Thursday, July 31, 2014
High School Part 2
Blame it on Bob reminded me of a couple of things that happened during high school that I didn't cover in my previous post so I will add them here. If you haven't read Byrd High School, it's the previous post so go back and read that one first.
My first addition to the last post has to do with cars.
When I returned from St. Gregory's and turned 15, I needed a car. Uncle Woodrow gave me a job working at the family's industrial supply company part time and on Saturday. Going to school knocked out the 8 to 3 p.m. time frame so I only made an hour or so everyday. That was just enough to go to the warehouse and make a run to the bus station with packages that needed to be shipped out overnight. Not much money there.
My brother in law, Ronnie Oswald, assistant produce manager at Brookshire's and his brother Larry, package boy and stock clerk, put in a good word for me at Brookshire Food Store so I ended up with a job sacking groceries after school and working all day on Saturdays.
The minimum wage was 90 cents/ hr back then but we made more than that from tips so the money was pretty good. Back then, a $36.00 week was plenty. I saved my money and bought the cheapest car I could get my hands on. It was a Nash Metropolitan, total price, $350.00. I didn't keep it long because it was a "rag" and the right rear wheel fell off, but it provided me with basic transportation and served it's purpose long enough for me to prove to momma that I could handle the responsibility of a car.
One night, not long after I bought the Metropolitan, I received a phone call from a bar that was located next to a hot spot called "The Cub". It had a rotating bar in it and was called the Carosel (sp). As things unfolded during the phone call, I discovered that my sister Linda was on the pay phone in the girls bathroom and she was in a panic. Her friend Penny was drunk as a skunk, couldn't get her girdle up, and was in dire straights. She asked me to come down there and help out as Penny was stuck on the toilet with the girdle wrapped around her ankles, refusing to move. Don't ask me how in the hell they figured out I could do anything about it but the call came in and off I went to get them.
By the time I arrived, the problem had apparently been solved and despite the fact that neither of them wanted to discuss the manner in which it was handled, I always assumed that Penny was without girdle or panties or anything under her dress. They were gassed and asked me to drive them to North Highlands where some boys lived so they could visit with them. I didn't like the idea of that but being the dutiful little brother, I headed to North Highlands. I still give Penny hell about that night and we both still laugh about it.
Shortly after that, momma apparently felt sorry for me and gave me her maroon and silver 64 Malibu and she bought a brand new 65 Impala. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven even though it was a 6 cylinder 3 speed and didn't even have an air conditioner. I didn't care, it was a hell of a lot better than the Metropolitan. All of that happened during my Junior year and I still wish I had that Metro.
Since I managed not to get into any fights during my junior year and I'd started running on the quarter mile and mile relay team at Byrd, momma decided that I could have a new car for my senior year. The 64 Malibu was traded in on a 66 Chevelle Super Sport. It came with a 396 cubic inch V 8. It was bad fast and I loved it.
It had 325 horsepower and even though that was a lot of horsepower back then, Larry Albritton and Johnny Cobb decided I needed a set of Hedman Headers which boosted the horsepower even more. There wasn't a GTO at school that I couldn't beat or an Olds 442 but even with the headers open and loud as hell, I still couldn't out run the 375 Horse version that a couple of the boys from Fair Park had. Despite that, it was bad fast and I became a hot rodder at Byrd and that was real cool.
Not long after that, during my Senior year, I was suspended for fighting and was back on momma's shit list. I had to be very careful because it was a serious time around the house. Even Leland backed me up on the fight deal because he'd had some troubles with bullies and he was proud that I stood up for myself and kicked some butt. Despite my new direction and focus on keeping out of trouble, scooters fell out of popularity and motorcycles came on the scene. So did Richard Harris. Richard was another military school guy but let's just say that in Richard's case, it didn't TAKE.
Blame it on Bob was the motorcycle version of Larry Albritton and Johnny Cobb. He had been working as a part time helper at a local motorcycle shop owned by the Cassard family and had learned more about motorcycles then than I know now. In any event, that year, Suzuki introduced the X6 Hustler and Bob knew all about them. It was a screaming fast 2 cycle bike with a six speed transmission and Richard bought one.
I found out about it the hard way. I received a call from a really drunk Richard on one horribly cold winter night. Richard was drunk as a skunk. He told me about the bike and even though it was sometime close to midnight, he announced that he was going to come over. I begged him not to as I was afraid he would wake up my momma. (His was a nurse and worked the night shift so she could get some sleep while Richard was in school). None of the begging and pleading worked so I told him to sneak up to the front bedroom window on the right side of the house. That was normally the girls bedroom but Elaine was already married, Linda was at Tech and Leland was in the Marine Corp training for Vietnam, so I figured that was the safest thing to do.
Despite the fact that it had snowed earlier and the streets were covered with ice, I heard the roar of a two cycle motorcycle and I knew it was Richard. I figured I would get in some trouble over this but when I saw him come across the front yard toward the bedroom window, I knew I was sunk. He was BUCK NAKED. I'm talking about no clothes on at all. It was freezing cold and Richard was nekid, drunk, loud and in one hell of a condition.
Even though he only lived 8 blocks away, I was surprised that he hadn't fallen prey to exposure or had the dropped the bike because of all the ice and snow. Alcohol probably saved him but the way I saw it, alcohol and a naked man on a motorcycle at the bedroom window at MY mother's house was probably going to be the end of me.
Somehow or another I managed to make it through all that. On second thought, let's say that DESPITE all those things, my boarding school training served me well and I maneuvered around problems like that and actually did graduate from High School, even though I had to take summer school English, to do it.
Melissa rode with me to summer school and we had a ball after class when I would take her for a ride in the SS 396. We would go get a cold beer and ride south of town before I took her home. If Eddie ever knew, I'm sure he would have killed me. In any event, Eddie and I became close and after Vietnam, I spent hours and hours talking about the war in the Pacific with him and we compared notes a million times. That's a story that I'll outline after I finish college, flight school and Vietnam because it covers his experiences during the invasion of Saipan and Tinian.
Thanks to Blame it on Bob for reminding me to add this little tid bit of craziness. Ashley, your daddy and Uncle Larry were sure fun to run around with during those days. Your mother would have killed me if she knew all the stuff we were doing.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Byrd High School, Bras, A Girl's Diary, Another Fist Fight And Terry Bradshaw.
By the time I made it home from St. Gregory's, Cousin Greg had already made it home from Morris and he knew girls, lots of girls. He was dating a girl named Gayle and Uncle Charles had given him a car to use as his own. It was a 57 Chevy. That's right, the dream car of it's time, a 57 Chevy. All you hot rodders out there, eat your hearts out.
Not long after the 57 Chevy came along, he stopped dating Gayle and started dating Margo. I figured, "okay, I'll start dating Gayle". Initially, I thought that was going to be a good deal but as it turned out, she kept a diary and her snooping mother took it from her room one day and read it from A to Z.
To make a long story short, let's just say that I was not only forbidden to even drive down her street, I was worried about being hunted down by the old lady who out weighed me by 100 pounds. It wasn't the father, it was the mother I was worried about. She proved to be the proverbial "Turd in the punchbowl". Since I can't point a finger and Blame it on Bob, let's just Blame it on Greg.
The appropriate nick name came years later from another high school friend, Steve Dupuy. I finally received some benefit of all the years of Latin when he uttered the words: "Summus Gruntlick".
Before you girls get judgmental, I want to remind you that this female breast deal is a natural thing and we boys just can't help ourselves. From the instant we are born, the first thing that happens is an ass whipping. They say they do that to get us breathing properly.
The second thing that happens involves a female breast. I don't know if you want to classify the breast thing as "cause and effect" but I sure wish the female of the species would just accept that this is the way it is and will probably always be (except for rag heads who like donkeys). Deal with it, accept it and know that we wish we had our own set to play with but that simply wasn't to be.
I concluded a long time ago that this breast thing is a very confusing situation and the older we get, the worse it is. It seems perfectly natural to me that boys, when thinking about girls, can't figure out whether we are going to get our asses spanked or have a great time with the breasts of the female persuasion.
They even made a joke about them and said that one day a kid was watching a girl run topless down the beach. Even though she covered her breasts with her hands, the kid yelled out: "Hey Lady, if you're gonna drown those puppies, I want the one with the brown nose". Even little boys have to suffer.
With the advent of breast implants, I kinda feel like women get it because so many of them have those puppies blown up and, for the life of me, the only reason I can see them doing it is because they know that boys love em. That's all I'm gonna say about that. I thought that Gayle was going to be a home run for me but I learned early on that a girl friend's momma could end up causing you to be ejected from the game.
In any event, I enjoyed my Junior year at Byrd immensely. During gym class, I met Coach Woody Turner and, as the Byrd High Track Coach, he took all the new students and had them run time trials on the 100, 220, 440, 880 and mile run. As it turned out, I was fast and ran a 10.2 hundred yard dash and a 52.8 quarter mile. I went to Byrd's Track Team and had a ball. I met a lot of great guys there and one of them, Dick Brook, eventually became very influential in saving my life but that's a story for my college days and I'll get to that on the next post.
In any event, the track team was the nuts. When I was on the mile relay team, I met Terry Bradshaw. He went to Woodlawn High School and I watched him set a national record in the javelin one day when we had a track meet at Byrd. Terry was Woodlawn's quarterback and despite what you see today on tv, he was a quiet kinda guy and pretty reserved when he was in high school. All of that happened my Junior year. As a coincidence, Tim Jr begins teaching World History at Woodlawn this year.
When my Senior year at Byrd came about, I met Claudia. I was totally smitten and knew by then that I needed to walk a very thin, respectful line with her and her parents. Even though I didn't end up with her as the love of my life, my wife and the mother of my children, I had the respect of her entire family and still do to this day.
Unfortunately, there was a guy who didn't think that way and when he started interfering with my relationship with her, I knew that big time trouble was brewing. It was the kind of trouble that brought about thoughts of a Shaving Cream Can Type of Ass Whippin'.
One day, when I went to school, the bad guy taunted me in the parking lot. He was one of 4 guys in a group that were sitting in a car right outside my first hour class room. To make a long story short, the situation escalated and threats were made by the big mouth kids in the car and I told them to bring it on. He jumped out of the car, squared off with me and the fight began. There was only one punch. I threw it, it landed and off he went to the hospital to get stitches. The other 3 boys didn't want any part of that overhand right and they ran off to get one of the teachers. I found myself in the office and knew that the trouble was just starting. When they called my mother and reported the incident, momma said "He told me he was having trouble with that kid and if he didn't leave him alone, Tim was going to kick his butt". Mr. Ravenna replied with: "Oh, so it was premeditated".
He gave me a 3 day suspension for that but as it turned out, the second day of that suspension was my 18th birthday, the legal age for drinking and one hell of a party ensued when I bought all the beer.
As a side note to all this, I met Melissa who is one of my dearest friends to this day. Her step daddy was Eddie Joyce who was a veteran of World War II and had taken part in the invasion of Saipan and Tinian where the Enola Gay eventually departed with the Hiroshima bomb. I also met Steve Dupuy, Blame it on Bob and many other guys and gals at Byrd that would be life long friends.
As I close this, I wanted to say that throughout my life, I was surrounded by combat veterans and, with all of the lessons that came from that association, I became a reasonably knowledgeable military historian and eventually, a Nighthawk Gunship Pilot and a Scout Pilot with hunter killer teams that flew in Vietnam and Nixon's Secret War in Cambodia.
Thanks to all the old guys that are now gone from this world. Your influences in my life served me well, just as well as you served your Country during times of war.
College is next so hang tough. Flight School and Vietnam is not far off. After that, I'll give you the T.L Butler predictions from "The Church of The Painful Truth". That's not another blog site. It a division of the Church of What's Happenin Now that you have to go to when you don't pay attention to the rules.
.
Not long after the 57 Chevy came along, he stopped dating Gayle and started dating Margo. I figured, "okay, I'll start dating Gayle". Initially, I thought that was going to be a good deal but as it turned out, she kept a diary and her snooping mother took it from her room one day and read it from A to Z.
To make a long story short, let's just say that I was not only forbidden to even drive down her street, I was worried about being hunted down by the old lady who out weighed me by 100 pounds. It wasn't the father, it was the mother I was worried about. She proved to be the proverbial "Turd in the punchbowl". Since I can't point a finger and Blame it on Bob, let's just Blame it on Greg.
The appropriate nick name came years later from another high school friend, Steve Dupuy. I finally received some benefit of all the years of Latin when he uttered the words: "Summus Gruntlick".
Before you girls get judgmental, I want to remind you that this female breast deal is a natural thing and we boys just can't help ourselves. From the instant we are born, the first thing that happens is an ass whipping. They say they do that to get us breathing properly.
The second thing that happens involves a female breast. I don't know if you want to classify the breast thing as "cause and effect" but I sure wish the female of the species would just accept that this is the way it is and will probably always be (except for rag heads who like donkeys). Deal with it, accept it and know that we wish we had our own set to play with but that simply wasn't to be.
I concluded a long time ago that this breast thing is a very confusing situation and the older we get, the worse it is. It seems perfectly natural to me that boys, when thinking about girls, can't figure out whether we are going to get our asses spanked or have a great time with the breasts of the female persuasion.
They even made a joke about them and said that one day a kid was watching a girl run topless down the beach. Even though she covered her breasts with her hands, the kid yelled out: "Hey Lady, if you're gonna drown those puppies, I want the one with the brown nose". Even little boys have to suffer.
With the advent of breast implants, I kinda feel like women get it because so many of them have those puppies blown up and, for the life of me, the only reason I can see them doing it is because they know that boys love em. That's all I'm gonna say about that. I thought that Gayle was going to be a home run for me but I learned early on that a girl friend's momma could end up causing you to be ejected from the game.
In any event, I enjoyed my Junior year at Byrd immensely. During gym class, I met Coach Woody Turner and, as the Byrd High Track Coach, he took all the new students and had them run time trials on the 100, 220, 440, 880 and mile run. As it turned out, I was fast and ran a 10.2 hundred yard dash and a 52.8 quarter mile. I went to Byrd's Track Team and had a ball. I met a lot of great guys there and one of them, Dick Brook, eventually became very influential in saving my life but that's a story for my college days and I'll get to that on the next post.
In any event, the track team was the nuts. When I was on the mile relay team, I met Terry Bradshaw. He went to Woodlawn High School and I watched him set a national record in the javelin one day when we had a track meet at Byrd. Terry was Woodlawn's quarterback and despite what you see today on tv, he was a quiet kinda guy and pretty reserved when he was in high school. All of that happened my Junior year. As a coincidence, Tim Jr begins teaching World History at Woodlawn this year.
When my Senior year at Byrd came about, I met Claudia. I was totally smitten and knew by then that I needed to walk a very thin, respectful line with her and her parents. Even though I didn't end up with her as the love of my life, my wife and the mother of my children, I had the respect of her entire family and still do to this day.
Unfortunately, there was a guy who didn't think that way and when he started interfering with my relationship with her, I knew that big time trouble was brewing. It was the kind of trouble that brought about thoughts of a Shaving Cream Can Type of Ass Whippin'.
One day, when I went to school, the bad guy taunted me in the parking lot. He was one of 4 guys in a group that were sitting in a car right outside my first hour class room. To make a long story short, the situation escalated and threats were made by the big mouth kids in the car and I told them to bring it on. He jumped out of the car, squared off with me and the fight began. There was only one punch. I threw it, it landed and off he went to the hospital to get stitches. The other 3 boys didn't want any part of that overhand right and they ran off to get one of the teachers. I found myself in the office and knew that the trouble was just starting. When they called my mother and reported the incident, momma said "He told me he was having trouble with that kid and if he didn't leave him alone, Tim was going to kick his butt". Mr. Ravenna replied with: "Oh, so it was premeditated".
He gave me a 3 day suspension for that but as it turned out, the second day of that suspension was my 18th birthday, the legal age for drinking and one hell of a party ensued when I bought all the beer.
As a side note to all this, I met Melissa who is one of my dearest friends to this day. Her step daddy was Eddie Joyce who was a veteran of World War II and had taken part in the invasion of Saipan and Tinian where the Enola Gay eventually departed with the Hiroshima bomb. I also met Steve Dupuy, Blame it on Bob and many other guys and gals at Byrd that would be life long friends.
As I close this, I wanted to say that throughout my life, I was surrounded by combat veterans and, with all of the lessons that came from that association, I became a reasonably knowledgeable military historian and eventually, a Nighthawk Gunship Pilot and a Scout Pilot with hunter killer teams that flew in Vietnam and Nixon's Secret War in Cambodia.
Thanks to all the old guys that are now gone from this world. Your influences in my life served me well, just as well as you served your Country during times of war.
College is next so hang tough. Flight School and Vietnam is not far off. After that, I'll give you the T.L Butler predictions from "The Church of The Painful Truth". That's not another blog site. It a division of the Church of What's Happenin Now that you have to go to when you don't pay attention to the rules.
.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
St. Gregory's or Harvard? Not sure
My daddy's sister, Aunt Nell, rode with us when Momma took me to St. Gregory's to begin my sophomore year. If you've been keeping up with these posts, she was Uncle Woodrow's wife, the Navy Crypto guy that was one of many uncles that took me under their wing when daddy died.
Just after we passed Oklahoma Baptist University, (OBU), we turned into the main entrance for St. Gregory's. To me, it looked like Harvard. I knew something was up the minute we drove up to the administration building and parked the car. There were students all over the place but they were wearing blue blazers, grey pants, ties and wing tips. I immediately wondered how much money the family had to use to pay off the school to let "the kid with the shaving cream can" in the front door.
We were met by Father Gregory Pazzetti, or something close to that, and were invited to rest in the student union and have a cup of coffee and a coke before we began. "Student Union", what the hell is that, I thought. Aunt Nell said: "Now this is more like it". She loved the place and momma just had that big grin on her face and I knew a surprise was coming.
I found out that the Jr. College had been added to the prep school and that the student body consisted of upper class kids from well to do families that were mostly from Oklahoma. I saw two Morris graduates there and became instantly comfortable knowing that I wasn't really starting all over. One was Dan O'Malley from Chicago and I felt quite at home knowing "If O'Malley can get in here, I've got it made". A kid named Sullentrop showed up and as it turned out, one of his Uncles was a Brother there. We signed in, received my Blazer, tie, grey pants and wing tips and things just kept getting better.
Despite all the hoop lah, when I reported to the sophomore dorm, I noticed there were only 30 beds there instead of 50 and I already knew some of the students there. They had arrived from other boarding schools and they immediately introduced themselves. Before I was settled in, Joe Farris, a Morris Graduate from Little Rock, showed up. His father was a uber wealthy man and owned huge shopping malls in Arkansas.
I met a Native American named Raymond Kipp, the first Indian I ever knew. We became good friends for the year and pulled off one of the best pranks I ever took part in. That happened during the camp out we went to at the end of the year. He had a brother, or an Uncle, get us some white lightning and hid it in a special place at the State Park where his family had taken them camping before.
There was a waterfall in the park and they hid a quart of white lightning there so no one but Ray would find it. If you've seen "The Last Of The Mohicans", you can visualize the waterfall I'm referring to. We got drunk as monkeys on that one. I knew then what white lightning was all about and more importantly, I found out WHY they named it that.
Unfortunately, Ray was killed in action in Vietnam 3 months before I arrived in 1970. I never knew which tribe he belonged to and haven't been able to go there to pay my respects.
Not long after meeting all the guys we were invited to come to the REC ROOM. I didn't even know what the hell a rec room was but figured it out the minute I walked in the door. There was a kid there named Pat Cullen who was playing The House of The Rising Son on his guitar. Another kid named Wayne Lavesque had a set of drums there. There was a pool table, ping pong as well as a tv set. I was certain it couldn't be true and figured it was for the college kids and we were just sneaking in before they arrived and started classes. I was really relieved when I found out it was ours.
When school started, I found out that one of my first classes was Civics and World History taught by a guy named Mastrogiovanni. He was a civilian and knew more about George Patton than anybody. I liked his class the best.
Before the week was over, they figured out that I could tell a joke better than anybody in the sophomore class and I received an invitation to spend the week end in Oklahoma City with Pat Cullen. His great grandfather was an original Sooner and his grandfather made a HUGE fortune in the lumber business. Pat's father worked at Cullen Lumber Company and we stayed at his house which was the finest place I'd ever been.
We went to meet his grandfather and I discovered what a real mansion was like. I concluded that he had more money than the Pope and that the week end stay was going to be a home run hit especially when I heard the words "The McGinnis High School Girls".
We went to a burger joint and it was packed with McGiness girls that all the guys knew from Jr High. Somebody's older sister took us there because she had a drivers license. She was a prankster too. The order was placed and, just like we'd heard several times before we placed the order, they would call out our name over a loud speaker. It was a "Miss Jones, your order is ready" kind of thing. Before I knew what was going on, the lady at the speaker said "Miss Carriage, your order is ready" and the whole room erupted in laughter. It was a ball and Pat arranged some dates with the girls he'd gone to Jr High with.
Mine was named Carolyn Rienig and she was some kind of fine lookin' girl. The next night I had a date with another girl and I discovered exactly what French kissing was all about. I can't remember her first name but have often joked about her last name being Hoover..........just like the vacuum cleaner. I HAD ARRIVED. That week end began a nine month long period of week end visits to the homes of many students. I discovered bras and perfume. Surely, I would end up living here the rest of my life.
I'm not sure if any of that had a connection to a punishment I received from Father Paul but suffice it to say that my year wasn't without a wee bit of action. I had to translate the Gallic Wars from Latin to English and it did NOT pass by me when I heard that the Pope decided to stop using Latin during Mass that year. Hmmm, Great timing.
In any event, Thanksgiving came along and when I was preparing to go to the bus station, Joe Farris' father showed up to get Joe and take him home for the holidays. He remembered me from Morris and when he found out I was going to take the bus home for Thanksgiving, he invited me to ride to Little Rock with Joe in their plane. I was blown away when we arrived at the Shawnee airport to find an Aero Commander Twin Engine executive airplane there. What a ride it was. I fell in love with it and it soon became and remains, my favorite twin engine plane from that era.
I met a senior named Knoblock just before we graduated. The school didn't prevent us from socializing or knowing the upper classmen but the way our floors and classrooms were separated, we only saw them during meal times or during basketball games. He was a nice guy and was friendly toward the lower classmen.
One day, many years later, when I was flying some radios to Saigon, I had an opportunity to go to the Officers Club. While I was walking down a hallway, I noticed a guy wearing an Air Force uniform walking through the door. He looked familiar and when I saw his name tag, I stopped and said: "Hey Knobby" and he immediately came to a full stop. It was a great meeting and he was as surprised to see me as an officer and a helicopter pilot as I was to see him as a top notch Air Force NCO. Small World.
Toward the end of the year I called my momma and told her I wanted to come home and attend a co educational public school. She already knew Jesuit was out but was still a bit worried about the possibilities that might come from that situation. I think my fight with Brother Edwin still worried her as it had been less than a year since that happened. I promised I wouldn't get into any more fights and told her that I never even got into an argument during my sophomore year.
She said "NO" but when I told her that I would do like Greg did and run away from school if she didn't let me, the next thing I knew, I was leaving Oklahoma and headed to Shreveport and all my buddies from grade school.
I didn't say anything about the discovery of the female breast, bras, lipstick or French kissing but that didn't matter because she watched me like a momma that knew what was going on and before my first year at home was complete, I was caught red handed.
As a side note, little did I know that I was going to meet Elsa Buchannan, a girl whose dad graduated from St. Gregory's and became a B 25 pilot during the Second World War and trained at Eglin Air Force Base, the same base that I flew into and out of when I was training with US Army Rangers just before I left for Vietnam.
That's another story but I wanted to finish my boarding school years so I could go on to Byrd High School, Northwestern State and Army Flight School. Hang with me, I'm trying to get this done as fast as possible so I can prepare you for the Timmy Butler plan for 2014 onward. Thanks for keeping up.
Just after we passed Oklahoma Baptist University, (OBU), we turned into the main entrance for St. Gregory's. To me, it looked like Harvard. I knew something was up the minute we drove up to the administration building and parked the car. There were students all over the place but they were wearing blue blazers, grey pants, ties and wing tips. I immediately wondered how much money the family had to use to pay off the school to let "the kid with the shaving cream can" in the front door.
We were met by Father Gregory Pazzetti, or something close to that, and were invited to rest in the student union and have a cup of coffee and a coke before we began. "Student Union", what the hell is that, I thought. Aunt Nell said: "Now this is more like it". She loved the place and momma just had that big grin on her face and I knew a surprise was coming.
I found out that the Jr. College had been added to the prep school and that the student body consisted of upper class kids from well to do families that were mostly from Oklahoma. I saw two Morris graduates there and became instantly comfortable knowing that I wasn't really starting all over. One was Dan O'Malley from Chicago and I felt quite at home knowing "If O'Malley can get in here, I've got it made". A kid named Sullentrop showed up and as it turned out, one of his Uncles was a Brother there. We signed in, received my Blazer, tie, grey pants and wing tips and things just kept getting better.
Despite all the hoop lah, when I reported to the sophomore dorm, I noticed there were only 30 beds there instead of 50 and I already knew some of the students there. They had arrived from other boarding schools and they immediately introduced themselves. Before I was settled in, Joe Farris, a Morris Graduate from Little Rock, showed up. His father was a uber wealthy man and owned huge shopping malls in Arkansas.
I met a Native American named Raymond Kipp, the first Indian I ever knew. We became good friends for the year and pulled off one of the best pranks I ever took part in. That happened during the camp out we went to at the end of the year. He had a brother, or an Uncle, get us some white lightning and hid it in a special place at the State Park where his family had taken them camping before.
There was a waterfall in the park and they hid a quart of white lightning there so no one but Ray would find it. If you've seen "The Last Of The Mohicans", you can visualize the waterfall I'm referring to. We got drunk as monkeys on that one. I knew then what white lightning was all about and more importantly, I found out WHY they named it that.
Unfortunately, Ray was killed in action in Vietnam 3 months before I arrived in 1970. I never knew which tribe he belonged to and haven't been able to go there to pay my respects.
Not long after meeting all the guys we were invited to come to the REC ROOM. I didn't even know what the hell a rec room was but figured it out the minute I walked in the door. There was a kid there named Pat Cullen who was playing The House of The Rising Son on his guitar. Another kid named Wayne Lavesque had a set of drums there. There was a pool table, ping pong as well as a tv set. I was certain it couldn't be true and figured it was for the college kids and we were just sneaking in before they arrived and started classes. I was really relieved when I found out it was ours.
When school started, I found out that one of my first classes was Civics and World History taught by a guy named Mastrogiovanni. He was a civilian and knew more about George Patton than anybody. I liked his class the best.
Before the week was over, they figured out that I could tell a joke better than anybody in the sophomore class and I received an invitation to spend the week end in Oklahoma City with Pat Cullen. His great grandfather was an original Sooner and his grandfather made a HUGE fortune in the lumber business. Pat's father worked at Cullen Lumber Company and we stayed at his house which was the finest place I'd ever been.
We went to meet his grandfather and I discovered what a real mansion was like. I concluded that he had more money than the Pope and that the week end stay was going to be a home run hit especially when I heard the words "The McGinnis High School Girls".
We went to a burger joint and it was packed with McGiness girls that all the guys knew from Jr High. Somebody's older sister took us there because she had a drivers license. She was a prankster too. The order was placed and, just like we'd heard several times before we placed the order, they would call out our name over a loud speaker. It was a "Miss Jones, your order is ready" kind of thing. Before I knew what was going on, the lady at the speaker said "Miss Carriage, your order is ready" and the whole room erupted in laughter. It was a ball and Pat arranged some dates with the girls he'd gone to Jr High with.
Mine was named Carolyn Rienig and she was some kind of fine lookin' girl. The next night I had a date with another girl and I discovered exactly what French kissing was all about. I can't remember her first name but have often joked about her last name being Hoover..........just like the vacuum cleaner. I HAD ARRIVED. That week end began a nine month long period of week end visits to the homes of many students. I discovered bras and perfume. Surely, I would end up living here the rest of my life.
I'm not sure if any of that had a connection to a punishment I received from Father Paul but suffice it to say that my year wasn't without a wee bit of action. I had to translate the Gallic Wars from Latin to English and it did NOT pass by me when I heard that the Pope decided to stop using Latin during Mass that year. Hmmm, Great timing.
In any event, Thanksgiving came along and when I was preparing to go to the bus station, Joe Farris' father showed up to get Joe and take him home for the holidays. He remembered me from Morris and when he found out I was going to take the bus home for Thanksgiving, he invited me to ride to Little Rock with Joe in their plane. I was blown away when we arrived at the Shawnee airport to find an Aero Commander Twin Engine executive airplane there. What a ride it was. I fell in love with it and it soon became and remains, my favorite twin engine plane from that era.
I met a senior named Knoblock just before we graduated. The school didn't prevent us from socializing or knowing the upper classmen but the way our floors and classrooms were separated, we only saw them during meal times or during basketball games. He was a nice guy and was friendly toward the lower classmen.
One day, many years later, when I was flying some radios to Saigon, I had an opportunity to go to the Officers Club. While I was walking down a hallway, I noticed a guy wearing an Air Force uniform walking through the door. He looked familiar and when I saw his name tag, I stopped and said: "Hey Knobby" and he immediately came to a full stop. It was a great meeting and he was as surprised to see me as an officer and a helicopter pilot as I was to see him as a top notch Air Force NCO. Small World.
Toward the end of the year I called my momma and told her I wanted to come home and attend a co educational public school. She already knew Jesuit was out but was still a bit worried about the possibilities that might come from that situation. I think my fight with Brother Edwin still worried her as it had been less than a year since that happened. I promised I wouldn't get into any more fights and told her that I never even got into an argument during my sophomore year.
She said "NO" but when I told her that I would do like Greg did and run away from school if she didn't let me, the next thing I knew, I was leaving Oklahoma and headed to Shreveport and all my buddies from grade school.
I didn't say anything about the discovery of the female breast, bras, lipstick or French kissing but that didn't matter because she watched me like a momma that knew what was going on and before my first year at home was complete, I was caught red handed.
As a side note, little did I know that I was going to meet Elsa Buchannan, a girl whose dad graduated from St. Gregory's and became a B 25 pilot during the Second World War and trained at Eglin Air Force Base, the same base that I flew into and out of when I was training with US Army Rangers just before I left for Vietnam.
That's another story but I wanted to finish my boarding school years so I could go on to Byrd High School, Northwestern State and Army Flight School. Hang with me, I'm trying to get this done as fast as possible so I can prepare you for the Timmy Butler plan for 2014 onward. Thanks for keeping up.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Graduating from Morris and getting ready to move on to St. Gregory's Jr. College.
By the time I hit the 9th grade, Greg and I were seasoned veterans of boarding school. Some of the Brothers were taskmasters and some weren't. We had more fun with Brother Robert, the football coach and Brother Bill, even though he was the Prefect of Discipline. Great teachers and guys who really dedicated themselves to helping kids get a firm footing on life as we readied ourselves for high school.
Honorable mention must go to Brother Bosco. What a trip he was. Grey hair and a crew cut did not disguise the fact that he was a kidder and a player. One quote from him was "Life is cruel and thou must suffer much". I use it to this day. He was a great shot with an eraser and if you got caught talking in class he would let that eraser fly. WHAM, chalk everywhere. Reminded me of throwing the eraser at the nun during my St. Joseph days, the shot that resulted in my departure for Morris.
I spent more time in the library during my 9th grade year and by the time I graduated, I'd read more books about World War II than anybody. I remember Churchill and still use some of the quotes I learned from those studies. "War is about maneuver and slaughter. The better generals deliver more maneuver and require less slaughter".
In any event, we had more fun that year than any year previous. We knew the ropes and all the little kids looked up to us because we were pretty much dedicated to eliminating all the bullying. The Brothers had built a new friary and Greg and I were given permission to move into the old one. It was a hundred years old but moving from the senior dormitory to the old friary was like leaving prison and moving into the Waldorf.
There was a Brother Giles there and he was a veteran of World War II. He had the shakes and smoked like a chimney. He wouldn't tell us anything about the war and his experiences be we knew he'd had a boat load of combat time. One day, a kid named McKenzie screwed up and Brother Giles was the Brother who had to administer the swats. Swats were the number of hits your ass saw for any given infraction. Typically, they used a hand made paddle that started out as a 2 x 4 but had a custom made handle to fit your hands and holes drilled in the other end to reduce the air resistance and increase the speed as it landed on your ass. On that day, Brother Giles used a fishing rod and even we old veterans flinched at the sight.
Greg got more than his share but it wasn't because he was bad, it was because he got caught. We used to pay him to make a mile run to Center Hill, Arkansas where a convenience store was located. It was only a mile from school when you took the back road but it was strictly prohibited to go there or even leave the school property. One time I went with him and bought some bottle rockets. I guess that was the birth of my pyromania but despite that, I learned a great lesson about fire that I would use again in Vietnam.
The only bad experience I had that year came during the senior camp out. We went to the State Park and had a great time until Brother Edwin showed up. I don't remember the year I fell off the basketball goal and broke my arm but I do remember him hitting me right on the left arm where it had been broken in 4 places.
Do you remember the time I said "It was a good thing for him" when I was telling the story about Father Junkin hitting me in the face? Well, when Brother Edwin hit me, I picked up the closest weapon I could find, a shaving cream can, and commenced to put him in a head lock and using that can as a tool to put half moon shaped marks all over his head. I hit him time after time until he managed to get free. That's when he announced that it was time to go and the entire class had to pack up, get on the bus and return to Morris. I knew the shit was going to hit the fan so I mentally prepared for the "execution chamber".
That's what Brother Julius called it. Sometimes he would get on the intercom and announce the list of guilty parties who needed an ass whipping: "The following named individuals will report to the execution chamber immediately................Greg Crafts........Tim Butler....etc".
In any event, when we made it back to school after a 90 minute drive from the camp, I was given orders to report to the locker room at the gym. When I arrived there, I noticed six or seven of the Brothers sitting around the room waiting for me as I came in. I figured my ass would belong to them but I'd already decided to use offense instead of defense as my strategy to maneuver myself out of any trouble that was coming.
Brother Cyprian told me that hitting a man of the cloth was a most serious offense and one that would justify excommunication from the Catholic Church. I don't remember my opening remarks exactly but the message was clear. I told them all that IF an attack on my broken arm area by a grown man was part of the deal, I would QUIT the Catholic Church and make damn sure that when I left, so would the financial support from my family.
Despite that, I think that Brother Edwin ended up in more trouble than me as everything went back to normal and I graduated, said my good byes and left for summer vacation. All in all, it was far more fun and beneficial to me than any other 3 year period in my young life. I told my mother that I considered her decision to send me there as the best thing ever and that I recognized her as being one smart woman for doing that.
I only have a couple of additional stories to tell before I move into Vietnam but I wanted all of you to know that I had a very good childhood that was filled with discipline and an excellent education. My advice from all that is this: "Never hesitate to send a kid to boarding school if he appears to be headed to the wilder side of things in his early years". The other piece of advice has to do with assaulting an adult. "Never be afraid of hitting an adult if you are absolutely positive that they are in the wrong".
Using a BB gun is optional but I suggest that if that's the course needed, do it in the back and run like hell. It will be all right.
More later. Thanks for listening.
Honorable mention must go to Brother Bosco. What a trip he was. Grey hair and a crew cut did not disguise the fact that he was a kidder and a player. One quote from him was "Life is cruel and thou must suffer much". I use it to this day. He was a great shot with an eraser and if you got caught talking in class he would let that eraser fly. WHAM, chalk everywhere. Reminded me of throwing the eraser at the nun during my St. Joseph days, the shot that resulted in my departure for Morris.
I spent more time in the library during my 9th grade year and by the time I graduated, I'd read more books about World War II than anybody. I remember Churchill and still use some of the quotes I learned from those studies. "War is about maneuver and slaughter. The better generals deliver more maneuver and require less slaughter".
In any event, we had more fun that year than any year previous. We knew the ropes and all the little kids looked up to us because we were pretty much dedicated to eliminating all the bullying. The Brothers had built a new friary and Greg and I were given permission to move into the old one. It was a hundred years old but moving from the senior dormitory to the old friary was like leaving prison and moving into the Waldorf.
There was a Brother Giles there and he was a veteran of World War II. He had the shakes and smoked like a chimney. He wouldn't tell us anything about the war and his experiences be we knew he'd had a boat load of combat time. One day, a kid named McKenzie screwed up and Brother Giles was the Brother who had to administer the swats. Swats were the number of hits your ass saw for any given infraction. Typically, they used a hand made paddle that started out as a 2 x 4 but had a custom made handle to fit your hands and holes drilled in the other end to reduce the air resistance and increase the speed as it landed on your ass. On that day, Brother Giles used a fishing rod and even we old veterans flinched at the sight.
Greg got more than his share but it wasn't because he was bad, it was because he got caught. We used to pay him to make a mile run to Center Hill, Arkansas where a convenience store was located. It was only a mile from school when you took the back road but it was strictly prohibited to go there or even leave the school property. One time I went with him and bought some bottle rockets. I guess that was the birth of my pyromania but despite that, I learned a great lesson about fire that I would use again in Vietnam.
The only bad experience I had that year came during the senior camp out. We went to the State Park and had a great time until Brother Edwin showed up. I don't remember the year I fell off the basketball goal and broke my arm but I do remember him hitting me right on the left arm where it had been broken in 4 places.
Do you remember the time I said "It was a good thing for him" when I was telling the story about Father Junkin hitting me in the face? Well, when Brother Edwin hit me, I picked up the closest weapon I could find, a shaving cream can, and commenced to put him in a head lock and using that can as a tool to put half moon shaped marks all over his head. I hit him time after time until he managed to get free. That's when he announced that it was time to go and the entire class had to pack up, get on the bus and return to Morris. I knew the shit was going to hit the fan so I mentally prepared for the "execution chamber".
That's what Brother Julius called it. Sometimes he would get on the intercom and announce the list of guilty parties who needed an ass whipping: "The following named individuals will report to the execution chamber immediately................Greg Crafts........Tim Butler....etc".
In any event, when we made it back to school after a 90 minute drive from the camp, I was given orders to report to the locker room at the gym. When I arrived there, I noticed six or seven of the Brothers sitting around the room waiting for me as I came in. I figured my ass would belong to them but I'd already decided to use offense instead of defense as my strategy to maneuver myself out of any trouble that was coming.
Brother Cyprian told me that hitting a man of the cloth was a most serious offense and one that would justify excommunication from the Catholic Church. I don't remember my opening remarks exactly but the message was clear. I told them all that IF an attack on my broken arm area by a grown man was part of the deal, I would QUIT the Catholic Church and make damn sure that when I left, so would the financial support from my family.
Despite that, I think that Brother Edwin ended up in more trouble than me as everything went back to normal and I graduated, said my good byes and left for summer vacation. All in all, it was far more fun and beneficial to me than any other 3 year period in my young life. I told my mother that I considered her decision to send me there as the best thing ever and that I recognized her as being one smart woman for doing that.
I only have a couple of additional stories to tell before I move into Vietnam but I wanted all of you to know that I had a very good childhood that was filled with discipline and an excellent education. My advice from all that is this: "Never hesitate to send a kid to boarding school if he appears to be headed to the wilder side of things in his early years". The other piece of advice has to do with assaulting an adult. "Never be afraid of hitting an adult if you are absolutely positive that they are in the wrong".
Using a BB gun is optional but I suggest that if that's the course needed, do it in the back and run like hell. It will be all right.
More later. Thanks for listening.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Escape and Evasion from Jesuit to Morris.
I was never so glad to go back to school as I was during the academic year of 1962-63. This time, my cousin Greg was coming along. If you've already been through the older posts here, you'll know that he was my Uncle Charles' son and Uncle Charles had attended Morris with his twin brother Joe when they were kids. That was sometime around 1928 or 29, maybe the early 30s. I'm just guessing at that because Uncle Charles was born in 1917 and Morris started with the 5th grade and only went to the 9th.
In any event, some of the older Franciscans there remembered Charles as a kid and from that, Cousin Greg was viewed in a different light than the other students. So was I. Greg was a second generation Morris kid and in a sense, that was a very special thing for the Brothers. He would probably say : "Yeah, they kicked my ass more than the average student", but the fact still remains that we were viewed differently and that was a good thing.
I remember running around school seeing some of the guys I'd met during my first year. I remember going to a huge swing set ,next to the tennis court, that was located behind the gym. One of the first guys I saw was Saparito. Despite the fact that he had relentlessly bullied me during my first year there, I had been gone for over a year and was much taller than he was when I returned. I'll never forget the look in his eyes when he discovered I was now bigger than he was. That look came just before I jumped him and proceeded to kick his ass to my heart's content.
Brother Robert was there and witnessed the entire episode. He knew Saparito was a bully and that he'd picked on me during my first year, so he let me take my revenge or deliver my message that the days of picking on kids were over for him. I remember telling Saparito if I ever caught him picking on any of the little kids, I would kick his ass till his nose bled. It was great.
Greg was younger than me and he fell right in with the underclassmen. Even though I was repeating the 8th grade, the story of how that unfolded at Jesuit became somewhat of a legend with the other kids as they viewed that as me taking a knock out punch and immediately getting off the floor and confronting Punkin Junkin. There were no examples of bullying me from then on. Seeing some of the foreign students there was also cool and Greg fell in with all of them. The Haddad boys, The Cabral brothers and many other South Americans became part of our little brotherhood and they always picked Greg and I whenever we were choosing sides for a game of kickball or basketball. It was great fun.
Greg was real strong when he was kid. Built like a brick and able to climb mountains better than me. He became the "climber" when we went squirrel hunting and he was always the first to jump off the ledge of the cave into the water at Letona Bluffs when we went there to camp. The jump to the water was probably only 30 feet or so but it looked like 100 to most of the kids. That year was completely different than my first year there and Greg, the son of a former Morris graduate, was hugely responsible for that. We had it made from day 1.
When squirrel season came along, Greg, without any climbing spikes, made it to the top of a tree and caught a flying squirrel. I had another baby fox squirrel and we both went back to school to equip the cages in a way to insure their survival. We had really small baby bottles and plenty of milk from the dairy. Taking care of them was a really cool thing and when they were big enough for us to let them out to play, Greg taught his how to fly. It was the nuts.
We did well with our grades and were given passes to go into Searcy on weekends to see a movie or go bowling. During holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter, we sometimes rode the Continental Trailways bus from Searcy to Texarkana where Uncle Charles would pick us up. Even that was fun. One year we were stuck in Little Rock because of a snow storm and Uncle Charles wired us the money for a hotel room that looked over the Arkansas River in downtown Little Rock. Little did we know at that time, it was one of the hotels that Bill Clinton would make famous with some of his wimminz.
During that year, I spent more time in the library reading more books about the strategists from the Second World War. I'd already done a ton of reading about the fighter pilots but new books were there about bomber pilots from our side and the Japanese. I loved military history and couldn't get enough.
When the year came to a close, we went back to Letona Bluffs for the annual camp out. This time, we had to hike the 8 miles to the camp ground and even though that sounds like one hell of a haul, even that was fun. Some kid named Kelley fell off the side of a mountain and he had to be evacuated to somewhere in Oklahoma for hospitalization. It didn't really matter because the school year was over anyway.
When time came to go home for the summer, Greg and I both asked if we could stay for the summer vacation. We had already been working in the dairy but we were told by Brother Robert, Edward and others, that IF we stayed we would be able to ride on the truck to the hay fields on the east side of the school and they would let us pick up the bales of hay and stack them on the flat bed so the dairy cows would have a healthy stockpile of hay for the winter. Yeah, we learned our lesson and never volunteered for that again.
We had already been working in the dining hall as servers, buss boys and dish washers, but Brother Leo, the baker, let us work in the kitchen. You can ask Tim Jr about my baking skills as he still talks about my pink cakes and home made bread.
To sum it all up, except for my 10th grade year at St. Gregory's Boarding School in Shawnee, Oklahoma, that was the most fun I had ever had in school. I'm pretty sure it was the same for Greg because he asked to come back for another year. Little did I know at that time, my boarding school experiences would prepare me for military service as an officer and helicopter pilot preparing to go to Vietnam. I wasn't the only one from Morris that went. Sam Perkins did and was killed in action.
In any event, this may be a dull read for some of you but try to keep in mind that I have a point to make about all of these experiences and each of the items here are presented for a reason. I'll get on with the last year at Morris tomorrow and my eventual transfer to St. Gregory's. Till then, thanks for listening.
In any event, some of the older Franciscans there remembered Charles as a kid and from that, Cousin Greg was viewed in a different light than the other students. So was I. Greg was a second generation Morris kid and in a sense, that was a very special thing for the Brothers. He would probably say : "Yeah, they kicked my ass more than the average student", but the fact still remains that we were viewed differently and that was a good thing.
I remember running around school seeing some of the guys I'd met during my first year. I remember going to a huge swing set ,next to the tennis court, that was located behind the gym. One of the first guys I saw was Saparito. Despite the fact that he had relentlessly bullied me during my first year there, I had been gone for over a year and was much taller than he was when I returned. I'll never forget the look in his eyes when he discovered I was now bigger than he was. That look came just before I jumped him and proceeded to kick his ass to my heart's content.
Brother Robert was there and witnessed the entire episode. He knew Saparito was a bully and that he'd picked on me during my first year, so he let me take my revenge or deliver my message that the days of picking on kids were over for him. I remember telling Saparito if I ever caught him picking on any of the little kids, I would kick his ass till his nose bled. It was great.
Greg was younger than me and he fell right in with the underclassmen. Even though I was repeating the 8th grade, the story of how that unfolded at Jesuit became somewhat of a legend with the other kids as they viewed that as me taking a knock out punch and immediately getting off the floor and confronting Punkin Junkin. There were no examples of bullying me from then on. Seeing some of the foreign students there was also cool and Greg fell in with all of them. The Haddad boys, The Cabral brothers and many other South Americans became part of our little brotherhood and they always picked Greg and I whenever we were choosing sides for a game of kickball or basketball. It was great fun.
Greg was real strong when he was kid. Built like a brick and able to climb mountains better than me. He became the "climber" when we went squirrel hunting and he was always the first to jump off the ledge of the cave into the water at Letona Bluffs when we went there to camp. The jump to the water was probably only 30 feet or so but it looked like 100 to most of the kids. That year was completely different than my first year there and Greg, the son of a former Morris graduate, was hugely responsible for that. We had it made from day 1.
When squirrel season came along, Greg, without any climbing spikes, made it to the top of a tree and caught a flying squirrel. I had another baby fox squirrel and we both went back to school to equip the cages in a way to insure their survival. We had really small baby bottles and plenty of milk from the dairy. Taking care of them was a really cool thing and when they were big enough for us to let them out to play, Greg taught his how to fly. It was the nuts.
We did well with our grades and were given passes to go into Searcy on weekends to see a movie or go bowling. During holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter, we sometimes rode the Continental Trailways bus from Searcy to Texarkana where Uncle Charles would pick us up. Even that was fun. One year we were stuck in Little Rock because of a snow storm and Uncle Charles wired us the money for a hotel room that looked over the Arkansas River in downtown Little Rock. Little did we know at that time, it was one of the hotels that Bill Clinton would make famous with some of his wimminz.
During that year, I spent more time in the library reading more books about the strategists from the Second World War. I'd already done a ton of reading about the fighter pilots but new books were there about bomber pilots from our side and the Japanese. I loved military history and couldn't get enough.
When the year came to a close, we went back to Letona Bluffs for the annual camp out. This time, we had to hike the 8 miles to the camp ground and even though that sounds like one hell of a haul, even that was fun. Some kid named Kelley fell off the side of a mountain and he had to be evacuated to somewhere in Oklahoma for hospitalization. It didn't really matter because the school year was over anyway.
When time came to go home for the summer, Greg and I both asked if we could stay for the summer vacation. We had already been working in the dairy but we were told by Brother Robert, Edward and others, that IF we stayed we would be able to ride on the truck to the hay fields on the east side of the school and they would let us pick up the bales of hay and stack them on the flat bed so the dairy cows would have a healthy stockpile of hay for the winter. Yeah, we learned our lesson and never volunteered for that again.
We had already been working in the dining hall as servers, buss boys and dish washers, but Brother Leo, the baker, let us work in the kitchen. You can ask Tim Jr about my baking skills as he still talks about my pink cakes and home made bread.
To sum it all up, except for my 10th grade year at St. Gregory's Boarding School in Shawnee, Oklahoma, that was the most fun I had ever had in school. I'm pretty sure it was the same for Greg because he asked to come back for another year. Little did I know at that time, my boarding school experiences would prepare me for military service as an officer and helicopter pilot preparing to go to Vietnam. I wasn't the only one from Morris that went. Sam Perkins did and was killed in action.
In any event, this may be a dull read for some of you but try to keep in mind that I have a point to make about all of these experiences and each of the items here are presented for a reason. I'll get on with the last year at Morris tomorrow and my eventual transfer to St. Gregory's. Till then, thanks for listening.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Punkin Junkin, Jesuit High School's Prefect of Discipline.
This is not a very pretty story so get ready for a hard core lesson on what not to do if you are a teacher.
I remember reporting to Jesuit for my 8th grade year and I remember it vividly. I knew several of the kids there as some of them had gone to St. Joseph's with me from first to sixth grade. I met several new guys and was quite please with the student body at that point. There were also other upper classmen there that were friends with my brother and things were looking quite different and more refined than boarding school.
To say that Jesuit was an upper class institution was an understatement and I knew things were going be different the minute 1st hour began. It started off with introductions. It wasn't roll call, it was a formal introduction of each student. I thought that was classy and it definitely set the pace for a standard of gentlemanly conduct. Second hour was just as refreshing as the first one as our instructor continued with the outline of things we would be doing and what was expected of us. I liked the structure a lot.
At ten o'clock, the bell rang and we were given a 15 minute break to get a coke and visit the vending machines in the basement. I didn't really get it when the teacher said: "15 minutes only, boys". I guess I didn't think much of that comment because the canteen was right outside our classroom and you could see the vending machines the second you walked out the door.
As soon as we left the classroom, I found myself at the end of a line containing 30 students that were all rushing to get cokes and candy bars from the two machines that were there for us to use. If you do the math and figure out that 30 kids, evenly divided into two machines, was going to take some time. I knew that being last in line was going to eat up most of the break. In any event, by the time I had my coke and managed to get a Baby Ruth out of the candy machine, most of the break was gone. If I was going to make it back to class on time, I knew I would have to chug a lug the coke and slam dunk that Baby Ruth down my throat so I wouldn't be late. That's when the shit hit the fan.
That's when the Prefect of Discipline came into play. He watched me slamming down the Baby Ruth, walked over to me and slapped me harder than anytime I had ever been slapped in my life. I hit the floor and that was my introduction to Father Junkin, a real asshole that I had already been warned about. He looked at me and said: "Get to my office on the first floor, RIGHT NOW". After that, he said: "What's your name"? When I said "Tim Butler", he spun around and walked out of the basement and headed to his office.
I followed him, but I did so at a distance. I'd seen more action than a slap in the face and even though it hurt a lot , I was already preparing myself for an ass whipping, just like boarding school gave for infractions of the rules. Fortunately for HIM, that never came. You'll understand the "Fortunately for Him" story later.
I walked into the office door that was clearly marked "Prefect of Discipline". When I did, Father Junkin had already taken his seat. He looked at me and said:" Butler, if you are anything like your brother, we don't want you". I was shocked.
He began a long winded speech that went in one ear and out the other because I had already made up my mind that this asshole was going to be my public enemy number 1. Eventually I was released and I returned to the 8th grade classroom way behind the 15 minute time limit. I wasn't punished for that and I immediately concluded that the teacher had heard the story about Junkin knocking me on my ass. I correctly assumed that he already knew that Punkin Junkin was an asshole and didn't want to add insult to injury.
That began a year long battle of wits that I was bound and determined to win. I told Momma what had happened and I could see the look in her eye that could have only come from previous stories from Leland and his classmate friends who had already experienced Punkin Junkin. She knew he was an asshole and she knew that I didn't PLAY.
Over the remaining 9 months of the school year, I did everything I could to piss him off. I rode Leland's 1958 Cushman Eagle to class everyday and I did it because Leland had taken the baffle out of the exhaust pipe and it was as loud as today's Harley Davidson bikes with straight pipes. That infuriated Junkin and he forbid it to be on the school grounds. I began skipping school on a very calculated basis just to piss him off. I made my grades but only did enough work to end up on his shit list again.
With the Cushman Eagle issue solved by banning it from the school grounds, I was forced to ride the bus. I figured out a way to eliminate that from the modus operandi that Junkin had by intentionally getting into a fake fight with a buddy of mine and getting thrown off the school bus.
By the time the year had ended, I was classified as a "Conditional Student". That meant that I would be required to attend Junkin's summer school or be forced to repeat the 8th grade. I don't think I said much of anything at all to him but I am certain that I smiled the smile of a juvenile delinquent and made note that I would rather spend a year in hell than a minute around his sorry ass. That's when I went home and begged Momma to send me back to Morris.
As I close this, try to keep in mind that I knew my decision would require me to spend 13 years to graduate from a 12 year course from 1st grade through 12th. Even though that might seem a bit crazy, it ended up being one of the greatest acts of defiance I experienced in the early years of my life. Junkin had a student that "he miserably failed to control" and I had the satisfaction of not cowering down to the bully he was. Even the upper classmen admired the way I handled him.
My next story will cover my return to Morris. Please comment here or on facebook to let me know you can get to the story. Thanks for the ear. Tim
I remember reporting to Jesuit for my 8th grade year and I remember it vividly. I knew several of the kids there as some of them had gone to St. Joseph's with me from first to sixth grade. I met several new guys and was quite please with the student body at that point. There were also other upper classmen there that were friends with my brother and things were looking quite different and more refined than boarding school.
To say that Jesuit was an upper class institution was an understatement and I knew things were going be different the minute 1st hour began. It started off with introductions. It wasn't roll call, it was a formal introduction of each student. I thought that was classy and it definitely set the pace for a standard of gentlemanly conduct. Second hour was just as refreshing as the first one as our instructor continued with the outline of things we would be doing and what was expected of us. I liked the structure a lot.
At ten o'clock, the bell rang and we were given a 15 minute break to get a coke and visit the vending machines in the basement. I didn't really get it when the teacher said: "15 minutes only, boys". I guess I didn't think much of that comment because the canteen was right outside our classroom and you could see the vending machines the second you walked out the door.
As soon as we left the classroom, I found myself at the end of a line containing 30 students that were all rushing to get cokes and candy bars from the two machines that were there for us to use. If you do the math and figure out that 30 kids, evenly divided into two machines, was going to take some time. I knew that being last in line was going to eat up most of the break. In any event, by the time I had my coke and managed to get a Baby Ruth out of the candy machine, most of the break was gone. If I was going to make it back to class on time, I knew I would have to chug a lug the coke and slam dunk that Baby Ruth down my throat so I wouldn't be late. That's when the shit hit the fan.
That's when the Prefect of Discipline came into play. He watched me slamming down the Baby Ruth, walked over to me and slapped me harder than anytime I had ever been slapped in my life. I hit the floor and that was my introduction to Father Junkin, a real asshole that I had already been warned about. He looked at me and said: "Get to my office on the first floor, RIGHT NOW". After that, he said: "What's your name"? When I said "Tim Butler", he spun around and walked out of the basement and headed to his office.
I followed him, but I did so at a distance. I'd seen more action than a slap in the face and even though it hurt a lot , I was already preparing myself for an ass whipping, just like boarding school gave for infractions of the rules. Fortunately for HIM, that never came. You'll understand the "Fortunately for Him" story later.
I walked into the office door that was clearly marked "Prefect of Discipline". When I did, Father Junkin had already taken his seat. He looked at me and said:" Butler, if you are anything like your brother, we don't want you". I was shocked.
He began a long winded speech that went in one ear and out the other because I had already made up my mind that this asshole was going to be my public enemy number 1. Eventually I was released and I returned to the 8th grade classroom way behind the 15 minute time limit. I wasn't punished for that and I immediately concluded that the teacher had heard the story about Junkin knocking me on my ass. I correctly assumed that he already knew that Punkin Junkin was an asshole and didn't want to add insult to injury.
That began a year long battle of wits that I was bound and determined to win. I told Momma what had happened and I could see the look in her eye that could have only come from previous stories from Leland and his classmate friends who had already experienced Punkin Junkin. She knew he was an asshole and she knew that I didn't PLAY.
Over the remaining 9 months of the school year, I did everything I could to piss him off. I rode Leland's 1958 Cushman Eagle to class everyday and I did it because Leland had taken the baffle out of the exhaust pipe and it was as loud as today's Harley Davidson bikes with straight pipes. That infuriated Junkin and he forbid it to be on the school grounds. I began skipping school on a very calculated basis just to piss him off. I made my grades but only did enough work to end up on his shit list again.
With the Cushman Eagle issue solved by banning it from the school grounds, I was forced to ride the bus. I figured out a way to eliminate that from the modus operandi that Junkin had by intentionally getting into a fake fight with a buddy of mine and getting thrown off the school bus.
By the time the year had ended, I was classified as a "Conditional Student". That meant that I would be required to attend Junkin's summer school or be forced to repeat the 8th grade. I don't think I said much of anything at all to him but I am certain that I smiled the smile of a juvenile delinquent and made note that I would rather spend a year in hell than a minute around his sorry ass. That's when I went home and begged Momma to send me back to Morris.
As I close this, try to keep in mind that I knew my decision would require me to spend 13 years to graduate from a 12 year course from 1st grade through 12th. Even though that might seem a bit crazy, it ended up being one of the greatest acts of defiance I experienced in the early years of my life. Junkin had a student that "he miserably failed to control" and I had the satisfaction of not cowering down to the bully he was. Even the upper classmen admired the way I handled him.
My next story will cover my return to Morris. Please comment here or on facebook to let me know you can get to the story. Thanks for the ear. Tim
Friday, July 25, 2014
First Day At Boarding School
The first day of boarding school was a culture shock for me. I was still just a ten year old kid who had lost his Daddy 9 months previous to arriving at Morris and, to me, it appeared that I was beginning to lose my mom. I didn't have clue how fortunate I was but I eventually found out how smart she was for sending me and how lucky I was to go.
After meeting Brother Cyprian Hill, a Franciscan who was in charge of the school, I went to the boys dormitory and was assigned a bed. I'd never seen 50 beds in a single room but learned rapidly that it was, in it's own way, kinda cool.
Even though I'd heard great stories from the time my Uncle Charles and Uncle Joe was there, I had a different first impression. I walked into the boys bathroom at the gym and to my amazement, I ran into a gorilla. There was a huge guy shaving in one of the lavatories. His name was Falici and he looked like he'd just arrived from Al Capone's house. He was in the 9th grade and had hair on his back. Holy Moses, I thought.
After a quick pit stop, I went back to the gym and saw another strange sight. There were strange looking humans there. They weren't anything like the people I'd seen before. There were boys there from Guatemala, Mexico, Honduras, Costa Rica and even Cuba. I didn't know it at the time but was happy to learn that they were actually from the wealthy elite class of South Americans whose parents had sent them there to get an education and the discipline that was impossible to get in their own Countries. I soon became friends with all of them even though, during my first impression, I thought they looked more like inmates than cool guys to go to school with.
Not long after that, I met a kid who arrived at Morris as the result of a Plea Bargain deal with a judge in Chicago. I don't remember his name but I do remember that he'd been caught pissing in the water tower at the Baby Ruth plant. As it turned out, he was more of a prankster than a gangster and all of the kids eventually proved to be great school mates except one. His was from Chicago too and his name was Saparito. He was a bully and being bigger than I was, he picked on me off and on during my first year there.
Throughout the year, I began to learn the ins and outs of boarding school. The teachers were all men of the cloth and there wasn't a single nun anywhere. In addition to liking the class room, I began to like the idea of doing some of the chores that the kids had to do at a self supportive school. By that I mean, we had a dairy, a hay farm, a boiler room that generated the steam to heat the entire school, a huge swimming pool, a full sized gymnasium, and a well stocked library that contained books of every pilot that became heroes in World War II. Before I ever made it through the fist year, I'd read the accounts of Dick Bong, Joe Foss, Gabby Gabreski, Zempke's Wolf Pack and Butch O'Hare. They reminded me of Joe Messina and sometimes I would get homesick for the Downtown Airport.
One of the Brothers was a history nut and taught us a lot about the American Indian. He showed us a map that depicted some mountains where an Indian tribe used to have "look outs". They were placed there to keep an eye on the areas east of the school to make sure that the Indians coming from Memphis westward weren't coming to invade or hunt their food stocks. He had the best collection of artifacts I'd ever seen including those that I saw at Subiaco.
In any event, despite a great education and a very structured life style, I missed my family, home and my buddies from kindergarten and grade school.
When winter time came, they took us squirrel hunting. We weren't going on a hunt for food, we were going to catch the little ones so we could raise them as pets. All the kids did that but not all were successful in catching one to raise. I was lucky and found a nest on my first try. I climbed the tree and was amazed at what I saw. When we first caught them, we called them pinkies because they still had their eyes closed and weren't yet covered with fur. The Brothers explained to us that the Arkansas winters were harsh and many of the babies would never make it during that time. When I went home for the Easter break for a holiday visit, I took my squirrel with me and went back to my old grade school to see my buddies before they took off for the holiday. I had the squirrel on my shoulder and would alternate his location from there to my shirt pocket. It wasn't the return of St. Francis of Assisi but the kids were blown away by the fact that I had a trained squirrel.
Toward the end of the year, the Brothers took us for an overnight camping trip to Letona Bluffs. It was rock star cool. We climbed mountains, explored caves, went frog gigging and were given a huge history lesson about the Indians who had lived there 100 years before we arrived. We had inner tubes and floated down the river. It was the NUTS and we all loved it.
Despite the many really good times there, I still missed home and managed to talk my mother into letting me come home and attending Jesuit during my 8th grade year. I was sick of Saparito beating my ass on one too many occasions and I wanted to return to the luxuries of living in Broadmore Subdivision and Shreveport.
I'll have to stop now as it's 7 a.m. Friday and I have a boat load of chores to do including lunch at the Petroleum Club with friends. I hope this first year report has given you a sample of what it was like to lose a father at age 10, go off to boarding school and effectively lose two sisters, a brother and my mom. Despite that awful sounds of that, I have more to explain and tell you why I thanked my mother for sending me there until the day she left us. Overall, it was the best thing that happened to me during that time of my youth.
More to come.
After meeting Brother Cyprian Hill, a Franciscan who was in charge of the school, I went to the boys dormitory and was assigned a bed. I'd never seen 50 beds in a single room but learned rapidly that it was, in it's own way, kinda cool.
Even though I'd heard great stories from the time my Uncle Charles and Uncle Joe was there, I had a different first impression. I walked into the boys bathroom at the gym and to my amazement, I ran into a gorilla. There was a huge guy shaving in one of the lavatories. His name was Falici and he looked like he'd just arrived from Al Capone's house. He was in the 9th grade and had hair on his back. Holy Moses, I thought.
After a quick pit stop, I went back to the gym and saw another strange sight. There were strange looking humans there. They weren't anything like the people I'd seen before. There were boys there from Guatemala, Mexico, Honduras, Costa Rica and even Cuba. I didn't know it at the time but was happy to learn that they were actually from the wealthy elite class of South Americans whose parents had sent them there to get an education and the discipline that was impossible to get in their own Countries. I soon became friends with all of them even though, during my first impression, I thought they looked more like inmates than cool guys to go to school with.
Not long after that, I met a kid who arrived at Morris as the result of a Plea Bargain deal with a judge in Chicago. I don't remember his name but I do remember that he'd been caught pissing in the water tower at the Baby Ruth plant. As it turned out, he was more of a prankster than a gangster and all of the kids eventually proved to be great school mates except one. His was from Chicago too and his name was Saparito. He was a bully and being bigger than I was, he picked on me off and on during my first year there.
Throughout the year, I began to learn the ins and outs of boarding school. The teachers were all men of the cloth and there wasn't a single nun anywhere. In addition to liking the class room, I began to like the idea of doing some of the chores that the kids had to do at a self supportive school. By that I mean, we had a dairy, a hay farm, a boiler room that generated the steam to heat the entire school, a huge swimming pool, a full sized gymnasium, and a well stocked library that contained books of every pilot that became heroes in World War II. Before I ever made it through the fist year, I'd read the accounts of Dick Bong, Joe Foss, Gabby Gabreski, Zempke's Wolf Pack and Butch O'Hare. They reminded me of Joe Messina and sometimes I would get homesick for the Downtown Airport.
One of the Brothers was a history nut and taught us a lot about the American Indian. He showed us a map that depicted some mountains where an Indian tribe used to have "look outs". They were placed there to keep an eye on the areas east of the school to make sure that the Indians coming from Memphis westward weren't coming to invade or hunt their food stocks. He had the best collection of artifacts I'd ever seen including those that I saw at Subiaco.
In any event, despite a great education and a very structured life style, I missed my family, home and my buddies from kindergarten and grade school.
When winter time came, they took us squirrel hunting. We weren't going on a hunt for food, we were going to catch the little ones so we could raise them as pets. All the kids did that but not all were successful in catching one to raise. I was lucky and found a nest on my first try. I climbed the tree and was amazed at what I saw. When we first caught them, we called them pinkies because they still had their eyes closed and weren't yet covered with fur. The Brothers explained to us that the Arkansas winters were harsh and many of the babies would never make it during that time. When I went home for the Easter break for a holiday visit, I took my squirrel with me and went back to my old grade school to see my buddies before they took off for the holiday. I had the squirrel on my shoulder and would alternate his location from there to my shirt pocket. It wasn't the return of St. Francis of Assisi but the kids were blown away by the fact that I had a trained squirrel.
Toward the end of the year, the Brothers took us for an overnight camping trip to Letona Bluffs. It was rock star cool. We climbed mountains, explored caves, went frog gigging and were given a huge history lesson about the Indians who had lived there 100 years before we arrived. We had inner tubes and floated down the river. It was the NUTS and we all loved it.
Despite the many really good times there, I still missed home and managed to talk my mother into letting me come home and attending Jesuit during my 8th grade year. I was sick of Saparito beating my ass on one too many occasions and I wanted to return to the luxuries of living in Broadmore Subdivision and Shreveport.
I'll have to stop now as it's 7 a.m. Friday and I have a boat load of chores to do including lunch at the Petroleum Club with friends. I hope this first year report has given you a sample of what it was like to lose a father at age 10, go off to boarding school and effectively lose two sisters, a brother and my mom. Despite that awful sounds of that, I have more to explain and tell you why I thanked my mother for sending me there until the day she left us. Overall, it was the best thing that happened to me during that time of my youth.
More to come.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Protecting Momma after Daddy's Death.
When your big brother tells you that you have to learn how to protect your mother, there's something weird about that kind of advice. I had all kinds of thoughts from that. Protect her from what?
It didn't take long for the answer to unfold because, almost immediately after Daddy's death and the funeral, a grown man in a suit, carrying a bunch of papers, showed up at the front door and demanded to see my mother. I don't know what they were talking about but I remembered that my momma started crying and that's all it took to put me in "the attack mode" again.
I think that Leland, who was 15 at the time and a good 200 pounds, ran him out of the house. That didn't stop me from doing my part and I went around the side of our house and put a well placed shot from a BB gun in the back of the bad man. I felt real good about it and I'm quite certain that he never bothered her again.
Leland said it was a paper work thing and nothing to worry about except the fact that he wasn't exhibiting the proper respect to a woman who had just lost her husband. From that day forth, I always had the BB gun close by and made sure that I had plenty of ammo. I didn't realize what a smart move was until a few months later when another episode erupted.
Some kid came over one night when Leland was changing a flat tire on his 55 Ford. There were a few threatening words from the kid but before he was able to hit Leland from behind, Leland turned around and hit him with the tire tool he was using to change the flat. BAM, right in the head. That ended the fight, a one round knock out, but it was just the beginning of more trouble.
The next day, the kid's father showed up raising hell about Leland hitting his kid in the forehead with a tire tool. I didn't catch any part of the conversation that covered the part where his kid was trespassing or assaulting Leland with a baseball bat but I did catch the part about momma crying.
Well, guess what! I ran to the bedroom closet, grabbed ole Daisy and managed to catch him while he was till walking down the drive way. BAM, another well placed shot in the back. More than anything, I guess you might say that shot was the "signature shot" that sent me to ............let's call it CAMP.
As it turned out, Subiaco was a neat place. It was hot but it was close to the mountains in Arkansas and an easy walk to the Arkansas River. There was a group of kids left over from high school that stayed there during the summer to act as counselors. There weren't any nuns there at all. The Priests played baseball and taught us all kinds of new games we'd never seen before. There were kids there from South America and we played a game in a box that was roughly 5' x 5' where we hit a ball with hockey sticks until it went into a hole. I don't know what it was called but I liked it a lot.
One night, the senior counselors, under the supervision of the men, told us Indian Stories and since there was a museum there, full of artifacts like arrow heads and spears, we took it in, hook, line and sinker. They told us that we would go looking for them early the next morning and that we should get plenty of rest in case there was any trouble.
The following morning, they brought an old 50 something bullet nose Studebaker to the front of the school. It had been made into a flat bed truck and typically carried kids around the farm. On this day, we went a short distance from the school and parked in the woods. We were told to be very quiet and hid in the bushes next to a mountain. In a short period of time, we heard a huge explosion that was so big, it actually shook the earth we were sitting on. The counselors yelled: "Let's get out of here" and one of the men told us to load up on the flat bed and we went back to the school convinced that the Indians were shooting at us.
As it turned out, we were on the other side of the ridge from a rock quarry and they were using explosives to blast away the rock. The owners knew about the kids and were kind enough to play the game for the benefit of all. Little did I know, that 26 years later, I would push the button that set off the explosives in the mine located next to the one that was used to scare the BeJesus out of all the kids a the school.
In any event it was great fun and a year or two later, I returned to play football there as Subiaco was the sister school of Morris School for Boys where I would go for 3 years. It just so happened that Uncle Charles and Uncle Joe both went there when they were kids. Uncle Charles had a son named Greg, my first cousin. I don't know what he did but he ended up at Morris with me, too. It wasn't a cake walk but we both had so much fun hiking in the mountains, catching and raising baby squirrels and camping over night at Letona Bluffs and exploring the caves there, we asked to stay there during the summer months.
That will have to do for now. It's time for a little brain swelling and some skin work. More later. Thanks for reading. Tim
It didn't take long for the answer to unfold because, almost immediately after Daddy's death and the funeral, a grown man in a suit, carrying a bunch of papers, showed up at the front door and demanded to see my mother. I don't know what they were talking about but I remembered that my momma started crying and that's all it took to put me in "the attack mode" again.
I think that Leland, who was 15 at the time and a good 200 pounds, ran him out of the house. That didn't stop me from doing my part and I went around the side of our house and put a well placed shot from a BB gun in the back of the bad man. I felt real good about it and I'm quite certain that he never bothered her again.
Leland said it was a paper work thing and nothing to worry about except the fact that he wasn't exhibiting the proper respect to a woman who had just lost her husband. From that day forth, I always had the BB gun close by and made sure that I had plenty of ammo. I didn't realize what a smart move was until a few months later when another episode erupted.
Some kid came over one night when Leland was changing a flat tire on his 55 Ford. There were a few threatening words from the kid but before he was able to hit Leland from behind, Leland turned around and hit him with the tire tool he was using to change the flat. BAM, right in the head. That ended the fight, a one round knock out, but it was just the beginning of more trouble.
The next day, the kid's father showed up raising hell about Leland hitting his kid in the forehead with a tire tool. I didn't catch any part of the conversation that covered the part where his kid was trespassing or assaulting Leland with a baseball bat but I did catch the part about momma crying.
Well, guess what! I ran to the bedroom closet, grabbed ole Daisy and managed to catch him while he was till walking down the drive way. BAM, another well placed shot in the back. More than anything, I guess you might say that shot was the "signature shot" that sent me to ............let's call it CAMP.
As it turned out, Subiaco was a neat place. It was hot but it was close to the mountains in Arkansas and an easy walk to the Arkansas River. There was a group of kids left over from high school that stayed there during the summer to act as counselors. There weren't any nuns there at all. The Priests played baseball and taught us all kinds of new games we'd never seen before. There were kids there from South America and we played a game in a box that was roughly 5' x 5' where we hit a ball with hockey sticks until it went into a hole. I don't know what it was called but I liked it a lot.
One night, the senior counselors, under the supervision of the men, told us Indian Stories and since there was a museum there, full of artifacts like arrow heads and spears, we took it in, hook, line and sinker. They told us that we would go looking for them early the next morning and that we should get plenty of rest in case there was any trouble.
The following morning, they brought an old 50 something bullet nose Studebaker to the front of the school. It had been made into a flat bed truck and typically carried kids around the farm. On this day, we went a short distance from the school and parked in the woods. We were told to be very quiet and hid in the bushes next to a mountain. In a short period of time, we heard a huge explosion that was so big, it actually shook the earth we were sitting on. The counselors yelled: "Let's get out of here" and one of the men told us to load up on the flat bed and we went back to the school convinced that the Indians were shooting at us.
As it turned out, we were on the other side of the ridge from a rock quarry and they were using explosives to blast away the rock. The owners knew about the kids and were kind enough to play the game for the benefit of all. Little did I know, that 26 years later, I would push the button that set off the explosives in the mine located next to the one that was used to scare the BeJesus out of all the kids a the school.
In any event it was great fun and a year or two later, I returned to play football there as Subiaco was the sister school of Morris School for Boys where I would go for 3 years. It just so happened that Uncle Charles and Uncle Joe both went there when they were kids. Uncle Charles had a son named Greg, my first cousin. I don't know what he did but he ended up at Morris with me, too. It wasn't a cake walk but we both had so much fun hiking in the mountains, catching and raising baby squirrels and camping over night at Letona Bluffs and exploring the caves there, we asked to stay there during the summer months.
That will have to do for now. It's time for a little brain swelling and some skin work. More later. Thanks for reading. Tim
Monday, July 21, 2014
Talking to my Dad about the war.
As time moved on through the 50s, I reached an age where I could have some meaningful conversations with my father about the war. I'm quite sure that I filled him full of questions about the stories I'd heard from all my Uncles because, at one point, he put us in the car and took us to the Downtown Airport in Shreveport.
It was still the early 50s then and I clearly remember Delta Airlines operating DC3 service from there to Dallas. One day, he took us to the south end of the field and introduced us to a pilot friend of his named Joe Messina. Joe flew C 46s "Over The Hump" from India into China and that mission became legend among cargo pilots because it was very hazardous flying and many planes were lost.
After a bit of conversation, Joe put me and my sister Linda in the back seat of a Piper Cub for our first flight. Many of you might recall that a Piper Cub only had one back seat and therefore, room enough for a pilot in the front and only one passenger in the rear. We were so young, Linda and I fit in there like a glove. It was around that time that I recall hearing "narrow ass kids" and figuring out that we were still very little and would easily fit in one seat.
I remember daddy telling us that Joe had done that millions of times and that we would have a lot of fun on our first flight. He was right. Joe flew us around the field so we could wave at Daddy below and then he flew us over Cross Lake. That was one of the prettiest spots around Shreveport and I remember the scene to this day. In any event, I consider that day as the beginning of my life of being an airport bum. I would do anything to go.
The next trip to the airport resulted in a flight where Joe used a Piper Tri-Pacer. It had a radio in it and I could hear all the traffic between the pilots and the tower. It was bigger than the Cub but I think it was just me and Joe on that one.
During that flight, while we were preparing to change course over Cross Lake and return to land, the radio sounded off with : "Shreveport Traffic, this is Herman Hesslinger, coming in from the west to land Downtown". With that call, I heard Joe say: "Shit, I hate Germans".
I had heard that saying before and I guess it came from Uncle Earl, Uncle Wayne and Uncle Joe. It really didn't make any difference because, by that time I was hooked on flying. I knew, at the ripe old age of 6 or 7, that one day I would become a military pilot.
Unfortunately for me, my dad died of a heart attack on December 4th, 1958. Since my birthday was on November 4th, I was only ten years old by 30 days. That ended a lot of things in my life and I always wished he had known that his trips to the airport opened the door to my life as a military aviator. I'm sure he would have been very proud to see me stand among the ranks of all my family members who did the right thing when called upon.
His death brought on some things that Leland taught me. I remember him telling me that we had to be the men of the house and protect our mother. To say I became a bit intense is an understatement. One of the nuns at school made mention of my father's untimely death but finished it with something like this " With kids like YOU, I understand how that happened".
Before I knew it, I went into the attack mode, picked up a chalk filled eraser and threw it at her as hard as I could. I waited until she had her back turned before I delivered the pitch and when the eraser hit the back of her head, a mushroom cloud erupted and the entire class started laughing. From that day forward, I started referring to the nuns and their outfits as "Zorro". With an attitude like that, I guess it wasn't much of a surprise when the announcement came that I would go to Subiaco Academy in Subiaco, Arkansas, to spend the summer in a preparatory course to begin boarding schools. I thought it was CAMP. ...................I'll continue a little later but wanted to make sure you face book followers can gain access to this post. Please leave a comment here are on face book.
It was still the early 50s then and I clearly remember Delta Airlines operating DC3 service from there to Dallas. One day, he took us to the south end of the field and introduced us to a pilot friend of his named Joe Messina. Joe flew C 46s "Over The Hump" from India into China and that mission became legend among cargo pilots because it was very hazardous flying and many planes were lost.
After a bit of conversation, Joe put me and my sister Linda in the back seat of a Piper Cub for our first flight. Many of you might recall that a Piper Cub only had one back seat and therefore, room enough for a pilot in the front and only one passenger in the rear. We were so young, Linda and I fit in there like a glove. It was around that time that I recall hearing "narrow ass kids" and figuring out that we were still very little and would easily fit in one seat.
I remember daddy telling us that Joe had done that millions of times and that we would have a lot of fun on our first flight. He was right. Joe flew us around the field so we could wave at Daddy below and then he flew us over Cross Lake. That was one of the prettiest spots around Shreveport and I remember the scene to this day. In any event, I consider that day as the beginning of my life of being an airport bum. I would do anything to go.
The next trip to the airport resulted in a flight where Joe used a Piper Tri-Pacer. It had a radio in it and I could hear all the traffic between the pilots and the tower. It was bigger than the Cub but I think it was just me and Joe on that one.
During that flight, while we were preparing to change course over Cross Lake and return to land, the radio sounded off with : "Shreveport Traffic, this is Herman Hesslinger, coming in from the west to land Downtown". With that call, I heard Joe say: "Shit, I hate Germans".
I had heard that saying before and I guess it came from Uncle Earl, Uncle Wayne and Uncle Joe. It really didn't make any difference because, by that time I was hooked on flying. I knew, at the ripe old age of 6 or 7, that one day I would become a military pilot.
Unfortunately for me, my dad died of a heart attack on December 4th, 1958. Since my birthday was on November 4th, I was only ten years old by 30 days. That ended a lot of things in my life and I always wished he had known that his trips to the airport opened the door to my life as a military aviator. I'm sure he would have been very proud to see me stand among the ranks of all my family members who did the right thing when called upon.
His death brought on some things that Leland taught me. I remember him telling me that we had to be the men of the house and protect our mother. To say I became a bit intense is an understatement. One of the nuns at school made mention of my father's untimely death but finished it with something like this " With kids like YOU, I understand how that happened".
Before I knew it, I went into the attack mode, picked up a chalk filled eraser and threw it at her as hard as I could. I waited until she had her back turned before I delivered the pitch and when the eraser hit the back of her head, a mushroom cloud erupted and the entire class started laughing. From that day forward, I started referring to the nuns and their outfits as "Zorro". With an attitude like that, I guess it wasn't much of a surprise when the announcement came that I would go to Subiaco Academy in Subiaco, Arkansas, to spend the summer in a preparatory course to begin boarding schools. I thought it was CAMP. ...................I'll continue a little later but wanted to make sure you face book followers can gain access to this post. Please leave a comment here are on face book.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Starting Over WIth Posts Here
Lately, I've been posting on face book. I liked that because I was receiving comments almost as soon as I posted. Last night during dinner, Joey suggested that I return here and simply link the Church of What's Happnin' Now to facebook as it would be easier on those who read my posts on their phones and easier on me because I wouldn't have to do it in one fell swoop. In any event, I'm going to try that. Please leave a comment if you get this. Thanks. Tim
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