over commit.It was time for the dance and I had my plan. If I saw her, I would be nice, dance a little, move around, maybe dance with someone else or not at all and that would be it, no commitment past that. I arrived at about 8:15pm and as I surveyed the room I noticed she had not yet arrived, which might be good, I didn't yet know. As I circled the room for a second time I noticed her and her roommate standing to one side. I approached the two and offered some profound words about something. The next number that was played that I felt comfortable with I asked her to dance and the night began. We danced almost every dance. The dance ended I offered to take her on a "little ride.'' I knew about this dirt road just off the campus where more "advanced" students went to "park." I was feeling adventuresome so I drove down the dirt road and turned around (just like I did at the cemetery on the night of the high school prom) so if I need to be in a hurry I could drive straight out. I switched off the lights and shut off the car. We sat there for a minute or so and then I slid over next to her. After a kiss or two with the girl I had a feeling that this was not working so I slid back under the wheel, turned on the engine, then the lights and drove out of the dirt road and headed to Nash Hall. I thanked her for her time and bid a fond farewell. I never said any more to her than "hello" the rest of the year. I got back to my room and reviewed my dating rules. I cancelled my amended rule about on campus dating; I would not date anyone on campus.

This year I had a new roommate, actually we roomed together during the spring term of my junior year when my other roommate from Delaware flunked out. It was a bad scene. My Delaware roommate had worked the previous summer while I was in summer school and made good money. He brought a car back to campus which spelled his downfall. He went everywhere. If anyone came into our room and said "go," he was ready. He went to the beach, to the mountains, to movies, to bars, to restaurants, and anywhere else students suggested he take them. Many times that fall he got out of bed, checked his course syllabus and discovered he had a test that day, he just said, "oh well, a test, I'll have to see about making that up." I don't think he made up many of those missed tests. It was a sad situation for he was a good student when he wanted to be, but that car spelled his demise. He never got a four year degree.

My new roommate was from Richmond and as I alluded to earlier he was the first person I met when I arrived at Wesleyan. He never had any money. Every time some of us wanted to go to a movie or to the bowling alley we would ask him and he would always say, "I don't have any money." I felt bad for him and often picked up the tab, as others did. He rarely paid us back, but I don't think we expected it. Sometimes when he "ran up a tab" he'd offer a LP album or a paperback book as payment. He worked in a men's clothing store in the summer and had some money when he returned, but it did not last. He never considered working on campus as other students with financial needs did. Money aside he was a really nice guy and was in my immediate circle of friends. He was English major and a good writer. I always thought he was very skilled in writing bull shit answers on essay tests. I thought we were a good pair, but I was still sad that my Delaware roommate self and flunked out.

In October of 1965 my dad figured out a way for me to get a new car. He had traded my convertible in 1964 for a hardtop. Using my allowance I had the car painted inside and outside during the year. I thought it was running fine and I had not thought about a new car until I graduated and had a full time job. His scheme called for borrowing all the money then paying the loan in four annual "balloon" payments. A balloon payment is a deal where you make one big payment each year, not monthly installments which are manageable. I was not even 21 yet but like most kids if you create a situation where I can get something new, in this case a car, I'm ready, let's buy a new car, anything, I don't care! One afternoon I drove home to go with dad to a car dealer in Henderson to pick out the model, color, and features of this new car. I wanted a 1966 Ford Mustang Fastback with a silver exterior and a black interior. I needed a 4-speed transmission and a 289 cubic inch V-8 engine with a 4 barrel carburetor and dual exhaust. This car would have a tachometer and a clock on the steering wheel post. The only catch was they did not have this car on their lot; it would have to be ordered from the factory and take 6 weeks to arrive. Never again would I purchase a custom made car. I was totally shocked that this was going to happen. A balloon payment of about $800.00 due each year for the next four years seemed to be light years away that day.

When the car was delivered to the dealer I drove home to go with dad to pick up my dream car. I couldn't believe it the first time I cranked the car. To listen to the sound of that engine and the dual exhaust as I pushed down on the accelerator was almost too much. I drove the car back home and had dinner with my parents before returning to Wesleyan. When I arrived back on campus I found a place to park away from all the other cars. I wasn't taking any chances of getting a dent or a scratch on my new car. Of course all of my college friends were impressed. In time every one of them had ample opportunities to take a ride in this car. Another boy had recently acquired a new convertible, but his car wasn't close to my new vehicle.

I started parking my new car diagonally in a section of the student parking lot that had no lines painted to distinguish one space from the other. The only reason I parked that way was to be sure no one would park their car close to mine and perhaps scratch my car. This area was several parking areas removed from the main student parking area. It wasn't long before I noticed other cars parking diagonally. In a few days another car parked diagonally, then another, then another. Within a few weeks there was a whole line of cars parked diagonally. I had started a "movement." Silly, as I wasn't protesting anything nor was I attempting to make any kind of statement, I just didn't want my new car scratched or dinged by other cars. I went out to my car one day and I noticed a piece of paper under one of the windshield wipers. I pulled back the wiper and grabbed the paper and noticed it was a parking ticket. Parking ticket? At N.C. Wesleyan College? There were always plenty of parking spaces! I didn't understand the ticket so I went to the Dean of Students Office and requested an appointment with the Dean to discuss this matter. I was told to come back tomorrow afternoon at 2:00p.m. And he would see me. The next afternoon I arrived at the Dean's office at the appointed time. I was ushered in and I sat down. He was cordial and asked me the purpose of my visit. I presented the ticket I had received and explained why I was parking in a diagonal direction. He listened intently and asked no questions. In my conclusion I stated, "And besides there are no lines painted to designate particular spaces so how can I be violating a space when lines aren't drawn where I was parking." There was a pause, and then the Dean spoke up. "You are right," he said, "but pay the ticket if you want to graduate." He had admitted that I was correct, but he had the power and I learned that day that power will win over right especially if the other side, in this case right, has no power to negotiate. I simply had nothing to put on the table except a logical argument and that was not enough. I left his office and took the ticket to the Business Office and wrote a check for the fine. This case was closed. I went back to the parking lot and moved my car into the marked spaces. I had learned another valuable lesson.

My senior year social calendar featured several more dates with girls from other colleges. There was a girl from home who was attending Atlantic Christian College (now Barton College) in Wilson, North Carolina, I had wanted to date for several years, but it had never materialized. I decided to call her before she left Atlantic Christian for the holidays. I got a date with her for the first Saturday night we were both home over the holidays. I was excited because for a while I had felt "attracted" to her. I picked her up on Saturday night and drove to the Ember's Club in Raleigh. The Embers were a local band from Raleigh who had done very well with the beach music sound. They had their own club in Raleigh and also one in Nag's Head, North Carolina. In those days it was a big deal for a young person to get to the Ember's Club, especially if you were from Norlina.

We got them to the Ember's Club and danced and drank beer. I drank the beer, but this girl did not drink. I had a really nice time and I assumed she did. After we left the Embers Club I took her straight home and I never saw her again.

Sometime during the spring term 1966, I received another off campus dating offer from a fellow Wesleyan student. A friend of his at Woman's College would get me a date if we could come to Greensboro. Of course I was interested. We had nowhere to stay so we got a motel room just off Highway 220 in Greensboro. This motel was close to Long's beer joint, the joint where I said my goodbye's to my Oak Ridge roommate. The motel was cheap, but it had a TV. After we checked in we drove to a 7-11 to buy some beer. We returned to the motel, drank beer and watched TV until it was time to get ready. We left the motel around 7:00pm Headed for Woman's College. We parked the car and walked to the dorm and checked in. The girls came into the reception area and everyone introduced themselves. My date was maybe 5'2" and really cute. We drove to a dance club with a real band that was very good. Dancing, drinking beer, and making out were the order of the evening. We got the girls back to W.C. on time. I had a wonderful time and I think my date did. For a while we exchanged letters.

Another friend presented another dating package that would be tagged my date with the girl from W.C. This guy knew some girls at an orphanage in High Point and he arranged dates for us. I was planning to take the girl from W.C. back to the dance club Saturday night, so how could I date another girl that same night? Easy, first you have one date, then take her home, then go pick up the other date. I had never done this, but I was game. The friend had friends we could stay with, a former University of Richmond Spider football player and his wife. The weekend was all set.

On Saturday we arrived in High Point mid afternoon. When we got to the football player's house we sat around talking to the couple. My friend suggested we ride over to the orphanage to meet our dates. When we got there the girls came out of their dorm and met us at the car. We chatted briefly and told them we would see them "later," I mean really "later." We drove back to the football player's house. My friend was supposed to stay at his friend's house until I returned from my date at W.C. I ate before I left the house and arrived at W.C. at 7:00pm. I picked up my date and drove to the club for more dancing, drinking beer, and making out. At 11:30pm I dropped my date off and then headed back to High Point for my second date of the evening. When I got back to the house my friend was in the bed asleep, as was the couple. I was pissed, what about my second date? I was not going to wake him so I got undressed and went to bed. The next morning he attempted to provide an explanation, but it was weak. After breakfast we headed back to Rocky Mount. That weekend was the last time I saw the girl from W.C. I never again got to see the girl I had met briefly at the orphanage. Before I left campus that year my friend told me she had been killed in a car accident. I never got to know her. How sad. I didn't learn the details of why she was at the orphanage in the first place, but for whatever reason it was not her choice.

My final dating experience while a student at Wesleyan was with another girl at Atlantic Christian College. This date was part of a double date set up by the guy who went with me the first time to Greensboro. This was a one night only date and I don't recall the girl or what we did. I guess neither one of us made an impression.

I enjoyed my three years at Wesleyan. I had no immediate plan except to pack up my belongings and head home. I had not thought of what I would do that summer. I said goodbye to the students that I liked and wished them well. Most of these students were rising seniors. My roommate was a rising senior so he would be back. I got in my car, rode around the circular drive one last time and drove past the boiler plant and out the back entrance. I would be home in less than an hour. My college journey was completed or at least at the time I thought it was.
Chapter 36

Once I got home and unpacked I had a short conversation with mom before sitting down at her table for a nice home cooked meal. After some more talk and TV I went upstairs and got ready for bed. Once in bed I lay there looking at the ceiling contemplating my future. I realized I had no immediate plan other than finishing that dam correspondence course. What could I do with a degree in economics? Why did I not take the teacher education track so I would at least be qualified to teach? Many of my friends were planning to teach, but no, not me, I didn't want to teach. What the hell did I want to do? My student deferment would end in August so I would be in the draft pool. I had no idea about my future.

The next morning I got up and went for a drive to one of my favorite spots, Kerr Lake. I hadn't been back to the house long when the phone rang. It was a high school classmate who I hadn't seen more than once or twice since we graduated in 1962. He had recently graduated from N.C. State University with a bachelor's degree in agricultural engineering. He and his brother and another friend were renting a house on Ashe Avenue in Raleigh, North Carolina. He called to inform me of a summer job in the Dept. of Agricultural Engineering at N.C. State. The job duties were assisting grad students in research projects. My friend would be working on research in the department and I would be mainly helping him. Since I was doing nothing at the time and had no other prospects, this job would give me some spending money plus time to figure out my next move. I packed up and left for Raleigh the next morning. I arrived around lunch time at the house my friend was renting. He was there for lunch and invited me to have a baloney sandwich before returning to work. I ate a lot of baloney sandwiches that summer. After lunch I went with my friend to the Dept. of Agricultural Engineering to meet the Dept Head and do the necessary pre-employment paperwork before starting my job. By the time I finished all the papers it was mid afternoon so the Dept. Head told me I could leave and be ready to get a fresh start the next morning at 8:00am.

The next morning I was up, dressed, and ready to go to work. I had no idea what specific tasks I would be performing, but it really didn't matter that much. I figured they didn't hire me because I already knew a lot about agriculture they hired me to "assist" which probably meant doing things anybody could do. There was several research projects going on concurrently headed up by grad students or recently graduated bachelor's students. I was assigned by the Dept. Head to assist my friend. The project involved determining the stress levels on the human body when you picked up a tobacco bale (the bale was actually full of burlap bags instead of tobacco) and walked to a rack and slid the bale into a rack. I would pick up different weights of these bales, walk different distances, and slide the bales into different heights, while being hooked up to electrodes which measured my heart rate at the different levels. I did about 10 repetitions then took a break while my friend performed the same operation. After we had done about all we could stand we would return to the lab to calculate the EKG data for each repetition. This was about all I did for three months. I felt like I was in pretty good physical shape after picking up all those bales. This work was as boring as drilling wells, but the pay was better and I was away from home. At night we would go play miniature golf, attend a movie, or just sit around and talk. My friend's other roommate had just graduated and he had other interests, like going to bars and drinking beer. Often at night he and I would go to a local bar, which my friend did not like. He was not a drinker and had zero tolerance for alcohol or people who consumed alcohol. One day this other boy went to a store and bought some beer and brought it back to the house and put it in the refrigerator. When my friend came home and found the beer he poured every can down the sink drain. While he was finishing his task his other friend came in and asked what the hell he was doing as the beer belonged to him. "Well, if you HAVE TO HAVE IT, you will have to go somewhere else to have it," was the response by my friend. His friend fired back, "well, none of us here HAVE TO HAVE IT, but it is my beer and I don't appreciate you pouring it out!" They had a standoff for a few days, but to keep the peace the boy never brought beer back into the house while I was there. I kept my mouth shut through the whole shouting match as I had nothing to do with this dispute. I found another boy down the street from Littleton, another town in Warren County, who had recently graduated from the University of North Carolina and had recently started a full time job as an accountant in Raleigh. We had played basketball against each other in high school. At the time he was dating one of the girls I used to dance with every Friday and Saturday night at the Woman's Club. He and I went out frequently during the week to a college bar on Hillsboro Street.

June became July and the repetitive, very boring work in tobacco research continued. Those work days seemed longer and longer. There were times at night the other boy would borrow a motor scooter from a married grad student and we would ride all over West Raleigh. The scooter was fun until we got out on a highway with cars zooming by within a few feet of us that I got to thinking, "maybe there were safer activities we should do in the evening."

August had begun and I knew the job would end within 4 weeks. My birthday was on the 24th and I still had no plan as to what I wanted do when the job ended, but I was pretty sure after my birthday I would be drafted. I decided I might as well take charge of the situation. If I waited and got drafted I had no choices and would likely wind up in Vietnam. If I volunteered for the army and took the tests for Officer Candidate School I would have more choices. I had a degree and one year at a military school so I should have some advantage.

In 1966 I was indifferent about the war in Vietnam. I was neither a "hawk" nor a "dove." I knew relatives who had fought in wars, all of them to date, and as far as I knew all had been drafted to serve. I knew of classmates serving in the military, and most of them enlisted after they graduated from high school. Some didn't want to face the draft so they enlisted in the navy, air force, or the marines.

I took off one morning from work and drove down to the induction center in downtown Raleigh. I went in and told the person at the main desk that I wanted to volunteer for the army and I was interested in Officer Candidate School. After a series of written tests the prospective inductees formed a line then were herded through a physical exam. There were several "doctors" who looked at everything they wanted to since we were all naked. They punched, poked, and felt of whatever parts of us that fit their needs. When we all got dressed we stood in more lines to get up to one of several desks with other army men asking questions and filling out forms. When I got to a desk I was asked to sit on this low stool. The dam thing was too close to the desk so I attempted to move it back, but I discovered it was secured to the desk with some tape. The guy at the desk told me, "we have to tie it down for people like you," and then he laughed. I didn't understand his humor, "for people like me."

The questions centered on my health history. He called out all kinds of medical conditions from his list and I kept repeating "no," meaning I did not then or ever have whatever the condition was. When he called out "asthma," I said, "yes," and he stopped. He asked more questions, but in particular, "do you have a history of asthma?" I responded I had asthma as a young child but I had not had an attack since 1958. He suspended the rest of his questions and told me to return within a week with a doctor's statement regarding my asthmatic condition. I left the induction center nonplused. I didn't want to enlist, but it would give me something to do for 3 years, perhaps more training and experience in area. What if I am inducted and its pure shit, I cannot run home as I did at Oak Ridge, they'd lock my ass up and I'd be marked for the rest of my life. I would receive a dishonorable discharge and probably have to return to Raleigh and live out on the streets. My parents wouldn't be able to handle the scorn they would endure with a "loser son." They would lose all their friends and probably could never go out of their house again, except late at night. I didn't want this for them.

My enlistment will come down to how well I present my case to some doctor, who will be a doctor that has never seen me! My old family doctor has been long gone from this earth and all the specialists from Richmond are still in Richmond. I didn't have time to contact them. I didn't go back to work, but I called to tell them I had to go home. I drove home to tell my parents about what I had done and what I needed to do. They listened, and then turned on the TV, as this is not their problem. My dad told me the name of the only doctor in the whole county, so the pressure was on for this one doctor who has never seen me to explain to the United States Army whether or not I was fit to do whatever the hell they would eventually force me to do.

I went to the phone book and found the number of the doctor's office and called for an appointment. I got an appointment for the following Monday. I had to report back to the induction center that Thursday, so time would be tight. I drove back to Raleigh that night and went to work the rest of the week. Late Sunday afternoon I drove back home so I wouldn't have far to drive to the doctor's office the next morning. The appointment was one of the earliest appointments, so I arrived early and sat in the waiting room until my name was called. The session was pretty much a presentation of my history of asthma to this doctor. I did take in an empty box of powders I took many years ago to help with an attack of asthma, but that was all I could show the doctor. The doctor listened intently while he took copious notes. After I finished my presentation he explained to me what he planned to do. He said, "I will draft a letter to this army staff person detailing the chronology of asthma you have given me and that's all I will do as I don't have your medical records since you are not one of my patients." He told me to come back in the morning and he'd have the letter ready.

My induction would depend on how skilled that doctor was with the pen. He did not know me from Adam, and he was drafting a letter on my behalf. I wondered if he was a hawk or a dove. I should have asked because if he's a hawk my ass is headed to Nam! I went back home and told my parents the doctor's plan and that I would be staying another night. I called the Dept. of Agricultural Engineering to tell them that I would not be at work on Tuesday.

On Tuesday morning, I was up, dressed, had breakfast and was ready to drive to the doctor's office. I got there before the staff had arrived. I decided to drive through downtown Warrenton. I drove up and down Main Street a few times to kill some time I drove back to the doctor's office and noticed the lights on suggesting someone was there. I got out of my car and approached the office. I opened the door and walked to the receptionist's window. I gave her my name and asked if the doctor had left an envelope for me. She informed me that he had not arrived and usually arrived around 8:30am. Since it was just 8:05 am I had more waiting. I sat down in the waiting room and thumbed through as many magazines as I could in 25 minutes. I kept looking at the clock, but the hands did not move any faster. At 8:30am I put the last magazine on the table. I didn't want to rush back up to the window, but I was getting anxious. I went through all the possible scenarios as to why this doctor had not arrived. I went with my final thought which was that the office had a rear entrance. He was already here. He was putting on his white coat doctors wear and then he was going to wash his hands. He will look at the charts of the patients he expects to see today. He was probably on his second cup of coffee because he was in a hurry when he left his rather large house this morning with his first cup. Maybe all this is wrong. Maybe he hasn't written the dam letter and is writing it now, but is not concentrating because some patient of his has called with an emergency and is on the way to the office to be examined so he cannot possibly focus on this most important letter. Maybe has hasn't thought about my letter. Hey, this is important! His procrastination may affect the entire free world. Get with it man! I sat there until almost 9:00am. I would think that if he had written my letter I would have seen him come to the reception room where three people were seated at desks. It is now 9:00am. I can't take any more, so I approached the window. The lady opened the small glass window and leaned forward to make sure she heard what I had to say. I inquired about the letter and she said there was no envelope at her station, but to be helpful she would walk to the doctor's office and see if she could locate this letter. What a nice lady! I stood there patiently until she returned. I saw what appeared to be an envelope in her hand. When I got closer, I saw two envelopes. When she handed me the envelopes through the window I noticed one envelope had my name on it, my copy, and the other had the name of the army induction officer. I thanked her and I was out the door. When I got in my car I opened my envelope and read what the doctor had written. I couldn't have written a better letter myself. It was chronological and stated the facts as they were told to him by me. This was all I could ask. I went back by our house and showed the letter to my mother, then drove to dad's store to share the contents of the letter with him. I headed back to Raleigh.

The next day I went to work to do the same boring stuff I had been doing for the past two and a half months. My friend had been accepted into the agricultural engineering graduate program at Iowa State University in Ames, Iowa. I was very happy for him. His friend, one of my roommates for the summer and who worked in the department all summer, had been accepted into the graduate program in agricultural engineering at N.C. State for the fall. Everyone had a plan for their immediate future except me. This guy, knowing that my job will end soon, suggested that I talk to the department head because he might have something else for me to do in the fall. I declined to pursue his suggestion because even though I had nothing in the works I sure as hell didn't want to continue to pick up bales of burlap bags for several more months.

Early the next morning I drove down to the induction center to enlist. I explained my purpose for the visit and asked to see the same man I had seen before. There was no sitting area, so I just stood until this guy came through a door. I handed him the envelope and he motioned me to follow him through the door back to his desk. Once seated the officer opened the envelope and read the letter from my doctor. He looked up and said, "O.K., this is what I needed, the army can't use you and you will be reclassified 1-Y." I asked the man, "What will I do now," because for a while this was the plan for at least the next three years of my life. He said, "Son, I don't know what you will do, that's your problem." I asked what 1-Y meant and he explained that I would never be called to service unless there was an invasion and foreign troops were already in the streets of Raleigh, in short, I was not likely to ever be called.

I left the induction center with ambiguous feelings. I didn't really want to be in the military, yet if I was inducted I would have a job for 3 years and if I should like it there were good some long term benefits to being a career man. I still did not have a career plan. I returned to work that day and within two weeks I was packing again and headed back home for there was nowhere else for me to go. When I returned home I would begin 6-8 months of the worst time of my life.
Chapter 37

When I got home I took my stuff up to my bedroom and unpacked as I planned to be there a while. Once I was in my bedroom I looked around and realized that since I lived here for the first eighteen years much had happened in my life. I felt good about many things like a college education and a 1-Y draft classification at age 21, but I felt very alone. I'm sure my parents weren't wild about my moving back in, but they weren't saying anything, yet.

I had to find a job, but where would I find a job and what kind of work would I be performing. When I was a student in high school and college there were no support services available as there are now. I had no high school guidance and career office to go to for advice. During my time in college there was no job placement office to provide help. I was on my own. Anyway the task of finding employment rested squarely with me in August of 1966. I wrote for a careers manual. This book had descriptions of many types and jobs and careers, most of which I was not familiar with. This book helped me eliminate many areas of employment.

I searched in the daily paper for jobs in the Raleigh-Durham area. When I saw a job of interest I would apply as the job ad required. Sometimes an ad requested a letter telling about yourself while other times it might have you write or call for an application. During the first few months I looked at a lot of advertisements for jobs and sent away for many applications. I even prepared my own form letter with pertinent information about myself and sent those "cold" to companies I thought I might want to work for. Out of the blue one day a principal from Littleton High School, which is in Warren County, called me and offered me a job teaching social studies. I had never applied for any job at that school and I didn't know him and he didn't know me, but here he was offering me a job. I immediately said "no" to his offer for two reasons, one, at the time I did not want to teach and two, if I accepted the job I would be living and working in this county and might wind up here for the rest of my life. In two years I would be teaching high school social studies.

I found out about the Employment Security Commission in Henderson so I went to the office one day and spoke to a job counselor. I completed a standard application for their files. The man told me that at that time they didn't have many positions that required a college degree. There was one job with the Office of Economic Opportunity I might be interested in. He showed me their job description and told me who to contact if I was interested. I took a copy of the job description with me. That night I read over the job description, but had difficulty deciding if I would apply for the position. Should I pursue the job and get an offer I could eventually find a place to live in Henderson, which wouldn't be the worst that could happen. I decided to apply for this job the next morning.

The next day I got dressed in my suit and drove to the O.E.O. in Henderson. I went in and told the receptionist that I wanted to apply for the job vacancy. I was given a job application and directed to a desk where I could complete the application. I hoped it might be possible to even get an interview before I left. There were no other job hopefuls in the office applying for anything. Maybe I would be interviewed while I was there.

I completed the application and returned it to the receptionist. She got up with the application in her hand and went into another room. Within 10 minutes or less she came back to where I was sitting and motioned for me to come with her. The next thing I knew I was offered a seat in front of a rather thin, older looking white man who was smoking a cigarette. We introduced ourselves and he then offered me a seat. He looked at my application, asked several questions about my college experience, and then got into the details of the job for which I had applied. The job would be working with poor people trying to help them with all kinds of things. I would have to go to their houses often to gather information. On and on he went. I realized I had no real issues with the poor as I had been around poor people for most of my life so how different could this really be. I had seen poor people with no money to pay for goods and services come and go from our store. I had seen rich people with money to pay for goods and services come and go from our store without paying. I had often gone with my dad to poor people's houses to collect money they owed and left with little if any money. I empathized with the plight of the poor and I told this man that I sincerely did. He reemphasized that working with the poor was the job. I got up, thanked him for his time and went home. This was not a job that interested me. This was the only E.S.C. job lead I ever got anywhere I ever lived. I had very little confidence in the agency.

Over the next several months I was very bored and rarely left the house. When I was out I grew tired of seeing people I knew who asked me, "what are you doing now," and I had to reply, "nothing, I'm not doing a dam thing, but I'm looking for a job while I continue to get all this free room and board at my parents' house." How humiliating a time that was! I still had a little money from my summer job that I spent for gas to go to job interviews. Each day I scoured the newspapers for job openings, while pursuing anything else locally I happened to hear about. Several times dad came home from work with news about a job. There was a vacancy at the state line carrying trash from the welcome center. Another job he heard about was as a driver's license examiner at the office in Henderson. I had zero interest in those opportunities. He was offended and thought I should apply for either. He believed "some job is better than none at all," and "you can work one of these jobs 'til you can do better." I wasn't hearing any of that shit, I had a college degree! As time went on he had little to say about my job searches.

I found out about private employment agencies. They all worked under the premise that if they found you a job and you accepted the position you paid them a percentage of your first year's salary. I thought well if they had better access to employers than E.S.C. it might be worth it in the long run to let one of these agencies place me. Since there were many of these private employment agencies in Raleigh I drove there one day see if these agencies could help with my job search. When I arrived in downtown Raleigh I parked the car and walked until I found a agency in a tall building and took an elevator up to the 5th floor. I went in and told them I was seeking employment. They gave me an application and a form to sign stating that I would agree to pay them X% of my first year's salary if they placed me in a job. After I completed the forms I was escorted to a job counselor's desk. The wall was lined with job counselors either talking on the phone or talking to clients. I sat down and joined the group. The counselor asked me some questions about my application, and then she asked me a question I had not heard before, "what kind of work would you like to do?" That was an interesting question because I didn't really know. What I realized was she was trying to get me to think of career areas such as sales, banking, or perhaps industry. I told her I had not put much thought into a particular career area.

Before I left her office I took a standardized test called the Wonderlic, to determine some skills that she couldn't identify from my application. I didn't set the world on fire with the test results. Before I left the office she told me she would be in contact with me as soon as she could find a position that best met my education and interests. She also said that when she called me about a job she could not tell me over the phone where an interview would be, I would be asked to come to her office first.

Over the duration of the fall of 1966 I went to at least 5-7 private employment agencies. I was sent on maybe 4 interviews by all of the agencies I visited for jobs, like sales, that I had already told them I did not want for any reason. One day I got a call telling me to come to Raleigh the next day for an interview. When I got to the employment agency I was given a card with an address in North Raleigh for some dam food sales outfit. I was pissed, but went to the interview anyway. The interviewer found out immediately in the interview that I was not interested so he cut the session short and wished me well. He asked why I was there if I was not interested in sales work and I told him because the dam employment agency sent me there. None of those private employment agencies ever placed me in a job. I came to have little confidence in their ability to find people jobs.

All through this long and rather difficult process in securing employment I did learn some valuable lessons. Don't ever fill out a job application with different shades of ink. Complete all empty spaces on the application because there is a reason why each space is on the form. Before you go to an interview read up on the dos and don'ts of an interview. I made every mistake in the book in completing job applications and participating in job interviews. The more applications I filled out and the more interviews I had the better I got.

There were times during that fall where there was a hiatus in job seeking and those times were the hardest. I experienced days then weeks when there was no job for me to apply for or no interview. I went through periods where the longer it took to find an opening the harder it was to apply for the next job. It was hard to stay positive and confident. Along life's journey there are special people who, for some reason, take you under their wing and do things for you many others would never do. One such person was a realtor in Raleigh. One morning I noticed an ad in the paper for a realtor's assistant in downtown Raleigh. Besides wanting a really interesting and well paying job I wanted to live and work in Raleigh. As long as I continued with this fantasy my job choices would be reduced, for not all the good jobs were based in Raleigh. I decided I would apply and hopefully get an interview. I sent a resume that I had learned to prepare. In a few days the realtor called me and set up a time for me to come and interview for the job.

I drove to Raleigh and met with the man at his office in an old building just off Fayetteville Street in downtown Raleigh. He had no receptionist, no secretary, and no other help, just himself. The front office was the whole office. When I walked in the door there he was seated a large desk and there was a chair in front of the desk and he motioned for me to have a seat. The interview didn't take very long as he spent most of the time telling me what he needed his assistant to do. I understood I would need to get a realtor's license and after that I would assist in whatever way he needed me. It didn't sound all that bad as I would not be totally confined to a desk. He said he could get me a small desk to put in the office if we could "work things out." He then told me about the pay, that my pay would be based on commissions from selling homes that is homes both of us would sell. Um, sales again, another sales job with no real pay checks unless I sell something. Then he gets into the real negative stuff. The problem he said he was having was getting the "listings," where someone signed a paper agreeing to let him sell their house. Listings still meant sales, you had to find the people who wanted to list their house then you had to sell their house. I told him I was not interested. Then we had the best discussion of all. He helped me understand more about the job market in Raleigh, more about the application and interview process, and many other "ins and outs" of acquiring employment. He told me he would help me in any way he could to secure a job and to please come by the next time I was in town and give him an update on my job search progress. He did not have to do any of this, but for some reason he did. I did stop by to see him several times. He was one of the good people who took an interest in me early on and to this day I still appreciated the time he gave me.

Thanksgiving came and I was up early the morning of the interview with some renewed enthusiasm and put on my suit dad had bought back in the fall to help with my appearance at interviews. I was familiar with downtown Durham from the memorable Demolay Conclave in 1961. I found a parking deck and parked my car. The office was on one of the higher floors in a building close to the parking deck. walked into the office and introduced myself to a lady in the front office. She picked up her phone and placed a call to announce I had arrived. Soon a man, a really large man, came through the door. He had a big smile and gave me a rather firm and confident handshake. We went back to his office and the interview began. He asked me to talk about my background, especially any pertinent details of my job searches since I left college. Then he painted a picture that appeared great. I would be selling life insurance policies to college seniors. Seniors would sign a bank note to defer the first year's premium for five years with the assumption being that within that time they would be employed and would have no trouble paying the first year loan back plus interest. If they continued to pay the premiums until age 65, the policy would be "paid up," meaning the death benefit would be there without further premiums or they could take a lump sum settlement. He further explained all I needed to do was get 3-4 appointments a week and if I did a good job "selling"the policy at least 2-3 of the prospects would buy this policy. If I could manage this work schedule I would be living in a nice apartment with a color TV and be playing golf several times during the week. Everything sounded good, except the selling part as I was not sure I could pull this off. I never believed in any way he was deceptive with me. It was as he said, IF, I did this, these things could happen, a big IF, but it would be up to me. For some reason he saw something in me that I didn't see and I left there with a job, but I would get no real paycheck until I had sold somebody some life insurance. I had to study and pass the state life insurance exam given at the Dept. of Insurance in Raleigh. He gave me some books to study to prepare for the test. For the next several weeks I studied for the test and once a week I went to the office in Durham to learn more about life insurance. I went out with the man to college campuses to see how he "did it." I saw early that if you were 6'5", weighed 240, and played football at Duke and the NFL, appointments and sales were much easier to get. I didn't figure out how to compensate for those areas he had that I didn't.

Test day came and I went to Raleigh and take the test. I felt pretty confident as I left Raleigh to go by the insurance office in Durham. When I got there I told him I felt fine about my test results, and then he told me I needed to get ready to go to Houston, Texas for sales training at the home office. Houston, Texas! Where was that? Hell, I've only been to Carolina Beach, saw New York, Kentucky, and Florida from a back seat window and now you want me, from Norlina, to go to Texas? I was a little taken aback, but then thought, what the hell, what else am I doing right now, nothing. It was Friday and the training was to start on Monday morning. I had agreed to sell life insurance and had taken the licensing exam and now he wanted to make sure I would succeed by providing this training. I had to grow up, shake out my pants and go home and pack. Before I left the office the man called Raleigh-Durham Airport and got my airline tickets. I would be flying out of RDU early Sunday morning. I went home and told my parents and I don't recall what they said. Sunday morning I got in my car and headed for RDU and a new experience. I went through the ticketing and had my one bag checked to Houston, Texas. I found the gate and sat down in the waiting area until time to board my plane. The plane was a "Whisper jet," which meant nothing to me, but I hoped it was a really sturdy plane. Soon I was on the plane and in my seat. When we got up in the air it seemed like every 30 minutes a stewardess was offering me something to eat. I liked this treatment!

The flight to Houston was nonstop and I arrived around midday. I deplaned and followed the signs provided to the baggage claim area. I noticed a conveyer belt was bringing the bags into the area where customers were waiting. I saw my bag and I grabbed it off the conveyer and walked to "ground transportation." I hailed the first taxi willing to stop and gave him the directions to the motel and paid for the trip with cash. I had no idea how much cash I took on this trip, but I was there for a week and I did a lot of things and I still had money in my pocket when I got back to Raleigh-Durham Airport. I got to the motel and checked in. I returned to the lobby to hang out. Soon a guy came to check in and we introduced ourselves to each other. He was from Flagstaff, Arizona. He asked if I was there for the insurance training and I said that I was. He suggested we could share a cab downtown as soon as he put his bags in his room. As soon he returned to the lobby one of the bell hops hailed a cab for us and we were off.

We asked the cab driver to take us downtown to a main street and let us out. We got out of the cab, paid the cab fee plus tip and started walking. We approached an interesting place called the Kasbar, so we decided to go in a have a round or two of drinks. No sooner than the first drinks were served than two nice looking, but seemingly older, more mature looking women came in and walked past our table. We made eye contact as they passed our table. Before I could take another swallow of my drink these women were sliding into the booth next to us. We exchanged greetings and next thing I know the woman on my side is grabbing my leg and saying to me, "you know what I need is a big....!" Well, being from Norlina I was not accustomed to women being that direct. I had a college degree and I was second in the voting as the outstanding cadet at a military school, but no, I had never heard such a comment directed to me. As any normal male would be, I was flattered. I mean, did I have what she needed, I didn't really know. We ordered another round of drinks for everyone. They told us they need to go pee so we excused them. At that point the other guy told me, "Those women are hookers so let's get out of here." Being so naïve I didn't pick up on this like the other guy did. We jumped up and ran out the door. We looked back and noticed two guys had come out looking around, for who or what we didn't know and didn't wait to find out. After running a block or two we slowed down and looked for a cab to take us back to the hotel. We had enough excitement for our first night in Houston.

The next morning I was up early and ready to attend class. Each morning I had to take a cab to the home office. Our staff trainer was a middle aged guy who had been with the company a number of years. He set us at ease from the outset and was very patient with the entire class. His teaching method was to lecture, discussion and then it was all hands on, learning by doing. Each day was an intense full day. By the end of the day most of the class ate dinner at the motel and returned to their rooms. But the rest of us, we were young and wanted to "do" Houston.

We found out that there was this topless lounge in downtown Houston, which was reported to be the one and only topless lounge in the United States. Now, that visit would be huge if we got there. I knew people in Norlina who would be envious that I had attended the country's first topless bar. Three of us, the guy from Flagstaff, Arizona and another guy from Lubbock, Texas flagged down a cab and instructed him to take us to the Swinging Doors, yep; the Swinging Doors was the name of this topless club. The cab ride took about thirty minutes. When we got there we noticed the rather glitzy sign over the top of the club. I was excited and I assumed the other two guys were also, but then they were married. My only erotic experience to date was at the annual county fair and those shows were always disappointing. We walked in and were escorted to a table. The waitress arrived at our table with no top on; I mean nothing on but a smile! I was mesmerized with this view. We observed several other waitresses walking around serving other customers and after a while I got tired of looking. "Is that it," I wondered. We left the club about 10:00 pm and were back at the motel within the hour. Another long, hard day of training was just a few hours away.

The next day after more of the same training and I was feeling some boredom. By afternoon our trainer told us tomorrow afternoon he had a special treat for us. We were to be taken by bus to the Astrodome for a complete tour of this wonder of the world. Now, that was exciting news as I was still somewhat of a baseball fan. That night the "three amigos" took a cab to a new night spot near the Astrodome, a dance club called the Dome Shadows. This was a nice club and had a live band. I danced a little with a woman whose husband was in Vietnam. Rule: don't associate with married women!

The next morning more insurance training, a quick lunch, then to the Astrodome. I was familiar with the Astrodome and now I was going to see it close up. Once we got inside we met our own personal tour guide who to take us everywhere in the facility. He spent time explaining how the roof operated and how the artificial turf was tied down around the infield. He took us inside the players' dugouts and dressing rooms as well as showed us some of the many restaurants around the stadium. I was impressed to say the least. We got back to the home office late afternoon and took a cab back to our motel. It would be another night at the Dome Shadows. We were getting in really late and not getting much sleep, which was making it harder and harder to stay focused in our class.

We were down to the last day and night in Houston. Our class ended at mid day and we were on our own until our flights home the next day. That night we went to a new place, called the Town and Country Roundup which featured a live western swing band. We mostly watched that night and did not stay long. I had a good time with these two guys and for a brief while after the training, we stayed in touch.

I slept late the next morning as I had a late afternoon flight. I checked out of my room around 4:00 pm. and took a cab to the airport. The flight was scheduled for 6:30 pm and I was expected to be back at Raleigh-Durham Airport by 11:30 pm EST. Things were moving along as expected and I boarded the plane shortly after 6:00p.m. Before I left we were told that for some reason our nonstop flight to Raleigh-Durham could not be completed and we would have to stay the night in Atlanta at Eastern Airlines' expense. I really didn't care as I was in no hurry to get home and I had never been to Atlanta. When we arrived in Atlanta it was cold, down in the twenties and it was March. I checked into a motel close to the airport and walked to my room. When I got in and put my things away I turned on the TV and heard that the Carolina Tar heels had just defeated the Princeton Tigers in the Eastern Regional's Basketball Tournament. I continued to follow the Tar heels and the other "Big Four" basketball and football teams.

The next morning I took a cab to the airport and soon I was on my way, not to Raleigh-Durham, but to Asheville, North Carolina. I was on a regional flight, a smaller plane that was to going to stop at every dam small airport between Atlanta and Raleigh-Durham. We got to Asheville and were told the plane would depart for Raleigh-Durham in 20 minutes, so we could stay on the plane or get off. I have always had an unpredictable digestive system. I think it's great to hear about people who "eliminate" every morning at the "appointed time." That's wonderful for them, but that is not me, never has been. So I never know when I will be "going." My mother used to call bowel movements "boo booing," so I'm telling you I never know when I have to boo boo. And there are times where strange and usual food can trigger a round of diarrhea or to use my mother's terminology, a "shit hemorrhage." That day in Asheville was one of those days. I got off the plane because I had "that feeling," that if I didn't get to a commode soon I would shit my pants. I ran down the steps of the plane and into a rather small terminal. I looked for the sign, "Men's Room." I was having some difficulty finding the men's room until I noticed it ahead on the right. I was feeling confident as I turned the corner into the Men's Room. I eyed the stalls, but then, "son of a bitch." What was this I saw, a slot for money, quarters, it was a pay toilet! In all my years of flying since I have never seen a pay toilet in any airport, but on that day when I really needed to take a seat, there it was a dam pay toilet! I checked, but I didn't have a quarter, only paper money! I left the rest room holding my cheeks together in search of a store, any store that could provide me some change. I found a newsstand and went to the counter and begged for change for a dollar as I didn't have time to look around to buy anything. The cashier was polite and made the change giving me 4 quarters. I returned to the rest room, put my quarter into the slot and pushed on the door lever. I was "relieved" when I get that stall door opened. I filled that pot up! I mean I'm really relieved, I was enjoying this, then it occurs to me, how long have I been off that plane? I looked at my watch, but I didn't have a reference point as to when I deplaned. I'm done I think. I pulled my slacks up, zipped up, flushed and I'm out to the sink to wash my hands. I had spent more time washing my hands in public toilets, but not that day. When I ran out of the terminal in the direction of the plane I noticed that the dam plane's door was closed and the propellers are spinning. "They are going to leave me," I yelled to myself. I ran up the steps to the plane and banged on the door. "Open the door," I was yelling. Luckily, the door opened and a nice stewardess let me pass. I found my seat, sat down and fastened my seat belt. All I wanted to do was go to the rest room. I hoped this would never happen again. It did.

The remainder of my flight was very smooth. I was glad to see the lights on the runway at RDU. I got off the small prop driven plane and walked to baggage claim to retrieve my one bag, and then I walked in the direction of ground transportation and to the parking lot for my car. I was home within the hour. I talked briefly with my mom then headed upstairs to my room. I felt I had received very good training in Houston and I was thinking that I could do this; I could really sell this life insurance. I was as ready as I'd ever be.

That week I drove to meet with my manager at his Durham office. We talked about the Houston training and discussed plans for me getting started selling life insurance. My initial base of potential customers would be obvious, rising college seniors that I already knew at N.C. Wesleyan College. I told my manager I planned to visit Rocky Mount the next day. I assembled the insurance materials I needed, left the office and returned home. I turned in early to get a good night's sleep before embarking on my job as a life insurance salesman.

The next morning I awoke early, got dressed and was ready to go. I put my materials in the car and went back in the house to eat breakfast. I told my mother I would be back by dinner. I left the house and drove down highway 158 into the rural countryside to Rocky Mount and Wesleyan College. I was on campus within the hour. I parked the car in front of South Hall and took the stairs to the third floor. The first potential "client" was from Richmond and a frequent rider to the bowling alley, movies, and anywhere else I used to go as a Wesleyan student. Did I expect some "reciprocation" for all these "free rides?" I probably did, yes I did. He allowed me to begin my sales pitch, but halfway through he cut me off and said he didn't think he was interested. I was highly offended! I left his room pretty pissed. The next person I wanted to see was in class so I went down to the first floor to find another potential customer. I told him I was involved with the selling of life insurance. He appeared to be interested so I went directly into my sales pitch. He didn't say yes or no, but he'd "think about it" and let me know soon. I was a little disappointed, but I thought I still had a chance.

This back and forth to rooms, up and down stairs went on until about 3:30 pm in the afternoon. I left Wesleyan having made 5 presentations, but only 1 sale with 1 maybe. I remembered what the manager told me during my interview, "get 3 appointments and you will get a least one sale." I had 5 presentations and 1 sale. There were a few more students I had intended to see, but I decided I would have come back in a week or two to talk to them. I drove back home for dinner.

Over the course of the first month after training in Houston I managed to sell 4 policies, all to people I knew quite well. I became highly offended if my "friends" didn't purchase my policy because I thought they should see I was trying to help them. By the end of the first month I went through my potential clients at Wesleyan and would not return until the next new crop of seniors. By the end of the first month I was the top producer from my Houston training class and I was totally shocked at this news.

My strategy for the second month was to get appointments with people I grew up with living in the Norlina area. I was trained to sell any other life insurance policy other than the special deferred payment policy for college seniors. This was a complete bust. I didn't sell one dam policy during that second month. I was going to Durham every week to get pep talks from my manger. My confidence was eroding fast. He asked me to spend a day or two at his office on Hillsboro Street across from the N.C. State campus in Raleigh. I did this for a few weeks, but all I did was sit in a chair and look out the window, then drive home. This was not working. My confidence, what little was left, was shot, I just could not do this. By the end of the month I went to Durham and told my manager I was quitting and I was sorry I let him down. What a real human being he was and still is! He immediately began to talk about "other opportunities" I should explore. For the next few months he would often call with suggestions for jobs. One day he called and asked me to come see him as he had an idea about a job. When I got there he suggested I start a bookkeeping service and I could use his office until I got on my feet. Why he continued to try to help me I'll never know except he's one of life's really good people. He was much more excited about this job than I was. It seemed to me for this idea to work I would have to be "selling" the bookkeeping service, really selling myself and at that time I just didn't have what it took to sell anything. needed a job with specific tasks to complete with a set paycheck coming to me on a regular basis. When I left my old manager's office our contacts were less frequent, but I did try to stay in touch with him, I still do today as he is on my list of my all time most favorite people.

I had returned home to Norlina with nothing to do. I had a few dollars left from the limited sales of insurance policies, but I used this money to buy gas to find a job. I continued to look in the papers for available jobs, but nothing was available that interested me. One day I found out there was a job in a new industrial engineering department had been created at a cotton mill in Henderson. I went to file an application at the mills' personnel office. The personnel director had graduated one year ahead of me at Norlina High School. He had attended Louisburg College for one year and "happened into" this position. Anyway, I completed the application and sat down with him to discuss the details of the job opening. The job involved performing checks on the quality of work of the mill workers and making sure all the machines were running at optimum efficiency to ensure maximum production. The remainder of the time would be spent in the office writing reports of the results. I would have to work 9 hours per day five days per week and a half day on Saturday. This would be a salaried position and I would be paid every two weeks. The job seemed interesting and I liked the idea of a regular pay check. I told him I was "really" interested in this job. He told me the next part of the process was to take the "Wonderlic" test and to check my references. I went into another room and he brought me the test. By this time I was familiar with the structure of the test since I had taken several at private employment agencies I visited. This one posed no immediate problem and I was done in 10 minutes. I returned home and anxiously awaited a call. In about a week the mill's personnel director called me back and told me he wanted me to return to the mill to talk with plant managers and other supervisors. I told him I would be happy to return and we agreed on the day and time.

Three days later I drove back to the mill for a series of meetings. The personnel director gave me a list of names of mill officials I was to meet with along with the times and locations of these meetings. By the end of that day I had talked to six other people at that mill and still I had no job. I went back home again and waited to be contacted. Another week passed and I was still waiting. Finally the personnel director called and told me he had just gotten out of a meeting with some "key people" and he was happy to offer me a job. If I was interested I could come to his office ASAP and complete the initial employment paperwork. I told him I could be there within the hour. I hung the phone up, got dressed, and headed back to Henderson. After I completed the paperwork he told me I could start the next Monday morning. When I left I thought well, at least I had a job. It had taken almost 9 months to find a job with steady income. Maybe I could make a worthwhile contribution there and hopefully like the work, the place, and the people. I wouldn't know any of this until I got there and started to work, but at least I would have a place to go each morning. I hoped that if the job worked out I could move to Henderson.

Monday arrived and I was back on the road to a new job adventure. I got to the office early, as usual, and waited until I saw a lady unlocking the department doors. I walked in behind her and said "hello," as I had met her earlier during one of my visits. She was probably in her early forties and I gathered she "ran things" in the office and kept everyone "straight." I met with the vice-president of the industrial engineering (IE) department and the department supervisor. By mid morning I was back in the office with the IE team, the guys who performed the IE studies. Each IE person had his own desk. I was lucky enough to have a nice view of the grounds from my desk. I talked to each member of the IE staff during the day. Two of the men knew more about IE than the other three and all 5 knew more than I did. I was the only one with a college degree.

After the first month I had mastered the job and figures out how things worked there. The secretary liked to walk through telling everyone how hard she worked, emphasizing any reports passed on to her needed to arrive "in a timely fashion," while the 5 IE guys responded with sexist remarks. I just listened and offered no comment since I was the new boy on the block. The IE vice president yelled a lot from his office about the contents of the reports he received. The IE supervisor spent most of the day listening to the VP yell mostly at him. The rest of the day he asked the 5 IE guys what the current reports meant. I was absorbing all this wondering just how long I wanted to do this type of work. By July the answer was not long. For several months I had talked to friends who were teaching and they enjoyed it or maybe their draft exemptions, I couldn't tell. I began to think, I was doing absolutely nothing with my degree. If I was employed long enough I might eventually be a plant manager, but from what I had seen I had no interest whatsoever in being a plant manager. Maybe I wanted to teach, but I was not certified, but I could have been had I taken the teacher education track at Wesleyan or had taken the teaching job offered to me the previous year at Littleton High School. I decided I wanted to return to school to get my teacher's certification. I wrote my uncle requesting more money to return to college, but this time he was not a happy camper, he sent me a blistering letter about WHY had I not "got the proper education" to get a job, etc, etc, etc., but he did agree to pay my expenses. I applied to the social studies certification program at N.C. State and was accepted for the fall term of 1967. I was going back to school to take courses I should already have.

I submitted my resignation in early August to the IE Department and after working a two week notice I was packing again to return to college. My yearly automobile "balloon payment" was due so I gave dad all I had, which was $200.00 of the $800.00 needed and told him we should sell the car. He was O.K. with it since he was going to pay the remaining $600.00. By the time I got to Raleigh we had traded the car for 2 door hardtop. I still owed some money on the car, but not as much. I knew once I got my Class A teaching certificate I would have a regular pay check and could take care of this debt.

I did feel bad about all of this. I felt bad because when I left college I had no clue about my career path. I felt bad I spent someone else's money to go to college. I felt bad coming back to live at my parents house for a year. And finally, I felt really bad because I was returning to college to take courses that I could have taken at Wesleyan College. I was a year away from gainful employment and what if halfway through the year I decided I didn't want to teach, what then?
Chapter 38

Even though I was late applying for the program I managed to get the classes I needed. Classes started in two weeks and I needed to find a place to live. I did not desire to live in a dorm. I had graduated, but was not a graduate student so a graduate dorm was out of the question and I sure as hell was not going to live in an undergrad dorm. I got a copy of a Raleigh paper and began looking at rooms near campus. Maybe I could find a room upstairs at some old widower's house. I wrote down some phone numbers and made some calls, but none of these places sounded like where I wanted to be. For the next few days I got copies of newspapers and continued to look for accommodations, but nothing interested me. The days were passing by and my time to secure housing was running out. Then I thought of a local boy who was still attending N.C. State. I called him and found out he was sharing a place with one other boy in an apartment on Kilgore Avenue, one block off Hillsboro Street. I asked if, by chance they had any more space and if so, if they would be willing to take me in I'd be happy to split expenses. He didn't even ask his roommate he just said, "Yea, sure come on." The monthly expenses he quoted were well within the amount my uncle had sent me. I hung up and breathed a sigh of relief, I was registered for classes and now I had housing close to the campus. I was set for a least for one more year and I had better dam well make this work.

When classes started I walked to class every day. It was a fairly long walk, but I could get to class in 15-20 minutes. When it rained I had a raincoat and an umbrella to keep me dry. Most of the classes were boring required survey courses. Some of the education courses were interesting while the psychology courses were a complete disaster. The introduction to psychology course was in a large auditorium. I don't know how many seats were in that room, but they were mostly full and I felt very unimportant in such a large room. I had to take several history courses and all of those were boring. All we ever did was sit and listen to a lecture and take whatever notes we wanted.

I enjoyed the Saturday football games because State had a good football team, although I attended the games alone. They were undefeated through the first eight games. They went up to Penn State and lost their first game. Next weekend three of us went down to Clemson's Death Valley to see State play Clemson and State lost their second straight game that afternoon and lost the Atlantic Coast Conference Championship. State won the Liberty Bowl that year and ended with a 9-2 record.

During basketball season it was pretty much the same, when I went to games I went alone. State had an average team, they would win two, then lose one, then win 2, lose 3 and I didn't remember any particular games that stood out. The games provided some form of entertainment during the cold weeks of winter.

I took my remaining education courses and student teaching during the spring term. I only had four and a half months left and then maybe I would get a teaching job for the next fall. By midterm the student teaching placements were made. I was placed at Aycock Junior High, one block from New Bern Avenue in east Raleigh. My cooperating teacher at Aycock was a football and track coach and I found out later that I took two education courses under his brother who was a professor of education at Wesleyan. I really liked him and I used him as a reference on my job applications. I was looking forward to beginning my student teaching. I observed my teacher for the first week from the rear of his classes. I was getting some idea of his teaching style as well as his classroom management. He was a coach; therefore he always had the attention of his students.

I came in one morning to begin my second week at Aycock and before the daily announcements my teacher told me during second period he would get the class started and then I could "take over." Take over? What the, I wasn't prepared, what would I do? Well, I decided to do what I saw him do every day. He had a composition book of notes and every day, for all 5 geography classes he "gave notes" and the students seemed fine with it. Along the way he added some antidotes, but he mostly gave notes and students wrote them in their little notebooks. Second period started, he took the roll, talked for 5 minutes, then gives me the class, and headed down to his office underneath the gym. I got through the class alright thanks to the students. By week's end he had added 2 more classes so I had 3 classes of geography to teach every day for the next few weeks.

I had never taken a geography course in college, but I did take a high school course. According to the North Carolina Secondary Education requirements to have an "A" certification as a high school social studies teacher you did not need a course in geography. I studied over the weekend trying to get prepared to teach the 3 geography classes the next week. It was surprising just how much information I remembered about those countries from my high school geography class. I guess my high school coach was a better geography teacher than he was a coach. By Monday morning I felt I was ready to "take charge" of the classes and educate the masses. I gave more notes, but I provided more in depth information for students to copy down. I appreciated those kids being nice to me that first week!

By the third week I was bored to death, but since I was teaching the classes, I could change my methods. I started having more student involvement such as discussions and working together in groups. I shifted from topographical geography to political geography. Students learned to find a country on a map, but they also learned why the boundaries were drawn as they were and that often times those boundaries involved the politics of several countries. Why was one country a communist dictatorship while a neighboring country was a democratic republic? I sensed the students liked the changes. My cooperating teacher was seldom in the classes I taught either because he had supreme confidence in my abilities or he didn't give a dam, I wasn't sure which.

On most days of the first four weeks of my student teaching I felt pretty good about what I accomplished. My methods supervisor from N.C. State told our class she expected to complete her classroom observations during the last two weeks of the semester, therefore, students who had not been visited yet should see her soon. I felt confident that she would like my classes.

Before she visited some deranged, sad little person with nothing going for himself assassinated Dr. Martin Luther King in Memphis, Tennessee. It was late in the day after I had returned home from my classes when I heard the news on the radio. The radio announcer urged calm while the police had a mandatory curfew starting at midnight. I was confused about the kind of society we were living in, but more than that, what kind of society did we want to live in. I turned in early for the evening to get some rest because I had no idea what tomorrow would bring.

When I got to class the next morning I found a very somber group of students. Very few conversations were going on anywhere in the room. I looked around the room at my African-American students and saw expressions of anger, while others exuded sadness, but mostly what I experienced was the look of total disgust, disgust they lived in a country that couldn't protect minorities from free movement and expression. Their ancestors were forced to work under slavery. After a bloody civil war they were reluctantly given their "restricted freedoms" under segregation and now, they were still trying to get the same rights and privileges under the Constitution of the United States as every white American and now another African-American, their leader, had been killed. Each morning after announcements classes would recite the Pledge of Allegiance, followed by the singing of the National Anthem, but on this day not one African-American student got up. They all stayed seated and I did not say one dam thing. I supported their opposition to participating in these rituals. The country was a paradox.

During my student teaching at Aycock I befriended a young African-American student. Every morning he and I would chat about politics and civil rights. He wanted to know my opinions and he was quick to voice his views immediately after I finished my comments. I was still in the training phase of my "hoped for career" in education, but I could tell this kid was special, he was different. His thoughts about everything were just deeper and his opinions were always supported with sufficient facts. No other student in the sixteen years I taught could match him. One day I assigned my students oral reports and during one of the reports the African-American kid challenged some of the facts the student was presenting. He and the presenter got into a "controlled discussion" for the next 5 minutes and I them debate the facts. I saw this interaction as a free exchange of opinions, some healthy give and take. Sitting in the back of the room was my student teaching social studies supervisor. I noticed she was busy writing down notes as my kids continued to debate their points. I felt these kids deserved a chance to express their feelings and I intended to allow them to communicate with each other. During the last week of classes my cooperating teacher at Aycock told me he recommended a "B" for my student teaching. I was O.K. with that, but I would have liked a better grade. A few days before I left Aycock I asked the teacher if he had submitted his grade to my social studies supervisor and he said he had and they were in disagreement with my final grade. I was very disappointed and I went to see her about my grade. She mentioned the "free for all" she observed in my class and that was the prime reason for the "C+"grade. Nothing I could say would get her change my grade.

I will forever disagree with the grade she gave me for student teaching. If I had to repeat the class for her to evaluate again I would still allow those students to speak their mind. Incidentally, decades later the African-American student was elected mayor of Atlanta, the largest city in the South. I was very proud of him.

By the end of the week student teaching and final exams were over. My roommate was also finished up and would be heading home to McCain, North Carolina next week. I applied for teaching jobs with Raleigh City Schools, Wake County Schools, and Johnston County Schools. That week I got a call to interview with the Wake County Schools on Monday. Maybe things were going to work out after all.

My roommate and I decided before we left Raleigh we would drive to Atlantic Beach on Sunday. We got to the beach around 10:00 am and laid out in the sun for several hours. I learned another lesson; don't EVER lie out in the sun for hours, especially if you don't have any protection from the sun. When we left the beach that afternoon I was the color of a lobster after he had been cooked. Thank goodness my roommate was driving. He was covered up for part of the time we were on the beach plus he had a darker skin tone. Halfway to Raleigh the sun burn was beginning to hit me and I was feeling nauseous. By the time we got to Raleigh I was very uncomfortable. We stopped by the drug store and I bought everything on the shelf that could ease the burning. When I got to the apartment I applied heavy amounts of these preparations and went to bed. Needless to say, I got little sleep. The next day I tried to rally. My job interview with the Wake County School was at 9:00a.m. I tried to eat, but I had no appetite. I slowly put my clothes on over my burning body. Putting on my socks was a real chore, but when I finally got my shoes on I could not tie them. My feet were so swollen I could not pull the sides of the shoes up enough to tie them. I decided to wear the shoes as loafers. It never occurred to me to call and reschedule the appointment, which was what I should have done. I got to the office and had the interview, but I didn't give a dam. All I wanted to do was leave and go back to bed. It took a few days to heal. I NEVER got sunburned like this again. I had learned another valuable lesson. I did not get a teaching job with the Wake County Schools.

The next week I said my goodbyes to my roommate and thanked him for allowing me to live at his apartment. I drove back to Norlina for yet another summer. I wondered how many more summers would I have to spend living at home. I submitted applications for teaching jobs and I expected before too long I would have a position. I did not have any employment lined up for the summer, but I could always work for dad, but his business was slowing down.

I had not been home long when I got a call from our postmaster, who was always nice to me. When I was in the 6th grade he was my first little league coach. He always spoke to me and briefly chatted with me when I visited the post office. He wanted to know if I had a job for the summer, to which I replied, "No." He explained he was involved with a Boy Scout advisory board and in a recent meeting that included the Camp Durant Director for Summer Scout Programs he heard there was a summer job for a college student at the camp. He didn't know any further details except he knew the job was at Camp Durant and it was for the entire summer. He gave me the name and number of the director and urged me to call him soon if I was interested. I called the man that afternoon and we agreed on a day and time for me to come to Camp Durant to discuss the position. Camp Durant was a large Boy Scout camp just north of Raleigh and was where scouts went with their local troops, especially in the summer.

A couple of days after the call I drove to Camp Durant to meet with the camp director. When I got to the camp I had no trouble finding him as he provided good directions where his office was located. He was very pleasant and possessed a lot of energy. He asked a few questions about me and what my career aspirations were. I told him I planned to be teaching high school the coming fall, but I had not secured a position. He explained in detail the duties of the job he had at the camp. He explained all boys attending Camp Durant were Boy Scouts and were coming for specific reasons, to earn merit badges or to work off other scout requirements for their next rank. One troop attending was not a Boy Scout Troop, the "provisional" scout troop or "F"Troop maybe. There would be a new and "different troop" arriving each week to "experience" scouting. In essence they were poor kids who were not scouts and most likely could not afford to be scouts or did not live close enough to attend scout meetings or for whatever reason, they were not scouts. I was to "be" with these kids 24 hours a day as their "leader" and I would be expected to have a daily itininery of activities for these boys. It sounded like a tough task, to plan activities for non-scouts at a scout camp. The director assured me there would be several scout masters along with other older, Explorer scouts who would be in and out of the camp all summer who would be more than willing to assist me with the activities. I thought about the job and realized I had to take it or head back home one more time and work at dad's store. I told him I would take the job. He told me to be back by 1:00 pm Sunday before the boys were expected to arrive. I would be with these kids morning, noon, and night until the following Saturday at noon, at which time they would board a bus to be taken back to their homes. This job would be different to be sure, but I thought it could be good experience to be around young people since I was expecting to be a teacher, although these kids were between the ages of 11-13.I drove home and spent the rest of the week checking newspapers for any teaching positions while doing as little as I could. I sensed some amount of stress when I returned to Camp Durant. I told my parents I would be home every Saturday after the boys were dismissed. The next day I was in my car driving to my next big adventure.

I arrived before the required hour of 1:00 pm and went to the camp director's office. He didn't show me where my living quarters was when I was there the previous week. When I found him he explained each week I would stay in a different "place," err, I would be staying with the provisional troop, yes, even at night! He didn't tell me this during our meeting and I'm now wondering what else did he "forget." Anyway he took me out in the middle of the woods to a shelter, not a cabin as I had imagined. Yes, it was definitely a shelter, not a cabin with 4 walls and a door, there was no door and there were no windows. It was a dam shelter. It had a roof and 2 sides that extended halfway to the front with the front and the other half of the sides exposed to wind, rain, animals, etc. The provisional troop would sleep all week in this shelter. I went in and threw my belongings on one of the bunks, then walked back to the main lodge. I saw the director running around "directing" and when he saw me he came over to get me to come with him to meet "some people." These people were camp staff assigned to work in the main lodge area and the dining room. The staff was a mix of older high school students, college students, and a few older adults. The director told me "my troop" should be arriving any minute and when they did I needed to be at the bus to greet them and escort them to their shelter. After they got settled I could bring them back to the lodge and "together, we" would try and develop some activity plans for the rest of the day and at least through Monday.

The bus arrived and the kids, numbering about 12-15, slowly got off the bus. I spoke to the ones who gave me eye contact, the others I just let them be. I told them to follow me to our camp and they complied. There was very little chatter among the boys as we walked to the shelter. Most of these kids were African-American and I had yet to see one African-American Boy Scout at the camp. I never saw one the entire time I was at Camp Durant. I was committed to doing the best I could with the resources at my disposal and the limited knowledge I had about the scouts and the great outdoors. I was a little uncomfortable with the daily activities plan and tried to get some help. By Tuesday I reached the conclusion that my ideas about what we should do were about as good as these "pros" at the camp.

Each morning I had to be sure all the boys got up, got dressed, and at least washed their face and hands before I marched them to the dining hall. The kids got a good breakfast each morning in the dining room which featured about anything a young boy might want to eat. After breakfast we returned to the shelter to straighten up the bunks, go to the restroom or whatever else was needed. Then I lead them to one of several activity centers. Each activity center was a specific area of the camp set up for scouts to work on specific merit badges or specific requirements for attaining their next rank. If you were not a scout the activities would mean very little. As we walked from center to center I kept reaching the same conclusion, none of these activities fit and at practically all the centers supplies were needed. The provisional troop didn't have any dam supplies and they didn't have any money to buy supplies! Who came up with this stupid idea? You bring poor kids who are not scouts to a Boy Scout camp and there's nothing for them to do!

Every afternoon there was "free swim" for one hour where my provisional troop could participate. Most of my boys could swim which was good as it gave them something to do, but the few that could not sat around the edge of the lake with me as I could not swim either. By Wednesday I met with the camp director to discuss the provisional troops' "activities." I told him I was not happy because ALL the activities at the camp were for his scouts and they just didn't fit the provisional troop. He gave me some B.S. about "staying with it" and he would have "some others" help with "other" activities. I told him that thus far their "efforts" were unacceptable and that I was very frustrated. I left the meeting feeling like, um, maybe this was an opportunity, and I had identified a problem: there were little or no activities for my provisional troop. I was hired to give these kids a unique experience at this Boy Scout camp, even though not one of them was a scout. What were my possible solutions? I could continue to request assistance from the "experts" regarding some activities, but so far this had been a bust. I could take them around to the activity centers and force them to sit and watch scouts enjoy doing projects that lead to awards so they could feel really shitty about not being scouts. I could take them to the lodge and make them sit for hours before the next meal. No, none of these ideas were sensible solutions. There was a fourth idea, I would be creative, I won't ask a dam soul, I'll come up with my own "appropriate "activities and won't ask anybody anything.

I will devise my own plan and implement it immediately. Let's see what do I know something about? I know some military stuff because I spent a year at Oak Ridge so I will spend time on some drill movements to inspire discipline. I got some other stuff I can lecture on that will get their attention. I have spent a good bit of my young life in the woods and fields so we'll find us some fields and hunt for some arrowheads, maybe even have some sort of contest. If can find a ball, any kind of ball, we will have a game. If I can't find a ball I'll create a game without a ball. We would continue our afternoon swim and our 3 meals a day and I was pleased with my intinary. I will work on some kind of story time at bed time. I do remember a few "ghost stories" from the 2-3 times I got to go camping as a scout. I am excited!I implemented my plan and it worked fairly well most days. I did not find a ball and I didn't come up with a new creative game so we substituted a ball game with a hike. On Friday, the day before my boys were to leave the camp director found me to see "how it was going" and I leveled with him. First, I told him that he was not up front with me as to what the job really entailed. Second, the support that he said I would have was largely nonexistent. Third, this job was very intense and very stressful and by the end of the second week if things were no better I was out of there. He assured me that next week would be different and the first week of the summer at Camp Durant was always "hectic." "O.K," I said and I told him I would continue to do the best I could next week.

On Saturday, I bid a fond goodbye to my troop. Overall they were a good group of kids, just poor, which they had no control over. Before they boarded the bus I gave each kid some money. They had no money when they arrived, but I wanted them to leave with some. I waved goodbye to anyone on the bus who looked my way. As soon as the bus was out of sight I walked back to the shelter, gathered my clothes and headed for my car. This was a rough week. Within the hour I pulled into my parent's driveway. I delivered the dirty clothes to my mother then I told her about my week. I told her I was frustrated and might quit by next weekend, but she had little to say.

Sunday afternoon had arrived and I was back at Camp Durant at 12:45. I parked the car and walked to the main lodge. I found the camp director to let him know I was back. I said nothing about any activities for my troop because at that point I had no confidence that the camp director was going to provide any support. The activities that I provided the previous week had for the most part, worked out. I purchased a cheap beach ball so we could play dodge ball. I liked this game as a kid. It was a relatively safe game and all the boys could participate. I was settled on my activities and I wasn't asking anybody anything! I decided there was a very good chance by mid week I would tell the camp director I was leaving.

The bus arrived and I greeted the kids as they stepped off the rather old looking activity bus. The demographics were the same as last week, mostly African-American kids. I seriously doubted that any of these kids had ever attended any type of summer camp. I stood there wondering what these kids had been told prior to leaving for this Boy Scout camp. I was ready to implement my plan.

Things went as planned during the second week at Camp Durant, but it was a stressful situation to be responsible for a dozen or so young kids twenty four hours a day. There was one nice mid week activity for the entire camp Wednesday nights. All parents were invited to the camp for a cookout. Then the staff performed some Indian dances and had some mini plays about various camp subjects while occasionally making some feeble attempts at humor. For two weeks I didn't recall more than two sets of parents of my boys who attended the special night. I was sad for those kids, but I always hoped they would take something positive away from their week at camp. By Thursday I needed to leave this job. I could not see myself doing this for 6 more weeks. It reminded me of Oak Ridge because it was so confining and I vowed when I left Oak Ridge that I would not get myself into that type situation again. I found the camp director and told him that after I put my kids on the bus Saturday I would then put myself in my own car for home. He tried to persuade me to continue, but instead of discussing my "issues" further I decided not to go there. Those issues were discussed with him the first week and he did absolutely nothing. I explained that I still didn't have a teaching job and working at the camp simply didn't allow adequate time for me to pursue a full time teaching position. This explanation sounded much better than telling him he was not supporting me.

Saturday came, the bus arrived and left with my provisional troop and I headed for home, again. I got home and told my parents I was back for the remainder of the summer or until I found a teaching job. I told dad that I would help him if he needed it or I would call my uncle and help him the rest of the summer if he needed some help.
Chapter 39

I had not been home very long when dad came in for lunch one day with the daily mail. He gave me an envelope and I figured it must be correspondence from a school system about a job opening. It wasn't about a job opening; it was a letter from a bank in Richmond. I opened the letter and found out another wealthy uncle who lived in Richmond had died a few months ago had left me some money. For 1968 it was a lot of money. I looked at the numbers on the check and thought, "Dam, how nice of him to leave me this and I was not around him that much." I knew he was a professional pianist who traveled the world mostly during the twenties and forties. He had a house in an extremely high end neighborhood in Richmond called Windsor Farms. I had been to his house once or twice as a kid and all I remembered was that he had an elevator, a grand piano, and a gardener. When he died he left his house to the city of Richmond. As soon as I put that check on the table I was thinking car! I wanted another car! I knew what I wanted, a Corvette! I had this money and I could buy one. My mother urged restraint, but she said it was my money. "You need to save that money or at least some of it," she said, a follow up to an equally profound statement, "keep it and you will always have it." True, I thought. For the rest of the day I had visions of cars, especially Corvettes. When dad got home that night he suggested I look at other kinds of cars before finalizing my decision. We drove up to a used car lot in town and looked over the cars in the lot. I saw one car, a Pontiac Grand Prix that I did like some. We talked to the dealer and he let me take it out for a test drive. When I returned I told him I liked it, but I needed to think about it for a while. He encouraged me to keep it over the weekend and I elected to do so. I drove that car all over the place, Raleigh, Henderson, South Hill, Kerr Lake, all over. What I liked best about the car was the air conditioning as I had never had a car with that feature. What I didn't like about the car was its size; it was a big, really big car. On Monday morning I took the car back and told him that I did not, at least at that time, want to buy that car. The search would continue.

It was now first of the week and I was down at dad's store just hanging out because there's not much to do. His business was not what it used to be. There was more well drilling competition in the county and there were just too many other businesses selling appliances and TVs so he was not taking in the business there either. He was still getting some plumbing work, enough to pay his bills. We talked more about cars and he told me about a man on the other side of Warrenton, an African-American that went to the used car sales auction every week at High Point and would buy a car for a customer for $100 over the wholesale price of the car. Maybe this man could find just what I wanted. It sounded good so one day after work we drove to see this man and sure enough he agreed to locate a Corvette for me at the sale. Better than that I could go with him next week and hopefully pick it out myself. We agreed on a time for me to meet him, and then my dad and I returned home. I was very excited about the cars I might see at the sale, but what I really wanted was a Corvette. I had no idea how many I would see, but I would see more than I could see in Warren County. The appointed day arrived and I met this man at his shop and we headed out to High Point. We got there about 10:00 am and all I see are cars, lots and lots of cars. The cars for sale were driven through one open end of a building to the other open end and car dealers on both sides would bid on the car with the highest bidder getting to buy the car. Many cars rolled through but I still saw no Corvette. Then I saw it with about 4 cars in front of it. Somebody buy those dam cars so I can see this Corvette! A driver finally drove the Corvette into the building and stopped. The man asked me to look it over with him to be sure I want him to bid on it. After a minute or so we compare notes. He asked, "What do you think, do you want me t bid on it?" I responded, "Yes, I really like it and it's got everything on it!" He said that he would bid on it and we'd see what'd happen. There were not that many bids, so the man was able to buy it at what he said was a really good price. I was pleased at my purchase.

The paperwork was completed and I drove this 1967 Corvette home! It had everything, a cloth top and a hard top, a 4 speed transmission, 3X2 barrel carburetors, dual exhaust lake pipes, and a 435 horsepower engine. The exterior color was a gun metal blue with a big black stripe down the center of the hood. I was driving in style; this was how I was meant to live. When I got home I got out and inspected every inch of the car. I took my parents for separate drives as it only had 2 seats. When we finished dinner I drove to Warrenton then through the country and back home. I purchased the car I wanted now I needed to focus on the real task at hand, obtaining a teaching job.

It was mid July and I still had no teaching position. While dad was home one day for lunch and his daily nap I decided to call the Johnston County Schools Main Office, located in Smithfield, North Carolina while I was watching the store. I thought, I was waiting for a call from someone, but since I had never tried to get a teaching job I didn't know what the hiring procedures were. Time was wasting, I needed to be proactive. I placed the call and inquired if there were any teaching positions in high school social studies. The person I spoke to told me to hold while they connected me to the personnel office. The next voice I heard was a man, "yes what can I do for you?" I repeated my inquiry regarding teacher vacancies and he told me principals handled their own interviewing then made their recommendations to the school board for their approval. He said he could tell me which schools had openings, but I would have to personally contact the principals. I was glad I called. There were two high school social studies positions at Four Oaks School located in the town of Four Oaks, which was a few miles from Smithfield, the county seat. This sounded good and I thanked the man for the information. All I needed to do was to get up the courage to call the principal. Dad was still at home and there were no customers to wait on so I needed to pick up the phone and do it! I looked at the phone number for Four Oaks School, then used my right index finger and slowly dialed each number using on the black rotary phone. One by one I dialed each number until the entire number was finished and I waited, one ring, two rings, and three rings. It was July, maybe no one was there, and then I heard what appeared to be a male voice, "hello." "Hello," I parroted, "this is," and I gave him my name. I mentioned I had spoken to personnel and I was interested in the two social studies vacancies at his school. He stated he had two positions, one position teaching U.S. History and the other instructing classes in world history. He asked a few questions about my background, degree, and certification. He told me he would go by the county office before the week was over and get a copy of my application and review it, and then he would be in touch. I told him that was fine then thanked him for any consideration. At that point I was as close as I had been to a job so I decided not to call the other school systems, but would wait and hope this principal would call me back.

On Tuesday of the following week I received a call from the principal of Four Oaks School to set up an appointment for an interview. I told him my time was his so we scheduled the meeting for the next day at 2:00pm. When I hung up I hoped I was closer to a full time regular job teaching the youth of Johnston County. I had a good dinner mom had prepared and all I could think of the rest of the evening was the interview and a job offer I would most graciously accept.

The next morning I decided to leave early to have time to tour Smithfield, the county seat and location of the school system's administrative offices, and then drive to Four Oaks. I looked at a free road map I picked up at a gas station for the roads to take to Johnston County. I drove through Raleigh on highway 401, and then took highway 70 east to Smithfield. Just before entering the city limits of Smithfield I noticed a large billboard, "Join the Klan, fight communism and integration." As I drove around Smithfield it seemed like just another small town, so I thought it might be an easy commute to Four Oaks each day, if I got the job.

I left Smithfield and drove south to Four Oaks. It didn't take long to get to the town limits and before I knew it I was out of town headed to Benson. As I turned around and headed back to what seemed the "main drag" the town appeared to be roughly the size of Norlina, perhaps I was swapping one small town for another. I turned left at an intersection and drove past some downtown stores and noticed the school was in my view. I drove past the school to get a panoramic view of the entire campus and before I knew it I was out of town again so I slowed down and looked for a place to turn around. I had about 15 more minutes before my interview and I didn't want to be too early so I continued to drive down the few streets again. Probably some of the locals who were out on the sidewalks wondered who I was and what business I had in town. I pulled into the parking spaces next to the school building, took a deep breath, got out of my car and went around to the front entrance. Once inside I found the principal's office near the front door and walked in. No one was in the reception area. I saw another office I assumed must be the principal's office and I knocked on the door molding and said, "Hello." I got a return "hello, come on in," and I walked into the office. A rather tall man, I think at least 6'3," got up and extended a hand of welcome then offered me a chair in front of his desk. He mentioned he had reviewed my application and copy of my Class A Certificate. He then said, "Well, let's see here like I said over the phone I have the position in U.S. History and the one in world history, which one would you like?" It sounded like he was offering me either job so all I needed to do was tell him which one I wanted. Did he not have any further questions for me? Was he interested in my educational philosophy? What did I think of integration? Who was my mama? Nothing! He asked no questions, but said he had the two jobs and which one was I interested in. He also mentioned that he had some coaching needs, an opening for a JV football, JV basketball and varsity track coach in addition to helping the varsity football coach as needed. He did ask if I had ever played any sports and I told him I played football, basketball, and baseball, but no track; I felt I could learn to coach track. In conclusion, I was offered a teaching job, my choice, and a coaching job with extra pay for those duties if I wanted to coach. I essentially told him I would "get back with him," and I left the building. I did not accept the job! What was I thinking? Did I expect a better offer and if so, when would it be coming?

When I got home I told my parents that I was offered a job, I could have one of two jobs available, with some coaching, but I "wanted to wait." At that point I think they were completely flummoxed. They were probably thinking, what in the hell does he want? I appreciated that they stayed quiet.

Another week passed and nothing else happened, but I was not sure what I thought would happen. I had not called the Wake County Schools or the Raleigh City Schools to enquire about openings and I didn't really think they would call, so what was my problem? I did not know. I must call the principal at Four Oaks School. I decided tomorrow I would call him when I watched the store at lunchtime.

The next day around 12:30 I was in the office at the store and I picked up the phone to dial the number to Four Oaks School. It took about 5 rings before the principal answered. I identified myself and asked if those 2 positions were open. He told me that they were and I said I was still interested. He told me he had a cottage on Kerr Lake and that he and his wife were driving up that afternoon for a few days. "Do I need to bring contracts," he asked. "Yes, bring them," I directed. That was the easiest job in education I would ever land! That afternoon I met with the principal and his wife in his car in the front yard of their cottage. I signed 2 contracts, a copy for him and a copy for me. I was to be paid a salary of $5,300.00 for the school year. An addendum was written at the bottom of each contract specifying the details of the coaching agreement. The agreement stated that for the sum of $50.00 per month for 9 months I would serve as JV football and basketball coach, varsity track coach, and perform additional varsity football coaching duties as assigned by the varsity football coach. It was done! I had a teaching job and a coaching job! I drove back to my parent's house with the top down on my car in complete victory. It had only taken 2 additional years since I graduated from college to get a full time job with a salary. I had a career, a professional career and I would get to use some of the knowledge I had acquired in 5 years of college.

When I got home I noticed my mom was sitting in her rocking chair on the front porch. I couldn't wait to get out of the car and hand her my copy of a contract for professional services for the school year 1968-69. I think she was pleased, but her response was predictable, very stoic, as was my dad's when he got home. Within a month I would really be gone from this house and this town. That would be the last time I spent any appreciable time at home. When I departed for Four Oaks I would never be back.

Two weeks before school started I received a letter from the Johnston County Schools Administrative Office announcing when to report for work. I still needed to find a place to live. The day I signed my contracts my principal advised me to come to Four Oaks and he would lend whatever assistance he could to help me secure suitable accommodations. I left the next morning for Four Oaks hoping to get some closure on my housing situation. When I arrived at the school mid morning the principal mentioned several local housing possibilities and gave me the names and numbers to call. He then told me to come with him to meet our head football coach. We walked down to the locker room located behind the gym. The coach was performing "coach like chores" when we arrived. I first observation was that he had the look of a prototypical high school football coach. He was dressed in the classic coaching outfit of double knit shorts, ban lon pullover and coaching shoes and white socks. His hair was dark and wavy with a hint of gray and was combed back over his head which gave him the remote likeness of Fabian Forte. The main physical feature was a big gut pouched out over his shorts that no ban lon could cover. When he was introduced he responded with a "hey Bo," and from that moment on everything he ever said was prefaced with "Bo," "Bo" this and "Bo" that. He was "the man" and ran most things at that school. I could tell.

After the principal introduced me to "coach" he had to get back to the office and "coach" would be able to "help me with housing ideas." So it's me and "coach." No sooner than the principal left the locker room than coach told me, "come on, Bo, I got just the place for you to live and its right here." Puzzled, I followed him out of the locker room. We walked across the campus to another building that looked like it had been there for a while. While coach fumbled through his mass of keys he told me the building was called the "teacherege" and was built a long time ago to house the teachers and I could rent an apartment for ten dollars per month. He also told me it was in so much demand that no other teachers lived there, so I'd have the whole dam building to myself. He finally found the key, unlocked the main door and we went in. He went into the first apartment on the right and showed me around. It was dark, musty smelling and very dusty. I had not had asthma for over ten years, but living here might be a challenge. We sat down in the chairs and he said, "Well Bo, what do you think?" And I told him, it was dark, musty, and dusty and very old looking. He responded, "Aw, hell Bo, it just needs a little cleaning, it'll be fine, it's good enough for anybody, hell I'd live here." I asked him where he lived and he said down the street in a three bedroom apartment. I told him, in jest, that if he thought this place was that good I'd help him move in here and I'd rent his apartment. He failed to understand the levity. He mentioned a couple of other places. I left and drove by those places but judging from the outside of both I elected not to pursue either. As the day wore on I went back to the principal's office and told him I had struck out. Then he told me that while he was downtown for lunch at a local restaurant he found out that one of the owners, a widow lady, wanted to rent her house, which was 100 yards from the school, to the "right person." He said he mentioned me to her and she said if I was interested I might come by the restaurant and speak with her about renting the house. At that point it seemed like this best deal so far.

I went by the restaurant and talked to the lady. She had time to show me the house since it was before time to prepare for her dinner customers. It was a really nice, well maintained, small house, all I would need. She told me that she ran the restaurant with her sister and lived with her sister. But every afternoon she would come by her house to take a nap. It was strange, but what the hell, it was her house. The rest of the time the house was mine except for one other minor hitch, she had a nephew at N.C. State and when he was in town he stayed at her house. He was not there right now so I didn't think much about it. She agreed to rent this entire house to me for $40.00 per month. Before I left I gave her a check for the first month's rent. I had spent the entire day looking for a place and I was pleased at my choice, besides it was only a "stones throw" literally from the school. I wouldn't even have to drive my car to work, what a deal.

When I got back home I told my mom I had found a house to rent. She was a little suspicious about the woman needing to come in every afternoon to take a nap. I told her well, it's her house and if I wanted to stay there I had to abide by her wishes.

Another week passed before I got a call from coach asking me to come down early to help out with the varsity football practice. I packed up that night and headed for Four Oaks the next morning. I went by the restaurant to tell the lady that I was moving in that day. She gave me a set of keys and said if I had any problems to let her know.

I brought mostly clothes because everything else I would normally need such as a radio and a TV was available in the house. I had to be at football practice at 6:00pm. Although the school was right across the street from the house and the football field was behind the school I elected to drive my Corvette to the practice. I was attempting to project some sort of impression on the team I suppose what with the Corvette, the cut off N.C. State sweatshirt, and the sunglasses. I went out to the field and spoke to coach and he introduced me to another new teacher and the assistant varsity football coach. The main reason I was asked to be at these practices was to get some idea of the offense and defense they employed to be able to teach these systems to my junior varsity squad. My team would not begin practice until school started. I was mostly an observer, although a night or two I did do some work with the punters. The players were nice kids and I thought they looked like they'd have a pretty good team.

During the days before school started and before football practice I didn't have much to do. I drove around the county quite a bit. I drove down to Benson which was about 5-7 miles south of Four Oaks. Benson was Four Oaks' main football rival. I learned that Benson was the site of the famous "Mule Day" held each fall where a bunch of mules were paraded down the center of town. It sounded like a smelly event and I never attended.

The first teachers' work day was split between a district meeting in Smithfield during the morning followed by our own school meeting in the afternoon. During a break at the county meeting I met two other teachers assigned to Four Oaks School. One teacher taught English and had been at Four Oaks about 7 years. The other teacher, another first year teacher, was assigned to teach U.S. History. We decided to have lunch together. We would become good friends and were very supportive of each other. The older English teacher and the new social studies teacher lived in a boarding house in Benson. Our afternoon meeting was spent in the auditorium with the faculty listening to the principal read his school policy manual. The rest of the week was spent with classroom preparations for the first day of class.

On the first day of class I was up by 7:00 am and ready to go! My world history classes were all sophomores while the one geography class had a mix of students from all classes. The first day was spent making seating charts to facilitate the taking of daily attendance, issuing textbooks, making assignments, and explaining my expectations for the course. The students were for the most part attentive and had few questions. I felt very comfortable in front of the class suggesting my student teaching at Aycock Junior High had some benefits. The day seemed to go by rapidly and everything went very smooth. Each day I had to remain after school for an hour before I would walk home and relax until football practice at 6:00p.m.

The first week I did go to the grocery store, which would be a weekly ritual after school on Mondays. Every week I got the same food: 1 box of spaghetti noodles with sauce, a package of baloney, a package of cheese, a loaf of bread, and a half gallon of ice cream. These foods were what I ate every night unless I went out to eat. In the morning I did not eat anything until the mid morning break at school, then I would get a soft drink and a pack of square nabs. There were a few nights I went to one of the local restaurants for dinner. Later in the school year I started going to Chapel Hill once a week with my teaching friends and ate at the Rathskeller. It was amazing the kind of food I was consuming, but when you're young you can eat anything.

My classes went well during the remainder of the year. I enjoyed teaching the world history classes more because I liked the subject more than geography. The students in the world history classes were more interested and motivated while the geography class presented more of a challenge for I had a mix of all classes and quite a diversity of learning abilities. I became very frustrated because I didn't know what to do with the "mentally challenged" students. I did the best I could, but I doubted most days I "reached" them. I also had several highly unmotivated seniors taking the class they did notneed, but took geography because they needed somewhere to be until the school day was over. All in all it was a good first year.

My junior varsity football team started practice after the first week of school. I learned quite a bit regarding the offense and defense by observing the varsity practices, plus what I remembered from playing high school football, I felt was ready to assume the role of "JV coach." The first day I had about 25 boys at practice. Since 25 players barely made up two teams, it was not necessary to cut anyone. They were a cooperative bunch of kids, but they weren't football players. I had three or four big boys I could use on the offensive and defensive lines. I had no one with any speed I could use as halfbacks. I did have a quarterback with a strong arm, but he was a little slow moving around in the pocket. I did have one boy who could catch the ball, but he did not possess the speed to break away from anyone. They all had good attitudes so together we just "jumped in there" and made the best of it.

Our first away game was with rival Benson. Before the game I told our quarterback that if we got the ball first our first play would be "the bomb." This was a pass play I drafted calling for the best two receivers we had to "go long." When the ball was snapped they were to run as fast as they could toward the end zone and look back for the football. Benson kicked off and after a short run we were stopped on our 22 yard line. Our quarterback huddled the team, called the "the bomb, "and the team broke the huddle and jogged up to the line. My two best receivers were out wide on both sides of the line and my slow but strong armed quarterback was under center barking out all kinds of stuff. The ball was snapped and the quarterback moved away from the center while my receivers were doing the best they could trying to get open. I saw the ball leave the quarterback's hand and soar down the field. I saw my receivers looking back for a football. Then I saw a player in different colored jersey catch that football and run all the way down the field for a touchdown. We never recovered from that play and lost that game by several scores.

A week later we were in Selma and before the game I took my quarterback aside and told him if we got the ball first to run our double reverse. I thought we needed to get the momentum on the first play and a trick play might work. We won the coin toss and Selma kicked off to us. Our double reverse had the quarterback taking the snap from the center and handing the ball off to one of the receivers running behind him, the receiver was to hand the ball to the other receiver running toward him from the opposite direction. My quarterback was under center, the ball was snapped, and the quarterback faded back and successfully handed the ball to one of our receivers while the defense appeared momentarily confused. The other receiver had started running from the opposite side of the formation toward the boy with the ball. The boys were very close to each other and the hand off was about to occur. Oops! The receiver scheduled to get the handoff dropped the dam ball and a Selma defender pounced on it on our 20 yard line. Two plays later Selma scored and it is another long afternoon for our team.

I was frustrated, but I did not give up. We practiced and practiced and practiced some more, but players don't generally get faster or bigger by practicing so I realized we might have already "maxed out." We had two more games. The third game was a carbon copy of the first two, another big loss. Our last game was a rematch on our field with our rivals Benson. For some reason that afternoon we seemed to play bigger and faster all day. We were knocking bigger boys on their butts and we were consistently running past their defensive backs. You just never know for sure when you play a game what the outcome will be and on that day we were better and we won, not by much, but we won. Our season was over and our record was 1 win, 3 losses. The following year Four Oaks School would consolidate with 4 other schools. There were only 2 players from my JV team to make the new school's varsity team.

After the home varsity games the coaching staff went to coach's apartment for some food and drink. After the first game we were having our drinks and talking football when coach provided some post game philosophy, "well Bo, I get into these games when they are being played, but win or lose, once I get home and mix me one, I forget all about it." I always loved that "mix me one," comment from the coach, it was priceless and I still use that phrase.

The first month on the job was busy with teaching all day and coaching the rest of the afternoon. If there was a varsity home game I didn't finish my duties until late evening. My weekends were spent resting up for next week's work. I learned to set my priorities and became better organized by the second month. I found the time to go out to eat with my friends at least once a week. I did not have any duties when the varsity football team played an away game so I would usually visit my teaching friends at the boarding house in Benson. We spent the evening talking about our week while listening to some albums and drinking some liquor. We liked frozen daiquiris, made with a can of frozen pink lemonade, ice, and a lot of vodka mixed up in a blender. Over the course of the year we consumed quite a bit of this concoction. When requesting another drink my social studies teacher friend would say, "May I have another glass of that invigorating liquid?" We had some enjoyable Friday nights, but I got my fill of pink lemonade daiquiris and to this day I will not drink one.My English teacher friend had a female friend attending the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and when we were in Chapel Hill we would stop by her residence. She was from Benson and when she was home she would come over to the boarding house on Friday nights and party with us. The four of us enjoyed each other's company. One weekend she invited us to attend a football game in Chapel Hill. She got two of us dates and she was going to the game with the English teacher. I never totally quite understood their relationship but it was none of my business. It was raining when we got to Chapel Hill that Saturday. We got to the dorm, picked up our dates and went to lunch at the Zoom Zoom, a restaurant on Franklin Street. It was still raining after lunch so we went back to the dorm and sat and talked, waiting for the rain to stop. The rain never stopped so we did not attend the game. Later that evening we went to back out to eat. After that meal we took our dates back to the dorm and went back to Johnston County. I would see the girl I dated one or two more times.

I started JV basketball practice after football season ended, but they would have no games until after Christmas. I ran the official clock and scoreboard for all the varsity girls and boys home games. There were a few varsity games before the Christmas break.

Our U.N.C. friend was home the weekend before school was closed for Christmas and invited us to her cabin outside of town. She expected to be late so she gave her friend a key and explained how to get to the cabin. We arrived at about 8:00pm., got our daiquiris mixed and built a fire in the fireplace. Our friend and 2 female friends we were not expecting arrived about an hour later. The six of us had a really nice evening and I got paired off with a girl from Benson. We really hit it off and I took her home that night. I asked her for a date, but nothing was confirmed. Throughout the rest of the Christmas break I tried to see her again, but never did. I even came back to Four Oaks early from my parent's home hoping that I could see her, but it just never happened.

We're back at work and I was teaching and coaching and teaching and coaching. The winter months were cold and depressing. My friends and I were still going to Chapel Hill or Raleigh once a week and drinking daiquiris on Friday nights. In January I joined a basketball team in the Smithfield Recreation League which helped me get through the winter doldrums. I thought I played pretty well even though I had not played since high school. I could still shoot and averaged fifteen points per game, but I still did not enjoy playing defense.

When spring comes the world's a better place. Basketball season had ended and my team was as bad as my football team. We won only 2 games, but we competed. I now had to figure out how to coach a track team of mostly juniors and seniors, so I knew it would be difficult to mask my incompetence. I ordered a book that explained to the novice everything one would need to know about coaching a world class track team. I also had a teacher friend who was teaching and coaching track in Virginia. I called him often and "picked his brain" about training. What I discovered about the sport was that everyone usually competed in a different event. A sprinter's workout and techniques would be much different from a distance runner. The discus and the shot, while they were things the athlete threw the workouts and the techniques to be learned were very different. I realized that I had to be familiar with every event. Reading about something or even listening to someone talk about something is never the same as having done it yourself. I was at a distinct disadvantage. If I could learn just enough to get started, maybe I could pull this off. It would be a challenge for me, but I was up to the task.

My track "how to" book arrived and I read it from cover to cover while taking copious notes. I continued to talk to my track coach friend about individual event techniques and practice schedules. I broke all the events down and had all kinds of notes about each event. I tried to understand the notes and imagine exactly how I would go about teaching a certain technique to an athlete. I convened our first track meeting to discuss the season and our practice schedules. These athletes never embarrassed me by asking a question about track I could not answer because I thought they knew that I didn't know much about track. I continued to learn and everything I learned I passed it on to them. Overall our team was average, but we did have conference champions in the pole vault and the mile run. Both of these athletes competed in post season track meets.

After track season I had so much extra time I didn't know what to do with it. To be at home by 3:30 every afternoon was new for me. Many afternoons I would get home, eat a snack and take a nap. Sometimes I would sleep for several hours then get up and watch TV until the Tonight show was over. I had been a Johnny Carson fan since he became the host of the Tonight Show. I always liked the interactions between Johnny and Ed McMahon. I especially loved his Carnak character. He always had a variety of guests, most of whom were "in the news" at the time. He always treated each guest with respect and never embarrassed anyone. The guest was king on his show.About two weeks before school was over I visited another teacher friend who lived in Virginia Beach for a weekend. I took a teaching friend from Raleigh with me. Saturday night we attended a party at a cottage on the beach. I saw a former Wesleyan female student at the party I never spoke to when I was at Wesleyan. We talked for a long a time and I found her to be most pleasant and I wished I had known her while I attended Wesleyan. As the night progressed other people arrived. I met a nice girl from Washington, North Carolina and we occupied each other's time the rest of the evening. We talked and talked and walked on the beach. My two friends left early and returned to the apartment. I stayed at the beach cottage until really late. The next day my friend and I returned to North Carolina. I never saw the girl again, although I did talk to her several times on the phone, but we never could seem to get together again.
Chapter 40

During the last two weeks of school the faculties of five schools were notified of impending interviews for positions at the new consolidated school, South Johnston High School, located between Four Oaks and Benson. Our principal called a teacher's meeting to discuss the interview procedures. First, we had to complete a form confirming our interest in working at the new school, then we had to provide days and times we could meet with the new principal to discuss his staffing needs. The principal told all of us that "there were no guarantees" as to who would be hired. This principal could hire whoever he wanted on his staff. I had made applications to a couple of other school systems, but I was interested in teaching at a new school.

Teachers received an interview notice in their school mail boxes. My notice had me scheduled for a Tuesday afternoon at 3:00 pm at the county office in Smithfield. I was there early as usual. The meeting lasted about 10 minutes. The principal offered me 5 sections of world history and that concluded the meeting. He did not offer me any duties involving athletics and I did not ask as I had no grand desire to coach anymore. I told him I'd take the position and I left the building. I didn't get a warm and fuzzy feeling from this guy. His greeting was rather strained and his outfit was the most bizarre outfit I ever saw anyone in a professional capacity wear. He wore a black formal tuxedo with a 1 inch wide satin strip down each side of his trousers, a formal shirt with little pearl buttons, and a black bow tie. That to me was a strange outfit for a high school principal to wear. When I went to work at South Johnston the next fall he wore that same outfit EVERY day! I assumed he had more than the one outfit, but whether he had 1 or 10 of these outfits he never wore different outfits. To me that was strange, but he was in charge. Anyway, I left the meeting with a job for the next year.

I went home and stayed there most of the summer, but I was often gone to visit some of my friends. The social studies teacher friend had access to his mom's farm house near Stantonsburg, North Carolina and I went to visit him there several times during the summer. I visited my Virginia Beach friend one time and also spent some time in Raleigh with another teacher friend. When I was at home I helped my dad when he needed it. He was getting fewer and fewer well jobs and plumbing jobs. He started working on the weekends in Norlina as a night policeman until he was able to go full time. At that point he closed the door to the store and never went back. He worked as the night policeman, but later left and went to Warrenton to work the same job because Warrenton paid the police officers' Social Security. I never understood why Norlina didn't pay these benefits; I thought that was the law. He worked as the night policeman until he reached the age of 65.

My teacher friend from Virginia Beach was working at Nags Head that summer so I decided to drive down for a visit. I called my female friend from Benson and told her I might come by to see her either on the way to Nags Head or on the way back. She told me to come by her house on the way down for she had some "news." Not having the foggiest notion of what the "news" would be I decided to drive to Benson before going to Nags Head. When I got there she began to tell me about the "long relationship" she had with my male English teacher friend at Four Oaks School. She said that they had been friends for years and though the relationship has always been more "platonic" than anything else, she considered the relationship to be "special." I listened intently and wondered where she was going with the story. She said over the weekend they had a "long talk" and he told her he was gay. I did not know any other "gay" people at that time. I had two immediate thoughts at the time, one, he was a fine person and a good friend and two, I felt so sorry about the pain I sensed he was experiencing. She said their relationship was "over," which I didn't totally understand if they were truly friends, but I wasn't passing any judgment either way. By the time we returned to work the English teacher had moved from Benson to Smithfield and was sharing an apartment with another person.

I left Benson the next morning feeling sad for my female friend and her difficulties in dealing with her "news," but there was nothing I could do to alter how she felt. I was sorry for my male friend because I expected he would have difficulties brought on by an intolerant society. I drove to Nags Head to see my other friend. He had a party the first night that went into the wee hours of the morning. I had bought a fifth of Bacardi rum and by morning when the sun came up I was still awake and had about finished the bottle. I did meet a female and we talked most of the evening. I learned she was a student at N.C. State working at Nags Head for the summer. I liked her, but she did come across as sort of "gruff," but she was interesting. I went by her apartment one night during fall, but I never saw her again.

I stayed at my friend's place for one more night before leaving for Norlina. When I got back, for some reason I told my mom about my English friend's "announcement," and she became very worried that people at my work and across the free world might think "something was wrong with me." She suggested that I really needed a girlfriend. She was taking this too far and I told her so. I realized that I shouldn't tell her everything. Summer was quickly coming to an end and I would be going to work at an all new school, South Johnston High School. I still needed to figure out where I was going to live. I decided to live close to Raleigh. I thought about Clayton on highway 70 east of Raleigh, which is in Johnston County. I thought about Garner, a little further away from South Johnston yet closer to Raleigh. A couple of days later I told mom I was going to look for a place to stay and that I would be back later. I drove to Clayton, but could not find a suitable place. I drove west from Clayton to Garner. Off highway 70 I noticed some apartment buildings, so I drove off the next exit turned around and went back to take a look at the apartments. I noticed there were about 6-7 buildings and upon closer inspection it appeared that there were 8 apartments in each building, four on the front side and 4 on the back side. I got out and walked around the buildings and wondered how much it cost to rent one an apartment. I noticed a for rent sign with a phone number. I went to a phone booth at a gas station just up the hill from the apartments and called the number. The man who answered was very helpful and offered to come over and show me one of the units. I told him I would very much like to see the inside of one of the apartments. I went back down to the first unit and waited in my car for him to arrive. It must have been 45 minutes later when I noticed some type of large sedan turning into the complex. I got out and stood by my car. He turned in next to my car and got out and introduced himself. He took me upstairs to view the unit facing the street. It was a really nice apartment! It had two bedrooms, one bath, a nice well appointed kitchen, a large living area and a balcony. I liked the unit so I asked, "How much is the rent?" He told me "$140.00 per month with a $100.00 security deposit." Dam, I thought. I knew right off based on my salary that spending another $100.00 per month over what I spent the previous year would make me uncomfortable with my monthly budget. I told him as much as I liked the apartment the rent would be prohibitive. He mentioned there was a man in his office who expressed some interest in renting one of the units and maybe he would be interested in a shared arrangement. I asked him to find out if this is something his work friend would consider. He said he would talk to him and get back to me. He also told me that there were still "a few things" left to do in the apartment so it wasn't ready to rent yet anyway. When we left the apartment he said he would call me if the man was willing to share the apartment. I still had not secured a place to live and school was starting the next week. Before I left Garner I drove around trying to find other suitable alternatives. I was on Old Garner Road driving west when I saw a sign in front of a brick, ranch type house. I slowed down and noticed the words on the sign, "For Rent." I drove on down the road, turned around and came back to get the phone number. I couldn't find a phone booth on the road so drove back to the gas station where I had used the phone earlier. I dialed the number and on the third ring a lady answered. I told her I was a teacher in Johnston County and needed a place to stay temporally until an apartment I was planning to rent was ready for occupancy in about a month to six weeks. I would be interested in seeing the space she had to rent. She said she would prefer renting on a more long term basis but I could come by and look at the space and maybe something "could be worked out." I got in the car and drove back over to Old Garner Road. I drove into the driveway and got out. The lady greeted me at the door. She appeared to be the approximate age of my mom and spoke with a soft, "motherly voice. " She ushered me in to look at the room. It was a corner room at the back of the house. When I walked in I noticed a "day bed" in one corner that looked like it was used to watch TV as the TV was on the opposite side of the room. I noticed a couple of lounge chairs in the middle of this small, but functional room. I thought, "This room looks like where they sit and watch TV," and sure enough this was what she told me, this room was their lounging room. She wanted to rent this room to me? I could see some "issues," but it could work at least for the short term and was within commuting distance to South Johnston. I asked "how much is the rent?" She told me, "$60.00 per month." I thought about this while we were standing in the room looking at each other. I was thinking, maybe I should try to rent the apartment on my own, just plan to have less money for entertainment and spend more time at my apartment. On the other hand, if the man was willing to share the apartment I could stand this lounging room for a few weeks, after all I would be away most of the time. I told her, "I'll take it," and I wrote her a check for the $60.00. I left knowing I had a place to live for a while. My work was over and I drove back to Norlina.The apartment manager called me three days later to inform me his work friend was interested in sharing the apartment and would like to arrange a time to meet me. The man had not seen the apartments so he would like to take a look at a unit. I told him I had found a room to rent and I would be moving there within the next three days. We agreed to meet at the apartment at 4:00pm on the next Tuesday. Over the weekend I assembled my belongings, mostly clothes, in preparation for my move to Garner. I left Norlina late Sunday afternoon. When I arrived it was already dark. I pulled into the driveway and walked up to the house and knocked on the door. The lady came to the door and welcomed me. She took me back to "my room" and when I walked in she introduced me to her husband who was sitting in a cozy chair watching TV. What had I gotten myself into I thought? He was a pleasant older gentleman who went on to tell me his finest achievement was to be elected mayor of Garner, so I would be living at the mayor's house, how delightful! What pissed me off was they had my $60.00, and the two of them were sitting in my dam room! As I went back and forth to the car to get more clothes they did finally vacate the room.

On Monday morning we had an all county teachers' meeting in Smithfield. When I got there I saw my Four Oaks teaching friends and we befriended a new female teacher who would be teaching English at South Johnston. We had lunch together in downtown Smithfield. On Tuesday morning I got up early in my "lounging room," got dressed, and drove to South Johnston for my first day. I arrived at 7:45am. When I walked into the main office as I approached the counter I saw several people I had never seen before. There were two ladies behind the counter looking very "authoritarian." I made eye contact with "the general" and told her who I was. She said nothing, but turned and walked over to a mail box and pulled out a large brown envelope and handed it to me. I had already envisioned some changes in the way this principal intended to do business. At Four Oaks the mail boxes were near the door to the reception area and anytime you needed to check your mail you just walked in the room and inspected your box. But here those mail boxes were behind this counter, in this mini fort they have erected here. The woman pointed at some sheets of paper on the counter and told me that upon arriving and departing the school each day I MUST sign in/out by affixing my name on this sheet. "Nice to meet you," I responded. She did not respond and I could tell that she considered her position to be one of extreme importance.

Inside my packet I found my classroom number along with the key to the room. There was a school policy manual and an agenda for a staff meeting scheduled for 2:00 pm that day. I found my room on the second floor and opened my door. The first thing I noticed when I walked in was the small window at the rear of the room. Of all the classrooms I had been in I always had rooms with more than one window. When I went over and peaked out the window all I could see was the roof of what appeared to be a vocational building. There was no point in looking out that window any further. Other than the small window the room was your basic 30-35 pupil capacity classroom. I left my room and walked down the hall looking for other teachers. I noticed an open door and stuck my head in and saw a complete stranger sitting at his desk. He looked up and spoke first and I responded with a similar greeting. He got up and came over to exchange handshakes. We chatted briefly and I found out he was a social studies teacher who had additional duties of being the "hall supervisor." I had no idea what a hall supervisor was since we did not have them at Four Oaks. He explained when he wasn't teaching he was to walk the halls and "observe classroom activities" and during the year he would perform a classroom evaluation of the teachers on the hall. He also informed me that he was the head baseball coach. I left his room and continued to wonder down the hall looking for other teachers. A short time later I was back in my room when I saw my old Four Oaks social studies friend walk by. I got up and ran to the door and when I yelled at him he stopped and came back to my room to chat. We talked briefly about our male English friend's "announcement, "but didn't dwell on it. Soon we left my room looking for our new female English teacher friend who we had met at the county schools meeting. We found her classroom down on the lower level and she was busy unloading boxes of materials she had brought to her new job. We agreed to have lunch together and left her to finish her organizing while we completed a tour of the new building.

At lunch I discussed commuting with my female English friend to South Johnston. She lived in a trailer park off Highway 70 east of Garner. She was amenable to riding to school together and we agreed to start the next day. She would drive the rest of the week. She would pick me up at the "mayor's house." I thought this commute would work out just fine and it would save us some money. During the trip back and forth each day we could "talk shop." After lunch we returned to the school for an afternoon teacher's meeting. The meeting was in the auditorium and I was amazed at how many teachers were employed at the school. Our "master of ceremonies" was down front ready to assume his duties as school "czar." Right off this guy was hard to like. His voice was not pleasant and not positive. He spent the first hour talking about what bad shit would happen to students if they stepped out of line and the second hour telling the teachers, the professionals, what bad shit would happen to us if we stepped out of line. The worst thing out of his negative mouth was to "threaten" us if we did not join the North Carolina Association of Educators (NCAE). He should have known better as I never liked anyone being threatening or intimidating to me. I refused to join and the son of a bitch never said anything. By the time we left the meeting we were not feeling very good and this was the first day.I got back to my room in Garner about 4:30 pm that day. I realized that since I was not coaching any more I had more free time, but living at this house with practically no privacy was going to be a challenge. I hoped the apartment would soon be ready. I was supposed to meet my prospective roommate the next day after school. I hoped he would be willing to room with me. I decided to drive to Raleigh for dinner before going to a bar. I expected I would be eating out many nights this year. When I returned the mayor and his wife were in my room watching TV. They were sitting on my clothes I had laid out for the next day! The clothes were wrinkled to high hell so I had to get out another outfit. This shit was getting old.

My female friend picked me up at the house and we got to school in plenty of time. The school day was another "work day," meaning "working," but not with students, they would be arriving on Thursday. I spent most of the day transporting textbooks from a storage room and writing the students' names in the book. The textbook was the same book I had used the previous year. I had notes on the chapters and I had a file on the various class activities I had used last year. I prepared a semester syllabus to issue on the first day. Soon it was time to leave for home. When I got home I went to my room. It appeared nothing had been touched. Good thing I had no items of a personal nature in the room. I did not trust that woman about anything. I went back out to the car and headed to the apartment to meet the apartment manager and his friend. I arrived at 3:45pm., mainly to get away from "that woman" and "that house." The manager and his friend arrived about 4:15pm. After introductions the three of us climbed the stairs and went into the apartment. The man looked around and was at least as impressed as I had been. He spent most of the time imagining where all of his furniture could be placed. I didn't think any of this would be a problem for me since I did not have any furniture, but I did expect mom would let me bring some furniture from upstairs in case any would be needed. After his assessment he felt all of his furniture could work well in the space, except he had no couch. I told him I thought I could supply the couch. Mom had a big red plastic covered couch that could be folded into a bed. He was O.K. with that, but he did say "at some point" he wanted buy a couch. He was further along in acquiring furniture than I was. He said he thought this arrangement could work, but that it would be at least a month before he could move in. The manager told us by week's end the remaining work in the apartment would be complete so one or both of us could move in anytime starting next week. We both agreed we would start paying rent at the beginning of October. I would move in the first of the month and my roommate would move in two weeks later, but would he pay his part of the October rent. I thought it sounded like a good deal to me. I would have two weeks alone with a chance to see how I would like having an apartment by myself. Before we left we paid the manager the security deposit. Slowly but surely I thought these living arrangements were getting settled. I needed to talk with my mother about the couch.

I met my first classes on Thursday and by the end of the day I felt good about the year I would have. The only real concern I had was teaching 5 sections of the same course. It should not take long to find out. After work my pattern was to go to Garner, change clothes into something more comfortable, and then go eat dinner and afterward drive to the Mouse Trap Bar at Five Points in Raleigh. This bar provided a place to hang out until time to go to bed. I sure as hell didn't want to be at the house watching TV with the potential for a visit from the mayor and mayorette. I thought the best plan was to be somewhere else for most of the day and night. I tried to make the best of things.

I went to my parent's home over the weekend to discuss my furniture needs with my mom. We went upstairs to look at the furniture I wanted. I would move my single bed that I had slept in since I graduated from the crib. I would take the plastic covered couch and matching chair. Neither piece was attractive and was very heavy and uncomfortable, but they would cover the space in the apartment. My plan was to drive home on a teacher work day in early October, borrow dad's truck, and move the furniture to Garner. Mom was O.K. with giving me the furniture especially since she never liked the couch or the chair.

I settled into commuting and alternating the driving every other week with my teacher friend. It was nice to have someone in the car to help me stay awake driving as I continued to experience that problem. All I ever did at the mayor's house was sleep and take a shower. When the first of October arrived I realized I would soon have more privacy and more space. I mailed my first months' rent and prepared to drive home to pick up my furniture on the teacher work day. It was hard work, but with help from my parents I got the furniture loaded in dad's pickup. I drove back to Garner. Once I got to the apartment I realized there was no way I could move the furniture, especially the red couch, up a flight of stairs without some help. As luck would have it when I drove up a tenant from first floor came out of his apartment and offered to help. We introduced ourselves and he offered to help me move my furniture. He looked at that big, red, heavy couch and didn't think it represented a real challenge until he tried to pick it up. We struggled with that monster and almost dropped it over the railing while trying to move it up the steps. We were finally successful in getting the couch into the apartment. The other two pieces, the chair and my bed were easy to manage. I was in my apartment! All I had to do was return to the mayor's house, pick up my belongings, say thanks and goodbye and leave. I performed these tasks in about 15 minutes. I appreciated the willingness of these folks to allow me to stay in their house when they didn't know me. I just wished I had some privacy. I drove back to my apartment and enjoyed the first night in my new "home! " I did have to go back out for dinner. My roommate would be moving in about two more weeks so I had the place to myself. The next morning my teacher friend picked me up at my new apartment. At this point I felt like I was finally getting things squared away.

My roommate moved in on schedule and we quickly got acclimated to each other. He was 5-6 years older than I was and more mature which was a plus. Not only was he mature and very responsible he could also cook! Every night I had a home cooked meal. We had a variety of foods and everything was well prepared. The least I could do was clean the kitchen after dinner every night. Before dinner he would have a "big orange" or two and I would join him. He liked whiskey while I had beer most days, but I would occasionally drink rum, gin or whiskey, but no vodka. I had enough vodka with the pink lemonade daiquiris. The "big orange" name came from the Andy Griffin audio recording in the fifties that made Andy famous. The recording was about a man who hadn't been "around" very much and one day he had an opportunity to attend a college football game. After a big play the guy next to him who had too much alcohol to drink (during those days people brought their liquor to the games) turned to Andy, slapped him on the back and said, "wow, buddy have another drink." Andy said he believed he would have another "big orange drink," referring to an orange soft drink, maybe an Orange Crush. So when my roommate got home he would have a "big orange or two," but alcoholic and not Orange Crush while he prepared our dinner. On weekends my roommate usually went to Smithfield where his parents lived, so I had the apartment to myself. I did not do much on the weekends, but watch football or basketball games. I was pleased to be able to have a place that, if I kept paying the rent, was my home. At the time I was not going out with anyone, as a matter of fact, I didn't know of anyone in the immediate area to ask out. My roommate was not "involved" with anyone, but other than a woman at work he never talked much about women. It sounded to me like a one way "fantasy" relationship. I got to know most of the people who lived in our building, especially the family next door. This family was made up of a 40 year old divorcee who sold business machines and her teen age daughter and a college freshman son. These folks did some partying! The woman dated several men infrequently, but nothing was serious. The kids were great and we cultivated a great relationship. The daughter dated a hippy type guy who I considered an asshole, but she liked him so she continued to date him. The son came home from Mount Olive College almost every weekend. When they had a party my roommate and I were always invited. The divorcee had other lady friends and often they attended, but neither my roommate nor I ever got past the talking and partying. After a while a young divorcee with a child moved in across from our apartment. I remembered I had taught with her at Four Oaks. She left in the spring because of the baby and sometime during that year she parted ways with her husband. She did not drink, but was invited to the parties when she could get a sitter and/or if she really wanted to be around the rest of us. We befriended another family from downstairs, but they left and another family moved in who we liked even more. They had a 10 year old kid and they were invited to the parties. We were an eclectic group of people but we all got along really well.

After Christmas one of my former students came by my class to see me and he casually mentioned that his girl friend had a sister who taught in Raleigh. He wanted to know if I wanted to date her and I said "sure." He got her name, address, and phone number from his girlfriend and brought it to me the next day. I waited a couple of days before I called her. I went to a phone booth one night after dinner so I could have complete privacy. I dialed the number and after a few rings a woman answered. I identified who I was and how I got her number. She laughed and said, "That girl (meaning her sister who got me the number) I'm going to have to get her." Anyway, she agreed to go out to dinner on Friday night. I picked her up and we went to a restaurant on Western Boulevard. After dinner we went over to my apartment. I invited a couple from downstairs up for drinks and we had some good conversation and drink until they had to leave to check on their child and take the baby sitter home. My date has asked me earlier to take her to her parents' home in Benson rather than back to her apartment since she had planned to visit them for the weekend. I drove her to her parent's house in about 45 minutes. We exchanged our goodnight expressions of affection, made another date for the next night and I headed back to Garner. About halfway back to Garner I heard this noise, like metal to metal. I looked out my driver's side window and noticed that my side view mirror was gone! Someone had sideswiped me or worse I had fallen asleep and sideswiped someone on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere! It was dark, but out of my rearview mirror I could see a car had slowed down and was turning around! Oh hell, I did sideswipe someone and he was heading back to kill me? Now he's right on my ass! He's blowing his horn and flashing his lights! He's trying to get me to stop! This is it; this is how my short life is coming to an end! I unknowingly sideswiped his expensive new car, I mean I've really messed it up and now he's going to kill me for it! What a way to bow out! I pulled over and rolled down the window, why I don't know. A man came up to the window and wanted to know if I was alright. I assured him that I was. He offered his version of the event. He was driving down the road in the direction of Benson when he noticed a car veering into his lane. He said I got really close to his car, so close that obviously something on his car destroyed my mirror. He couldn't figure out how it happened but he found no damage to his car and was glad I was O.K. I thanked him and we both drove off in opposite directions. I was shaking all the way back to Garner, but once in bed I slept well. I must stop falling asleep at the wheel!

After the second date I made a third date for the next Wednesday. On Wednesday my roommate got home and started to prepare dinner. We had a few "big oranges" while he finished making our dinner. By the time we sat down to eat I realized I should have already picked up my date, but I was still eating dinner. I took my sweet time and didn't bother to call and tell her I would be late, no I was too cool. I finished dinner and drove over to her apartment only to find when I got there she refused to open the door and told me from the front window please leave. It's what I deserved, but it was not what she deserved and I had no explanation then nor do I have one now.

The spring term was under way and I was very comfortable teaching my five sections of world history. My social studies friend and I still went to Chapel Hill, but not as much as the previous year. He still lived in Benson so most nights he did not want to drive to Garner and then to Chapel Hill then back through Garner and home. During one of our dinners at the Rathskeller in Chapel Hill we talked about starting a paperback book collection for our classes. Our students would have an "edge" if they had access to the latest books on the subjects we taught. We talked to our female English teacher friend and she thought it was an excellent idea for her English classes. We collected $1.00 from each student, purely optional, to buy the paperback books. My book checkout system was similar to a library. Once a month I asked for a written report on a particular book the students had read. I gave extra credit toward the six weeks grade if students prepared additional written reports. All students had access to the book collection whether or not they paid a dollar. I bought many of the books for our collection myself. Each time my friend and I went to Chapel Hill we would stop by the Intimate Book Store and buy more books. My students really enjoyed reading the latest books I put on the shelf. I never had any problems. Near the end of the school year our "evening wear" principal found out about our English teacher friend's book collection and for some reason, seized the entire collection after school and took it to his office. Perhaps a student filed a complaint or complained to their parents, we never knew, we just knew "evening wear" had all of her books. She had no idea what he intended to do until the day she got to school and checked in. One of the "bosses" at the front counter told her she had an appointment with the principal as soon as school was out. At the meeting the principal told our friend he had confiscated her book collection because he did not like some of the titles on her shelves. He told her to resign or she'd be fired. That afternoon on the way home she was very upset and didn't know what to do. I had no advice for her. She was completely blindsided. That night she discussed the situation with her husband and he told her to resign. I told her not to resign, but then I had no suggestions for what to do if she stayed. Later that week she tendered her resignation. The following week as a show of solidarity over my friend's forced resignation my social studies friend and I resigned in protest. I had never protested anything at any time and now I was resigning from a good job with no prospects for getting another one in the immediate future. I was supporting a good friend who had been given the shaft. The last time I talked to her was 3 years after her termination and she still did not have a teaching job. I don't know if she ever got another teaching position. My social studies friend pursued a career in broadcasting. He always talked about owning a radio station. I don't know if he ever realized that dream, I haven't communicated with him in years.
Chapter 41

The school year had ended and for the most part it was a good year in the classroom. I couldn't have had better students. This would be the last time I would ever work in Johnston County, but I still hold a special place for the students I taught. I went back to Garner and contemplated my future. I wasn't certain I wanted to teach any more. I knew I would limit myself to employment opportunities if I elected to stay in the Raleigh area. I felt by the middle of summer if I didn't have a new job in some other field I could get a job teaching somewhere. Each morning I poured over the employment ads in the paper, but found nothing of interest. I did take some tests to qualify me for employment as a statistical analyst for the North Carolina State Department. I passed these tests, but I was never interviewed for a position. I applied for another real estate position mainly because the office was in downtown Raleigh. I interviewed for the job and was offered a position which was contingent on successful passage of the state real estate exam. When I found out I would be paid on commission I declined the offer. I applied for a teaching position at East Garner Junior High, which was about three miles from my apartment, but nothing ever materialized. I continued to be back and forth about what kind of work I wanted to do. It was time to figure this out.

By July I was seeking teaching positions because no other jobs interested me. Maybe education was not such a bad career after all. I found out about a teaching position in Harnett County at a school fairly close to my apartment. I couldcommute to work every day, but the drive would be longer. I applied for a job which included some coaching. One week later I received a call from the Harnett County Personnel Office that the principal at Lafayette High School in Kipling. N.C. wanted to interview me. I thought if I could secure the job I would be living in Garner for at least another year.

The principal was affable and I liked him better than the other two principals I had worked for. I was disappointed when he told me that the job was teaching math, physical education, and bookkeeping, courses clearly out of my area of teaching certification, but it was a job and time was running out. A teacher could teach out of field without a salary penalty. The coaching duties specified that I coach boys AND girls basketball and baseball. The school did not have football because of the small size of the student body. I had never coached baseball, but I had played little league and given my success coaching track while knowing nothing I was confident I could learn to coach baseball. The principal told me he would contact me as soon as he checked my references. I left the school and returned to my apartment in Garner.

The week ended with no word from Harnett County. I spent another weekend of waiting and contemplating. My apartment neighbors, who were always supportive of whatever I did, kept telling me "things would work out."

Over the weekend I decided that if there was no word from Harnett County at least by Tuesday I would call the principal. I knew if you had to call to find out if you had a job you didn't have one. I thought at least a call might suggest I was still interested in the position. The principal didn't know what my situation was; I might have a table full of offers. I decided when I called I would tell him I was "weighing another" offer and just wanted to check the status of his vacancy. I wanted him to know that I was "in demand."

Tuesday morning came and still no call from Harnett County, so mid morning I picked up the phone and called the principal. He answered and I inquired about the job. He told me he hoped to have a decision by the end of the week, especially since school started the following week. I informed him of my "other offer" and told him I really needed to know his decision ASAP or I would have to "move on." He reiterated his position and the conversation ended. I was at an impasse, it would be Harnett County or bust. It was becoming more and more likely that I would not be teaching anywhere for the 1970-71 school year. Maybe I would never teach again, anywhere. What would I do, I had looked at other jobs throughout the summer, but nothing had struck my fancy. At that point I was second guessing my decision to resign my teaching job at South Johnston High School. One day at a time was how I tried to approach this, just focus on one day. It was not easy.

On Friday morning I received a call from the principal at Lafayette High School offering me the position. I drove down to the school that afternoon and signed the contract for the outrageous sum of $7,200.00 plus a $100.00 per month coaching salary.

My apartment neighbors had a little celebration party on Saturday night for me. Early Monday morning I was off to Lafayette High School. The drive was 32 miles, which was 7 miles further than I had been driving to South Johnston High School. When I arrived the principal gave me my room keys and told me my classroom was on the second floor of this old building. It resembled the high school I attended as there were five very large windows in the room. I explored the remainder of the rooms on the hall. I noticed the library was located on this hall. The principal scheduled a teacher's meeting for 10:00am in a conference room near his office. He introduced me and the other new teachers to the rest of the faculty. I noticed about four other "young" teachers that I would get to know as the year progressed. After the meeting I managed to link up with some of the new teachers and we had lunch at a "greasy spoon" restaurant close to the school. The food was adequate.

I got back to school and organized my room. I got my textbooks and prepared a bulletin board. I was never good at bulletin boards, but I tried. Later that afternoon I went over to the gym to see what kind of facility I inherited. It was a typical gym that looked like it was built in the early fifties. The gym was dirty and the basketball court was in need of resurfacing. I learned later the maintenance of the gym was mine and was spelled out in my contract under "will perform other duties as assigned." The duties included all cleaning, literally ALL cleaning, as the janitor never came into that building unless he came to see a basketball game. I was responsible for the refreshments which included ordering and stocking the snack items and identifying staff to work in the refreshment center. I was responsible for securing and ordering all sports equipment. With these additional duties added to coaching two basketball teams, one baseball team, and teaching 5 courses out of my field I was anticipating an "interesting" year.Once the fall term started I was busy preparing for 5 new classes each day. I found many of my students to be "academically challenged," which made the task more daunting. It took me many years in the classroom to understand how to reach students with varying abilities. Many of these kids came from poor families which exacerbated an already difficult situation. My female students were more motivated and performed much better in the classroom than their male counterparts. The boys were interested in cars, guns, women, some sports and who knows what all else, but not the classroom.

I was already missing my five sections of world history at South Johnston High School. I taught a freshman P.E. class for girls and one for boys. I had a co-ed advanced P.E. class for seniors. I had no standard curriculum for this class so I had to work hard to provide a creditable course. I had one class of general math for co-ed freshmen and sophomores. My final course was a class of bookkeeping for senior girls. These women and they were "women" seemed so mature, very similar to the predominately female bookkeeping class I had taken in high school.

The females in my classes seemed to "take to me" early on I guess because they had not had many young males to teach them. My freshmen girls had so much energy. In class they asked so many questions and when we went outside on alternate days for the physical activity part of the course they couldn't wait to get started. They were always interested in learning new games and especially followed all the rules. When it was time for boys' class they had opposite attitudes.

My senior girls were much the same, they had a lot of questions and they had a lot of opinions, about everything. Most of these women had older boy friends. Every one of these women were good students.

Every day after lunch most of the students, except the smokers, went to the gym to hang out. They would sit on the bleachers and talk, walk around aimlessly throughout the gym, or play basketball. My job was to go to my office in the gym and distribute the basketballs. I had an opportunity to observe our basketball "talent" during this time. The girls rarely played basketball, but most of the boys played, especially the ones with some skill. Lafayette integrated several years before I arrived, but the student body was overwhelmingly white. You could feel the tension between the races, more male than female, but at best they tolerated each other. The older white boys were especially bigoted. As the lunchtime basketball games continued I got to observe the returning crop of mostly seniors. Normally when a coach had mostly seniors returning he expected a mature disciplined group, but this would not be the case. What I observed at lunchtime was a bunch of highly undisciplined players. Most of these returning upperclassmen had no command of the basic fundamentals of how to play the game of basketball. I had my work cut out for me. I observed two African-American freshmen boys and I could see they knew now to play the game. One was tall, 6'3" and I thought since he was only a freshman he might grow some more. When he was on the court playing with the seniors he was as good if not superior to every one of the seniors. The other kid was shorter, but could handle the ball, shoot the medium range jump shot, and he could jump. I would have to wait until practice started to see what skills the girls had. They had won a few more games the previous year than the boy's team. I was told by a parent of one of the players to expect that most nights they would score in the thirties and their shooting percentage for a game might also be 30%.

My life was pretty busy at that time. Every night and weekend I had to "learn" the next lessons for each class. Never was I more than 3-4 days ahead. It was helpful I had bookkeeping in high school and accounting at Oak Ridge as I was surprised that I remembered as much as I did. The general math was basic math, but I still had to be sure I understood the lessons before I tried to teach my students. For the freshmen P.E. classes I relied on my textbook plus what I remembered from my own P.E. course in high school. The advanced class required much more preparation.

I started basketball practice in early October. The girl's team practiced immediately after school and the boy's team started at 6:00pm. My roommate got home earlier and prepared dinner before I got home, but it was always cold by the time I got there. It was no big deal. After a few days of distractions by "other people" in the gym during practice I started locking the door after all the girls were on the basketball court. Some people did not like this move, but they learned to adjust. I had to learn the girls' rules playing 6 on 6 with 2 rovers who could be on either end of the court while 2 players were only on the offensive end and 2 could only be on the defensive end. 1970-71 was the last year girls played under those rules. Most of the first practices were a series of fundamental drills. I began to teach several of the girls how to shoot a jump shot. Later we worked on some offensive sets and our practiced several zone defenses, but most of the time we focused on a man to man press. I had four girls who were really quick so we benefited from the press. The biggest problem we had was a consistency in scoring. We could get shots, but our shooting percentages were normally in the thirties. I felt our defense would always give us a chance to win a game.The first day of the boys' practice was much like the girls, mostly fundamental drills. Fundamentals were something the upperclassmen did not have and it was too late for them to embrace much change, but I would try. I had decent size inside, but little jumping ability. I focused on positioning around the basket to have a better chance to rebound. Most of these guys could shoot fairly well, but only 3 could get their own shot. After several practices I was certain my two African-American kids would play a major role in our season.

We started playing scheduled games in late October. Our first games were at Deep River, a school in Lee County. My girl's team lost a close one by three points. The key problem I already knew, we could take the ball away with our quickness, but we had difficulty scoring. The boy's team was involved in a nip and tuck game until the middle of the third quarter when I called a time out and told them the inside was available. I told my point guard to penetrate between their two guards and try to get their defense to react, and then pass to either wing or when the defense reacted to the move, and then I wanted the wing man to pass inside to one of our forwards. They started getting the ball inside and continued to do that the rest of the game and the other team never made an adjustment. I felt good with the win, but more importantly, the boys felt good. Another win and they would equal the previous year's wins. By the November break my girls and boys teams both had with 3-3 records. The players were feeling good about their success.

Somehow during October I found the time to meet a girl at some function at an apartment in West Raleigh. We hit it off and I was seeing her most every weekend. After Thanksgiving break I took her to a few basketball games. One of our teachers had a cottage at Atlantic Beach and one weekend he invited the two of us down to help him paint. We worked hard all day Saturday, but had a good time as we were at the beach.

Just before our Christmas holidays the boys lost some of their confidence and by the break they were below five hundred while the girls were a game above five hundred. During Christmas break I went to my sister's house on Christmas Eve. I drive back to Garner the next day because a teacher friend and I were going to Atlanta and Florida. My mom didn't like this, but I was still going through my selfish period. I did not see the girl the entire Christmas break. I think she went home to Buies Creek to be with her parents.

When school started back things got really hectic with the five course preps and two games per week each for the boys and the girls basketball teams. I should have lived in the gym during the season. I began to see less and less of that girl from West Raleigh as free time was harder to plan.

The boy's team regressed to a point where they were never in any games over the last month of the season. The girls played perhaps their best game in a losing effort, a week before the conference tournament. When the season ended I was optimistic about the girls' chances of winning a game or two in the tournament. After the last game I was sitting on the bleachers waiting for the girls to come out of the dressing room when the parent of one of my players approached me. He cut to the chase and asked why I did not let his daughter play in the game. told him that all of the girls on the floor were returning next year and I wanted them to play together as much as possible to get experience. My explanation was not accepted. I told him I was sorry, but that I was doing the best I could and I would try to get her into the first tournament game. My explanation was not accepted. He proceeded with comments that were negative or at least I interpreted them that way, until finally he pushed me too far. I told him if he didn't like the work I was doing with the team he could hire someone else. That comment would seal my downfall. This man was a member of the local school board. Not only was I pissed because he confronted me after a tough game, but I was embarrassed because he made his comments in front of my lady friend who I had brought to the game. He embarrassed me and forced me to defend my position in front of her and other fans seated close by so I thought I had no choice but to fight back. He could have made an appointment and come to see me the next day at school. The next day before basketball practice the principal visited me and told me the man called him and wanted an apology from me. "Apology for what?" I asked. The principal repeated, "You just need to apologize." I told him there was no way I would apologize. The principal smiled and walked away.

We played in the conference tournament and both teams lost in the first round. The season ended and I was somewhat relieved. At least there was only one baseball team and we would practice right after school. I heard no more about the "confrontation."

One weekend I happened to look at a copy of my contract and noticed the statement written at the bottom of the document, "this contract shall be for the 1970-71 school year." The contracts I signed in Johnston made no such stipulations. The next day I went to the principal and asked for an explanation. He said, "I told you when you accepted the offer that this job was for one year." What could I do, the statement was written on the contract and my signature was below the statement. I thought he misrepresented the terms of the contract, but I did not figure there was anything I could do. If I "apologized" or kissed that board members ass on Main Street in broad daylight they might write me another contract, but there was no way I'd ever do that. I thought about it and truthfully I didn't want a job teaching out of my area of certification and I didn't want to continue coaching.

During Easter break I visited a teacher friend in Richmond. I met the roommate of a girl I dated from Four Oaks one night at their apartment. I had given my friend the Four Oaks girl's phone number and he had dated her several times, but on this night I got to meet her roommate. She was from Milford, Delaware and worked in state government in downtown Richmond. She attended Louisburg College for 2 years. I really liked her and before I left that night I asked her out the next day. My friend asked me if I would like to double date if he could get a date and I said it would be fine. He got a date with a girl he knew and the four of us drove to Charlottesville, Virginia for the day. Charlottesville was further than we thought, but we all had a nice day. I enjoyed this girl's company. That night I left her apartment late and drove to Garner because I had to work the next day. During the week I called her and she asked if I would like to come up the next weekend. I accepted the invitation and so began a nice relationship for the remainder of the school year. I was driving to Richmond every weekend and driving back to Garner late at night on Sunday. It was really tough during baseball season. It took me until Wednesday to get caught up on my sleep, but I wanted to see her as often as I could so I could sleep later.

We had a good baseball team and we won more games than we lost. We defeated every team in the conference at least one time, but we didn't win the games we needed to win in order to be conference champs. I had two all conference pitchers and we still didn't win the championship, maybe it was the coaching. Those guys could play the game. Every player could hit, but their fielding skills were sorely lacking. No matter how many grounders or flies I hit them in practice, my team dropped more balls than they caught in a game.

School was about to end so I went to the principal to talk about my job for next year and he told me again my contract was just for the year. I asked was this because of the "dispute" between me and the board member and he said, "yes," and that if I "had a change of heart" maybe "something could be done." I told him I had made my decision several months ago and I was not changing it. After all the work I had done in the classroom and on the field/court my job depended on one person being pissed off about playing time for his daughter, well, I didn't think I needed to continue to work there anyway. The principal told me he was leaving LaFayette to be the principal at Zebulon High School in Wake County and if I was interested in a job at his new school he would "keep me in mind." He never came through even though I called him often throughout the summer.

I had an end of year party on a Friday night at my apartment for my Lafayette teacher friends. My girlfriend came down from Richmond and my favorite teachers from school attended including the principal and the librarian. I never understood their relationship, but when I talked to her she mentioned his name as often as she did her husband. When the two of them showed up together at my party all I did was open the door. Later that night I gave them directions to the swimming pool.

It's summer time and once again I didn't have a dam job! I'm back in Garner with no job and no prospects for the fall. I would have to start over once again. I thought maybe I was beginning to run out of choices, this shit had to stop! My relationship with the girl from Richmond had ended. Immaturity is not a virtue.
Chapter 42

By July things started to change rapidly. My roommate came in from work one afternoon and told me he was buying a house in Garner and would be moving out by the end of the month if not sooner. He had a career in mortgage banking and had worked for 8-10 years making more money than he had time to count, so of course, I never thought he'd live in this apartment sharing the expenses with me forever. He did pay his rent for the entire month of July.

My roommate had a friend from Smithfield I met earlier who was interested in moving in with me. He was a large person, like 6'2" and close to 300 pounds. The few times I was around him he seemed nice and was quite a comedian. He received a football scholarship at U.N.C., but left after the first year. I didn't have a lot of options when my roommate told me he was moving out, so I reluctantly allowed the "big guy" to move in. For the rest of the time I lived in this apartment we had a few laughs, but he never paid his part of expenses. He was great to go out with at night because as big as he was nobody was going to "mess with us."I managed to find an opening for a teaching and coaching position in Franklin County, which bordered Warren County. I didn't desire to move too close to home, but I needed to lock down a job soon. I knew it was easier to get a teaching job if I could also coach. It was now August and I had paid the rent, but I couldn't afford to continue to pay all of the expenses for much longer. How would one go about getting rent money out of a 300 pound roommate?

I was called for an interview for a job in Franklin County and I drove up and met with the principal and the chairman of the school board on the front porch of the school. We sat around as if we were at "the "manor house" and talked about teaching and coaching. Within a week I got a contract and a job for another year if I signed and returned the contract. I did not want to move to Franklin County, so I needed more time to find another job. I wrote a letter stating that the contract did not specify the coaching duties so before I could agree to their offer the duties must be clearly spelled out. I figured at most this would give me two more weeks.

On Monday afternoon I went to pick up the mail and noticed an envelope from Franklin County. I opened the envelope and found the "revised contract" with the coaching duties specified at the bottom of the document as I requested. What should I do? They had complied with my wishes, but I still had no other offer, and time was of the essence. On Thursday I put the contract along with a letter into an envelope and mailed it back to Franklin County. The contract was unsigned; my letter informed them that I had declined their offer. I hated to do this, but I figured the Franklin County Schools would survive somehow without me. I hated myself but I was able to get over it. I still had no job and no prospect of one. Then one day out of the blue I got a call from the Chatham County Personnel Office. I forgot I had filled out an application with the school system. The personnel officer provided me with details of the job opening and gave me the names of the school and the principal. He told me that if I was interested in the job to call the principal to set up an appointment. I thanked him and hung up the phone. Maybe, just maybe this would be the beginning of a job that would last. I would be teaching in my area of certification, but I would have to coach again. I knew experience in coaching helped land teaching positions so I had to "appear interested" in the coaching duties.

I left early in the morning to drive to my interview at Jordan-Matthews High School in Siler City. I had never been to Chatham County so this would be a new experience. I still had some hope of being able to commute to work from Garner, but by the time I got to Pittsboro this was looking more and more like impossibility. After 25 minutes more of driving I got to the town limits of Siler City. There were streets all around the school property so when I drove around the block I could view the school from every angle. The main building was on one level and looked fairly new. I saw the gym, the football field, and some tennis courts. I returned to the front of the building, I parked the car, and walked in the front door. The principal's office was just inside the front door to the left. When I opened the door a man in glasses came out of another office and introduced himself as the school's principal. We went inside his office and sat down. He began asking the usual questions about my educational record and my school experience. He was more thorough with questions about teaching methods, discipline, and performing "extra" duties. He explained the coaching opening which more than likely would be tied to this job. The duties involved "assisting" the varsity football program, coaching the JV football team, and coaching the varsity track team. I explained my coaching experiences and told him I thought I was "up to the task" of the duties he had outlined. He took me to the athletic director and head football coaches office. The coach was in and I was introduced to him. We talked briefly about my coaching experience then he told me what his needs were and about the offense/defense he employed. Next the principal took me on a tour of the school. He showed me every dam room in that school building, which I thought was very unusual. Then he walked me to the gym and to the football field. We went back to the office. He told me he would let me know something within a few days by phone. I thanked him for his time and left.

On the way back to Garner the wheels were turning in my mind. Where would I live? Would my students be different from the ones I'd previously taught? How do I get out of my apartment with the big guy still there? But first, I had to be offered the job.

I waited and waited for what seemed like two weeks, and then one day I received a call from the principal offering me the job teaching social studies and coaching football and track. I was once again pleased and excited at this new opportunity in a new school system. I would begin my new assignments in two weeks so I didn't have much time to get out of my lease, pack my belongings and move to a new place. I was able to get a mutual friend of ours who was more responsible to assume my lease immediately. I didn't need to know or care what their financial agreements would be. The next week I went back to the Chatham County Administrative Offices to sign my contract, fill out tax forms, health forms, and insurance forms. I drove to Siler City to see the principal about getting copies of the textbooks for the classes I would be teaching. I was assigned 3 sections of world history with the same textbook I used in Johnston County and 2 sections of civics I had not yet taught. While I was in Siler City the principal asked if I had accommodations yet and I told him I "was looking." He offered to drive me out to an apartment complex several teachers had lived or were currently living. He went by the apartment manager's office and got the key so I could take a look at one of the apartments. He unlocked the door and when I looked in it reminded me of the teacherege in Four Oaks, dark, musty, and dusty. On the way back to the school I thanked him and told him I would continue to shop for a place to live.

Transitions are never smooth. When I started my new duties I had to commute from Garner, which was about 55 miles one way, since I had not found a place to live and my lease was not officially up until the end of the month. After teaching all day and helping out with the varsity football team I had no time during the week to look for housing. I was finally able to do some looking on the weekends. I decided I would see what Chapel Hill had to offer. If I lived in Chapel Hill I would have about a 30 mile commute one way to Siler City. I looked at several apartments in Chapel Hill and Carrboro, but it seemed like every apartment I looked at was too expensive. One of the rental managers mentioned a new apartment complex in Carrboro. He said the units were small with a living/dining combination and one bedroom. When he showed it to me the apartment was just as he had described it, small, but it could work for just one person. I inquired about the monthly rent and when he said, "$125.00 per month," I said, "I'll take it." I went back to his office and paid the security deposit and the first month's rent. Now all I needed was to move my things from Garner.

When I got back to Garner I told the two guys I was moving ASAP. I told the "big guy" the rest of the month's rent was "on me," plus the previous month and the month before that. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I went home Friday after work and borrowed dad's truck again. Saturday morning I drove back to Garner and loaded my belongings. This time I did not have as much stuff to move because I gave the couch and chair to the two guys, my "gift." All I had was my bed, a stereo, a TV, a bedside table, and my clothes. I had no problem getting everything into the truck. I was in Carrboro by noon and by 1:00 I was settled in. The place was small, but it was mine. After two years it was nice to have my privacy back. The next morning I took the truck back to my parent's house and got my car. On Monday morning I awoke in my new apartment and commuted to Siler City.

Once I got my daily routine down things went smoothly. I taught the five classes and assisted with the varsity football practice. Things were ready to change again as I began my junior varsity football practice. I found out there would be another coach, a P.E. teacher, who would be coaching with me. He was also the varsity baseball coach. As practice started we focused mostly on fundamental drills. When the second week started there was confusion over our respective coaching roles. I went to the athletic director and asked him to meet with us and explain what the roles were. We were responsible to him for our coaching duties so I thought he should explain our roles. He elected not to call a meeting or to do one dam thing. I assumed the leadership role and worked it out with him. I told him I would coach the offense and he could coach the defense. He was fine with the decision, so I when I went back to the A.D. to tell him what we decided he seemed relieved.

The other problem that surfaced was the type of offense I would run. The varsity ran of all things, the single wing. I told the A.D. I wanted to run a pro set because that's what I had used at Four Oaks. He told me that the JV team ought to run the same offense as the varsity so they would be familiar with that offense as they moved up to the varsity, but he never mandated I run the single wing. I ran my pro set.

The other coach and I got along well mainly because he was so easy going and didn't really give a dam about football, he just had to "get through" the football season. This was one of his coaching responsibilities but his preference was coaching baseball. We had only one disagreement the entire season and that was over a player. He was using a kid in the defensive backfield that was fast, but I felt because of his speed he should play offense. The coach told me, "the boy is in special education, he can't learn the plays, and he needs to stay on defense." That pissed me off; don't say "he can't" to me! When I went to the special education teacher and asked him to help the boy learn the plays he was more than willing. Within a week the kid knew his plays and was the starting tailback on my offense. We had no other player on the junior varsity that could catch him. He would play varsity football and get a full football scholarship to East Carolina University. He elected not to accept the scholarship.

I enjoyed teaching my classes the first year at Jordan-Matthews. My most enjoyable activity among the three world history classes was the production of a movie, entitled, "History, the Way Things Really Happened." It was a spoof of the key events in world history as selected by the students. It was necessary for these students to read and research historical events before they could make fun of them. We used 8 millimeter film and did only one take for each event as that's all the film we had. The students were divided into groups identified by their historical event. Each group wrote their own script. Once a script was written they had to decide who was to "star" in the segment. They had a ball doing this. Years later when I saw any student who took one of these classes they would always ask about the film and did I still have it. One time I was invited to one of their class reunions, but I did not attend. The student contact asked about the history film and I told her I still had it, but since I couldn't attend the festivities I would drop the film off at her work. There is a sad note about that film. The last scene showed a student dressed like Hitler with a gun to his head. In the scene he pulled the trigger and with his other hand dropped a rolling sign while he said, "pa de pa de pa de, that's all folks," then fell head first onto a mat we had on the floor. It was a funny scene when we filmed it. At the reunion it was a sad scene because the student who did the scene shot himself in the head a few years after he graduated from high school. I was later told by one of the students attending the reunion that when that scene came up there was not a dry eye in the building.

We had our own Academy Awards Show, awarding "Odell's" to the best male and female actors in our film. I made the awards out of wood and on each award I wrote the student's name. The students really loved this. The remainder of our classes were not as interesting, but this was one class project would be in their memories forever.

Another class activity that I initiated was reading the newspaper each Monday. I usually asked the students to write a synopsis of the most interesting article they read. Sometimes I would ask them to give oral reports on their readings. The most important lesson I provided was explaining the components of a paper, i.e., the headlines, the editorial pages, the stock report, and how to determine fact from fiction. I hoped this exercise continued in their adult lives.

The fall semester had been busy with 5 classes followed by football practice immediately after school. On Thursday nights the junior varsity played their games and on Friday nights I scouted next week's opponent for the varsity team. I usually got back to Carrboro on those nights after 11:00pm. It took the weekend to rest from the previous week's work. I had no social life because I didn't have time to consider such things.

I met some great teachers my first year at Jordan-Matthews who became good friends. Most of these teachers were fairly new to the classroom, but they were all smart, creative, and energetic. We never had a teacher's meeting without the principal receiving reasonable questions he didn't want to answer. I found out years later that he never wanted to be a principal, but that the superintendent "encouraged" him to take the helm after a racial riot at the school. The riot was caused because the African-American students thought the mascot, a phantom, looked like a Klansman. The previous year the African-American kids were forced to enroll at the previously all white school. They didn't particularly like being at Jordan-Mathews, but with the perceived Klansman mascot they thought that was a bit much. Progressive, open minded school administrators should have been able to foresee potential conflicts, but they did not until students got hurt beating the hell out of each other. After the riot a student vote was held to select a new mascot, the jets.

After I returned from the Christmas break I had 2 months of free time before I started track practice. My special education teacher friend told me that last year he "pretty much" coached the track team as a volunteer coach. The regular coach knew little about the sport and was comfortable with this teacher doing most of the work, especially since he had run track in high school. I welcomed his participation in helping me train my track team. I had learned quite a bit about coaching track while at Four Oaks, but I wanted to learn more. He told me we had some real good athletes coming returning and most of them were football players. The previous year's team had won the conference track championship. During the next two months we brainstormed about the practice schedules and which events each of us would coach.

In late February I put a notice about the start of track practice on the school's morning announcements. I requested each participant come by my classroom and pick up a practice schedule before the first practice. I had about 35 boys come by and pick up the schedules. One afternoon I went to the A.D. to ask for some money to buy new track uniforms and I told him my teacher friend had volunteered to help again. He told me, "absolutely not," he didn't want him near that team. I asked if he was going to tell him not to help me and he said no, I would have to tell him. When I told my friend he couldn't help he was pissed and was tempted to confront the A.D., but he decided it wasn't worth it.

I my track practices were held right after school Monday through Friday. We didn't have a track to run on so that posed somewhat of a problem. I got the drafting instructor to draw off a 220 yard track around the "sacred football field" which provided the team some degree of accuracy in their track workouts. I had several really fast kids in the sprints and I had several good distance runners. I had guys with experience and good skills in the field events. There were some techniques I shared during the season which helped some of them. I worked a lot with my sprinters starts out of the blocks. I helped to improve the form and technique of our shot put man. Before our first track meets I was confident we could compete with anyone.My track team had a great year. We were runners-up in the Mid South Relays, an event that attracted teams of all classifications from all over North Carolina and part of South Carolina. We were runners-up in our conference championship track meet. We competed against mostly larger schools and my team did quite well competing in all of individual events. My 880 yard relay team was undefeated through the state sectionals. One of my sprinters got a hamstring pull so I had to substitute for him in the regionals and we came in second. No other track team we competed against beat my original 880 relay foursome. I had two sprinters with times of 9.5 and 9.6 respectively in the 100 yard dash and for a school our size it was rare to have 2 athletes compete at such a high level. One of my sprinters finished second in the 100 yard dash and the 220 in the state finals. I was very proud of him.

I left Jordan-Matthews in May for summer vacation feeling like I had a successful year. I thought I had done a good job in the classroom and on the athletic field. I spent the summer hanging out at the apartment pool and sleeping late. Often I would drive to Clarence's Bar on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill and have a few beers in the late afternoon. I loved listening to Clarence talk to the "regulars" as they came in for "a cold one." He had a great jukebox loaded with country music. My favorite songs were Conway Twitty's "Up Comes the Bottle" and Merle Haggard's "Swinging Doors" because when these numbers were played Clarence would sing. It was an interesting place with an eclectic clientele. I enjoyed spending time there that summer.

My social calendar that second year was filled with many open dates. My teacher friend in special education got me a date with his cousin from Charlotte. I drove down to her place and spent the night there. What I liked most was her vast 45 rpm record collection, I mean she had "them all. " She had records that I hadn't heard in years. I brought a six pack of beer and we sat around most of the evening listening to those records. She came to my place for one weekend and I never saw her again. My friend was really trying to get me hooked up. His wife got me a date with a nurse she knew from Raleigh. We had some nice times together, but I hated going to her apartment because I was allergic to her two cats. As I soon as I walked into her apartment door I started sneezing and wheezing. In order to compensate if we were going out I picked her up at the front door. Sometimes she visited me in Chapel Hill. I thought things were going well into the third month of our relationship. One night after I had gotten home from work the phone rang and on the other end was the nurse. She said, "I hate to tell you this but my old boyfriend and I are getting back together." What a shock! I called her every name I could think of and slammed the phone down. She called right back and I called her the same names again. She called a third time and I picked up the receiver and slammed it down as hard as I could. Phones were made of very strong materials in the seventies. I called my friend's wife who set me up with this date and told her my news. She replied, "I thought she was the one." I had no other dates for the rest of the school year.

I taught the same course load my second year at Jordan-Matthews. During the year I focused on providing individualized instruction. At first my students had a hard time adjusting to this new method of instruction As the year progressed I thought most of my students were on board with the new method. I gave them "inquiry based" assignments and allowed them to go to the library as necessary to complete assignments. All teachers had a yearly classroom evaluation by the principal. This observation was part of the tenured teacher mandates. Each teacher was evaluated at least one time per year for the first 3 years. The annual contract was renewed for each "probationary" teacher for each of those 3 years and after the 3 years if you got another contract you were tenured. If you didn't get a contract for that 4th year you had no job at that school and it was more than likely you would not get employed as a teacher again. The day the principal observed one of my classes he did not like what he saw. He did not like seeing students in the library without my presence even though the librarian was in the room. I had spent quite a bit of time in conversations with the librarian as to what my classes would be doing, what the assignments would be, and how she could help the students. We saw this as team teaching, but not my principal. He liked to see a teacher in front of the classroom talking to students while their heads were down in their textbooks or composition books. I received a poor classroom evaluation and requested an appointment to discuss the assessment. The principal put all teachers' evaluations in their mailboxes with the hope that once a teacher read the evaluation they would sign it and return it without an appointment to discuss the details. But he had a "rogue" teacher who wanted an explanation. It didn't take me long to conclude he hated personal interactions with teachers. In our meeting he told me about his preferred teaching method and suggested that I abandon my present methods if I wanted better evaluations in the future. I did leave his office having learned another valuable lesson, the principal of a school is "the man," right or wrong they are in charge. I never forgot this lesson for the next 12 years as a classroom teacher.

My second year of coaching had additional challenges. A new P.E. teacher replaced the baseball coach to help me coach the team. This man was hired primarily to coach the boy's varsity basketball and to assist with the junior varsity football program. I would continue to coach the offense and he would coach the defense. His demeanor was a complete 180 degrees from the previous coach. The previous coach resigned under fire several years later because he "allegedly" was having sex with a student. When he departed there was a big write up in the local paper about all the games he had won and how far along the baseball program had come. The community would miss him. The paper even printed a large picture of him in the sports section decked out in his baseball suit.

This new coach had a fiery temper and he displayed that temper in a moment's notice. He confronted players in front of their peers and one time he confronted and embarrassed me in front of the team One week during practice I was running my offense against his defense using plays I had picked up from my scouting report of our next opponents' varsity game the previous Friday night. We assumed the opponents' JV team would run essentially the same plays as the varsity. I huddled with my offense to call one of the five plays the defense was working against, but one time I called another play from my scouting report. A defense has to be ready for any possibility. Our quarterback threw a flare pass out to a receiver on the right side which he caught and ran for a touchdown. My team was cheering and jumping up and down. The coach came running over to me yelling, "coach, I you were supposed to run just 5 plays and I expect you to run just those five." I was embarrassed in front of the whole JV team. Why was this son of a bitch yelling at me in front of the team? He was not a head coach, he was not my supervisor, yet he was jumping in my shit. It really pissed me off, but I took it, I did not say one dam word. I never had any respect for the son of a bitch again. The longer he stayed at the school the more problems he had. I did talk to the A.D. about this incident, but he did nothing. I survived another season as the team won one game, tied one, and lost all the rest.

My track team had another successful year and as a team we were once again runners-up in the conference championship meet. I got continued to schedule track meets with the best teams in our area and our athletes always competed at a high level.

The school year was over except for a few work days before departing for the summer. On the way out of the school building I went by the A.D.'s office to say goodbye and have a nice summer. He informed me he didn't want me to be on the coaching staff anymore.

I spent the summer reflecting on the past four years. I was certain I did not want to coach at the high school level again and I would never accept another teaching job that involved coaching. I did some real soul searching about my teaching methods. Would I continue to utilize more innovative teaching methods or return to more traditional methods in my classes? I decided I would do both.

I also had another problem, I was gaining weight. I was aware of it because I couldn't zip my trousers up all the way up. I wore ban lon shirts over my partially zipped pants. The real eye opener occurred one day while I was on hall duty and a student poked me in the stomach and said, "that 30 cent beer is about to get you isn't it?" That did it! It's one thing if I noticed it in the mirror and I realized my pants were too tight, but when students started noticing it, then I had to do l something. I started to going down to the U.N.C. track every afternoon to run. After I ran I would run up and down the steps at the track stadium. I cut out beer the rest of the summer and went a on a high protein diet. After the first 6 weeks there was little if any weight loss and I was getting frustrated. I was denying myself the things that I liked and I had lost very few pounds. One night near the end of the second month I tried on a pair of slacks and was able button the top button. That was all the motivation I needed. By the time I returned to school I had lost 10 pounds. I would lose 10 more pounds during the school year. I was proud of myself.

The other change I made that summer was to move into a new and larger apartment. This apartment was similar to the one I lived in Garner, except it had only one bedroom. I had a nice balcony with a good view. I would commute about the same distance to work as from my other apartment. When I returned to work I hoped to identify teachers to carpool who lived in the area. I took more pride in my new place and even got some different furniture. On the way to work each day I passed some cedar A frame houses. I thought they looked neat and would be more than enough room for a one person. I was thinking more and more about owning my own place and perhaps an A frame would be my choice.

As soon as I returned to school I got connected to a car pool with two ladies that worked out well for the three of us. We met at a gas station at the Orange and Chatham county line. The gas station owner, a fine man, allowed us to keep two vehicles at his station while we drove the third car to work every day. We took turns driving to and from Siler City. About mid way through the fall the shit hit the fan. There was a nationwide gas shortage, which created daily stress for the three of us. Some days we changed the driver rotation based on who had the most gas. Many afternoons when we picked up our cars we had to drive all over town looking for gas to get to work the next day. The gas station owner who allowed us to keep our cars at his station was under the same restrictions as everyone else, first come, first serve, but usually a customer was only allowed a few gallons. There was no station where we could get filled up, so for us it was serious. We figured it out and got to work every day. I really enjoyed commuting with these two women. First, they were responsible. They were always on time and if the driving schedule had to be changed there was sufficient advanced notice so no one would be inconvenienced. One lady was a guidance counselor and was one of the funniest people I have ever been around. She always had funny stories to tell us on the way home. We socialized on occasion at her trailer. Her husband was a pre-med student at U.N.C., but did not get accepted into med school at U.N.C. On occasion after work I would stop by her trailer for a drink and to share a few laughs about the school day. She was always very upbeat about life and I was never around her when she was in a somber mood. After her husband graduated he got a teaching position at a university in Buffalo, New York and they moved away. I saw my friend one more time when she was in the state visiting relatives.

After the guidance counselor moved away I continued to drive to Siler City with the other lady. She was one of the most if not the most, responsible people I have ever known. She was always on time when we commuted each morning and was ready to leave school at our established time. She could be humorous, but she was more serious than funny. She was a French teacher and all the students loved her. Her father was a retired school principal in the county and the school was named after him. She was married and the couple lived on Roxboro Road in northern Durham. She had to get up really early on school mornings to meet me at the gas station for our commute. She did this for several years. Later, she wanted to make a career change so she enrolled in a master's program in library science at U.N.C. At the end of a school year she resigned her teaching position to attend U.N.C. full time. I never saw her again.

On September 22, 1973 a life changing event for the better happened to me. My special education teacher friend who had enrolled in a master's program in special education at U.N.C. told me about a woman in his program I might like to date. He offered take the two of us with him and his wife to a U.N.C. football game. I thought, O.K., I'm interested. The plan was for me to pick up my date and drive to my friend's cottage and from there he would drive the four of us to the game. When I got to her trailer, she came to the door and said, "You're late." I thought wait here, I don't need this shit. But that was the last negative thing I ever heard that day or any other day. On June 30, 1974 we were married and have been together since. The first part of my memoir has been about my life, the "me" as I experienced it for the first 30 years. Part two, if there is one, will be about the "we," the last thirty-eight years.

