"Are we there yet?" I inquired. "No we just left?"
I was only 11 years old. Fresh from Florida on a long trip with my uncles. Roy and Herman Smith. It was a painful trip.
I was only 11 years old. Fresh from Florida on a long trip with my uncles. Roy and Herman Smith. It was a painful trip.
My father had seven brothers and sisters. He was the baby like me. They were a poor family. I do not believe they where all that close. I am not even sure what my grandfather who I was named after occupation was. Maybe he worked at a manufacturing plant.
Roy and Herman were best friends. After the Korean war, they had gone west and did some work where they were handsomely paid. They were both fairly wealthy. Uncle Herman lived like a hermit drinking beer in an old rundown house behind his former restaurant. They bought some land wisely and the land became a gold mine. Roy on the other hand lived quite nicely and had children and a wife and was living the dream. It was rumored that his children were to get all of Herman's money when he died.
"Are we there yet?" again asking "No we have only been on the road for two hours."
I remember the car was a late model car. A Cadillac I think top-of-the-line. Leather seats, power steering, power brakes, nice radio, everything you could possibly want in a car. All I really remember was billowing smoke and struggling to breath. Yes were were trapped in a car with with two drunks who required continuous smoke in their lungs.
"I want to go back home" I demanded "Your new home is in Tennessee" one of the uncles replied.
About half way though we got stuck in about four feet of snow in Georgia. So we stopped at a cheap hotel. A hotel with a wet bar. So more joyous time with the uncles but this time in a smoke filled room neither one of them were sober of course.
"I want to roll down the window" gasping for breath. "OK a little bit" as my uncle took a break from the smoldering cigarette to push the auto window button, I put my mouth to the crack to get some fresh air.
Did I mention that I have asthma? Yes a condition that affects breathing. If you were wondering does smoke help asthma? I would have to give that a resounding no. The whole trip was topped off with Uncle Roy locking the door and windows. Cherry to the sundae.
Again in a smoke filled room trying to sleep as I was bone tired.
I wish I remember more parts of this trip but maybe the smoke affected my brain. The memory of the trip is quite limited. Just shadows of smoke and smells of alcohol.
Still trying to soak in what has happened
I was not in a good state of mind. I was just sad or in shock or just plain unhinged. You see my father just died. His death was a by product of this job. You see he was a bartender and drank himself to death.
His bothers and sisters thought is was imperative that I see him in his coffin. It is normal in many cultures but I did not take to this ritual. You see I just saw him puking up blood and a few days later he was dead.
One of my dads friends collected money for us in memory of papa. I heard he got thousands of dollars. But his friend must not of been the best of them. He was nice enough to relieve us of all of it and we never got any. And if he's reading this now I would like to say to him a sincere fuck you.
Sleeping by my sister in the hotel room the memories are smothering as the smoke that is now a persistent part of my life.
They also shot some Polaroids (instant pictures). So I got to add to my misery by continually getting to see the pictures of my dead dad. No he did not look good. He looked dead and no longer my dad.
While the caring aunts and uncles were deciding what to do with us we were stored with my Aunt Kay.
There was quite a bit of discussions as to where we should go. My dad had arranged that we should go to a home funded by the Eagle club. One of the many private clubs that he worked for and or belonged to. The family had decided no we should go live with my aunt in Tennessee.
My Aunt Kay's house was nice. She was a the x-wife of Uncle Herman. When I say nice, well that is an understatement. It was a nine bedroom house. Every room was a theme in a different color. A TV in every room. I was in the blue room.
When you walked into the back yard, well there was the ocean. I know I was young but man this was a nice house. I did not want to leave. This was the closest I had ever seen to paradise. Having a TV in every I watched a lot of TV. She had cable. One the the show that I continually watched was called The Beverly Hillbillies.
They where from Tennessee. They thought the swimming pool was a "cement pond." The smartest one did not finish Jr. High. The pool table was a fancy dinner table. I mean they were just plain backwards. This was where I was headed.
I did not have the skills to assess my own "backwardness." I was a slow kid. Granted I did not have anyone to encourage my matriculation. I was a loser in school. That did not help the fact I was really apprehensive to move there. I failed fourth grade usually they wouldn't have failed me but dad failed to show up for the meeting so there I was in fourth grade again Lucky me. I remember the school being Armstrong Elementary school.
I guess many people started their life again. With misery and heartache much worse than mine. Again I never seen this part of life. But I was not leaving a happy place. I was leaving the ghetto of Florida a in Punta Gorda. A roach infested house with my father who was not around that often.
Many of the neighbors for drug dealers. Who live in the same ghetto I did but enjoyed big-screen TVs and BMW cars. It doesn't seem like I was that scared. Again maybe I was just too dumb to be afraid.
I remember one time one of the neighbors killed a turtle. Seemed to me a be about 3 foot wide it was a really huge thing maybe a tortoise and not a turtle. He cut off the head and hung it upside down to eat later. I'm happy to say I never tasted it but for some reason it made me sad.
"Are we there yet" I said inpatient and struggling to breathe. But we were nearly there.. Tennessee's the place you are to be..
Roy and Herman were best friends. After the Korean war, they had gone west and did some work where they were handsomely paid. They were both fairly wealthy. Uncle Herman lived like a hermit drinking beer in an old rundown house behind his former restaurant. They bought some land wisely and the land became a gold mine. Roy on the other hand lived quite nicely and had children and a wife and was living the dream. It was rumored that his children were to get all of Herman's money when he died.
"Are we there yet?" again asking "No we have only been on the road for two hours."
I remember the car was a late model car. A Cadillac I think top-of-the-line. Leather seats, power steering, power brakes, nice radio, everything you could possibly want in a car. All I really remember was billowing smoke and struggling to breath. Yes were were trapped in a car with with two drunks who required continuous smoke in their lungs.
"I want to go back home" I demanded "Your new home is in Tennessee" one of the uncles replied.
About half way though we got stuck in about four feet of snow in Georgia. So we stopped at a cheap hotel. A hotel with a wet bar. So more joyous time with the uncles but this time in a smoke filled room neither one of them were sober of course.
"I want to roll down the window" gasping for breath. "OK a little bit" as my uncle took a break from the smoldering cigarette to push the auto window button, I put my mouth to the crack to get some fresh air.
Did I mention that I have asthma? Yes a condition that affects breathing. If you were wondering does smoke help asthma? I would have to give that a resounding no. The whole trip was topped off with Uncle Roy locking the door and windows. Cherry to the sundae.
Again in a smoke filled room trying to sleep as I was bone tired.
I wish I remember more parts of this trip but maybe the smoke affected my brain. The memory of the trip is quite limited. Just shadows of smoke and smells of alcohol.
Still trying to soak in what has happened
I was not in a good state of mind. I was just sad or in shock or just plain unhinged. You see my father just died. His death was a by product of this job. You see he was a bartender and drank himself to death.
His bothers and sisters thought is was imperative that I see him in his coffin. It is normal in many cultures but I did not take to this ritual. You see I just saw him puking up blood and a few days later he was dead.
One of my dads friends collected money for us in memory of papa. I heard he got thousands of dollars. But his friend must not of been the best of them. He was nice enough to relieve us of all of it and we never got any. And if he's reading this now I would like to say to him a sincere fuck you.
Sleeping by my sister in the hotel room the memories are smothering as the smoke that is now a persistent part of my life.
They also shot some Polaroids (instant pictures). So I got to add to my misery by continually getting to see the pictures of my dead dad. No he did not look good. He looked dead and no longer my dad.
While the caring aunts and uncles were deciding what to do with us we were stored with my Aunt Kay.
There was quite a bit of discussions as to where we should go. My dad had arranged that we should go to a home funded by the Eagle club. One of the many private clubs that he worked for and or belonged to. The family had decided no we should go live with my aunt in Tennessee.
My Aunt Kay's house was nice. She was a the x-wife of Uncle Herman. When I say nice, well that is an understatement. It was a nine bedroom house. Every room was a theme in a different color. A TV in every room. I was in the blue room.
When you walked into the back yard, well there was the ocean. I know I was young but man this was a nice house. I did not want to leave. This was the closest I had ever seen to paradise. Having a TV in every I watched a lot of TV. She had cable. One the the show that I continually watched was called The Beverly Hillbillies.
They where from Tennessee. They thought the swimming pool was a "cement pond." The smartest one did not finish Jr. High. The pool table was a fancy dinner table. I mean they were just plain backwards. This was where I was headed.
I did not have the skills to assess my own "backwardness." I was a slow kid. Granted I did not have anyone to encourage my matriculation. I was a loser in school. That did not help the fact I was really apprehensive to move there. I failed fourth grade usually they wouldn't have failed me but dad failed to show up for the meeting so there I was in fourth grade again Lucky me. I remember the school being Armstrong Elementary school.
I guess many people started their life again. With misery and heartache much worse than mine. Again I never seen this part of life. But I was not leaving a happy place. I was leaving the ghetto of Florida a in Punta Gorda. A roach infested house with my father who was not around that often.
Many of the neighbors for drug dealers. Who live in the same ghetto I did but enjoyed big-screen TVs and BMW cars. It doesn't seem like I was that scared. Again maybe I was just too dumb to be afraid.
I remember one time one of the neighbors killed a turtle. Seemed to me a be about 3 foot wide it was a really huge thing maybe a tortoise and not a turtle. He cut off the head and hung it upside down to eat later. I'm happy to say I never tasted it but for some reason it made me sad.
"Are we there yet" I said inpatient and struggling to breathe. But we were nearly there.. Tennessee's the place you are to be..
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