Well.....doggone it....

...I know I'm not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree but I never thought of myself as a complete dunce. That is until I decided to create a new blog. It's a nice blog, classy, modern, and completely useless. I have been able to post one article on the site and it was just a test run. So, I give up. I will continue to use this old site. It's easy and doesn't make me feel so DUMB!! I will occasionally post on here with a serious comment or two amid the stories I like to write and I hope you like to read. I feel I better not try to be serious today after admitting total failure with my new site. I still have lots of untapped memories so I'm gonna sit here for a minute and try to remember one.......

....long pause, lunch, nap....

Oh yeah, remember when I saw this girl, Debbie Tatom, for the first time? I hate to say it was love at first site because she was only eleven years old and while I didn't have pervert status, I felt like one for noticing this child at church for the first time. I was fourteen don't you know, so I kept my thoughts and comments to myself. In all honesty my attraction to her was completely innocent. I just thought, "What a pretty little girl. I wish she was older."

Time passed and I followed my dreams, my education, and girls, all over the place. My parents were very clear about the order of life. It was pretty simple: Get out of high school. Go to college. Get a job. Get married. Have babies...all in that order. Since I hadn't completed even the first requirement of this assignment I never gave thought to who I would marry. I just figured when it was time the right person would come along. No sense even thinking about it until I aced all the other stuff. The training was supplemented by a secondary responsibility not discussed but definitely understood: No sex til you're married or you will be smitten with either lightning, plague, blindness, or possibly all three. This threat wasn't what kept me from messing up however. The driving force to my straight and narrow was my mom's promise that nothing was better than the wedding night...but only if I kept myself "pure" for it. Now, cut it out. I am not a prude. I just thought this was darn good advice and I promised myself I would follow it.

As I got older and started actually dating girls as opposed to just ogling them and wishing, the thought of long term relationships never entered my mind. After one terrible experience of "falling in love" I avoided serious relationships to the point of being rude and/or thoughtless to those lovely ladies who passed through my life. If I could go back with apologies....well, I probably wouldn't. It would be my luck I would go back say, "Hey I'm sorry I treated you so bad" and she would say, "Who are you?" 

All my experiences having to do with girls always came back to, "What a pretty little girl. I wish she was older." I thought if I ever decided to get serious enough with a girl to consider marriage, she would have to be like that girl I remembered from church. As I got through high school and halfway through college serious thoughts did start to occur. Would this girl be the one I got serious about? The answer was always "no" because things just didn't feel right. I didn't know what it was exactly but I decided to let the Lord handle it. The Lord works in mysterious ways. My brother Glenn was in the same class with this Debbie Tatom. He would make comments like, "She is so rude and stuck up. I can't stand her!" My best friend during these years would continue to say, "I think you need to date Debbie Tatom and no, she isn't too young for you." I would constantly run into her at parties, Jack Clark's Drive-In and other strange encounters.  Glenn would continue to complain about this snotty girl named Debbie, in band with him. 

Then the serious situations started happening. Glenn would ask me to pick him up from marching band practice and I found myself getting there earlier and earlier. It seems I didn't spend much time watching Glenn practice but I did notice Debbie Tatom a lot. Still, I was clueless. 

When my friend from high school came home from college for the Christmas holidays I stopped by to see him one night. He was getting ready to go out with his girlfriend and suggested I come along. I refused of course. Nothing worse than the old third wheel hanging around...especially since my friend hadn't seen his girlfriend for a whole semester. Not gonna happen I responded. He was holding the telephone about to dial when he suggested I call Debbie Tatom. As he called who I assumed was his girlfriend he kept up the Debbie barrage. My argument was the same as always, "She's just too young".  About the time I ended that last sentence, he handed me the phone and said, "Well you better come up with something because she's who I just called." Then he laughed as he walked out of the room. Sorry best friend if you ask me.

I could have hung up of course and no one would have been the wiser. It wasn't my phone and Caller I.D. hadn't been invented anyway. But I didn't hang up. I was intrigued enough to go ahead and talk to her. I apologized for calling so late but would she be interested in going bowling with me and friends? She didn't hang up on me and to my surprise she seemed happy I had called. Well, okay then. I guess I'm going bowling with this girl who's too young for me. I certainly hope I don't get arrested, or shot by her daddy when I show up. The date went better than I thought it would. I had more fun than I had experienced in a long time. She was dressed like a model when I picked her up. She was interesting, funny, beautiful, and she laughed at all my jokes without it seeming to be fake. She wasn't at all stuck up as I had been led to believe. I had found someone I truly enjoyed being with. I was surprised and very pleased. When I got home that evening my brother asked where I'd been. I told him I had taken Debbie Tatom bowling. He rolled his eyes and said, "Not Debbie Tatom! Why'd you have to go and take Debbie Tatom out? Don't you know she's a stuck up snob?" I had to disagree with him and told him it was the best date I had ever had. He tried to make me promise I would never take her out again but I couldn't make that promise. I didn't know if she would ever agree to go out with me again but I was sure going to try. 

As a summary to this too long story, I'll try to answer some unasked questions: Was Debbie a stuck up snob? Nope, she was blind as a bat but wouldn't wear her glasses except when she was driving. She just couldn't see anyone when walking down the hall at school. Did Glenn ever forgive me for taking her out? Yes, eventually but first he had to tell me she was already telling friends at school that she had gone out with the guy she was going to marry. Did we eventually get married? Oh yeah, we did. About a year and a half later. I was a junior in college. She was a senior in high school. She graduated in January and we married in February. 

I'm sitting here now looking over at my seventy year old bride. She's also the mother of two grown men and the grandmother of eight perfect kids, ranging in ages from twenty-one to seven. She's also my best friend. She doesn't seem too young for me anymore even though her mother had to go with us to the courthouse for our marriage license. She had to sign for Debbie....because she was just too young for me!

Thank you Lord.

I think we all worked at Six Flags...

I'm pretty sure just about everyone in my generation who lived close enough worked at Six Flags Over Texas at one time or another. Sure, some of my friends decided it would be more fun, or possibly more manly to get a summer job somewhere in the construction industry and to these I say, "Idiot!" It's too hot in Texas to work construction. Only the mentally challenged would choose to make their school money like that. I say all that to see what kind of response I get. My cousin, Mike, worked for my uncle Frog during the summer. He not only built up his muscles and got a tan, he also learned many new words previously never spoken around our mamas. Uncle Frog spent a lot of time in trouble with our mamas. 

I went to work at Six Flags in June of 1968, immediately after graduating in the top 90% of my class. I had a nice run at Foodway Grocery and left it with some trepidation. My old friend Rick and I were the stars of the Hurst Foodway. It was a huge loss for the store in June of 1968 because at the same time I left to go out to Six Flags, Rick left to follow his dream of becoming a butcher....never really understood that until years later when I was still struggling along with an entry level job in telecommunications Rick was knocking down some serious money as a journeyman butcher in charge of his own meat store. But, this is very important, in the late 60's and all the way through the 70's a 4 year college degree was what a person had to have to get ahead....any old 4 year degree would work. As it turns out, the degree did open lots of doors for employment but after you got in the door you had to make it on your own.....no magic in that degree. Sadly, anyone opting for an apprenticeship rather than a college education back then was not necessarily looked down on but considered slightly less intelligent than all us college boys. Tongue in cheek, wink wink. I really wanted to become an apprentice electrician but daddy seemed to think I only had one route. He wanted me to graduate from college with a degree in business management and spend my life at Bell Helicopter as a department head. To him that was the pinnacle of success. 

I don't know why I always go down the wrong rabbit hole when I start on a story. This story is about my time at Six Flags Over Texas. My sister, Cindy had already worked one season at Six Flags and loved it. She wanted me to come out there too. It was fun she said. I wasn't too interested. I didn't want to wear an orange and yellow outfit sweeping up cigarette butts and candy wrappers. She said she thought she could get me in at the hat shop next door to her candy store. I told her I didn't want to be sellin' no stinkin' hats all summer long. She said I would meet lots of girls. I rode out there with her the next day. Cindy was well liked at the hat shop which was called Pom Pom Hats. I was hired before I even had a chance to wow them with all my charm. I started the next day.

Pom Pom Hats was an independent company paying a lease for space at the park. I didn't actually work for Six Flags so the restrictions were a bit different from the park employees. They started out at minimum wage which I think was about $1.25 an hour. The hat shop started a new employee out at $1.90 an hour. The park strictly adhered to child labor laws so there were limits to the number of hours someone under 18 could work. The hat shop had no such silly rule. I averaged 80 hours a week during the summer and easily saved up enough money that first summer to see me all the way through my freshman year in college. The park employees did indeed wear some awful looking uniforms...well, the guys did. The girls always looked sharp in their pin-striped dresses and straw hats. The hat shop dress rules were nice dress slacks, freshly polished dress shoes, and a dandy looking Pom Pom hat shop shirt courtesy of the owners. I don't want to brag but....hey, what can I say? We were without a doubt the cool guys at the park. The hat shop would only hire college guys to work in their three shops. They gave me a slide on that since I was starting college that fall....and they adored Cindy. I worked with guys who were sage college guys, experienced in all the adult ways of the free and wild college life. I did not fit in but since I was Cindy's little brother, they put up with me and taught me how to be a sage adult college guy too. 

The hat shop owners leased three spots in the park. The first, and home of the big guys, was in the modern section of the park. The shop was called "Modern" by us sage college guys. The second shop was in the area where the gunfights took place. It was called "Texas". The third shop was located down in the Boom Town area. Yes, it was called "Boom Town". You don't need to take notes. All new employees started in Modern so we could be trained by a senior UTA business major named Larry. Larry reminded me of a drugstore Indian. He would stand in one spot with his arms crossed, seemingly staring off in space but actually watching every move we made. He would let us mess up for a while and then uncross his arms, walk over to whichever disaster we had created, take over without a word, fix the problem, and return to his self-appointed post. Larry was a very smart guy and you would know it just by looking at him. His problem was when he opened his mouth. He had a high pitched nasal voice that I wish I could mimic with written words. It was hysterical and quite probably the reason he said so little.

One day during the first week I was working in Modern I was told by Larry (by pointing) that all the shelves needed dusting. I began the process of removing one stack of hats, "dusting" under it and setting the stack back down. This process was repeated until all 75 or 80 stacks of hats had had their respective spots dusted. About halfway through this process I picked up a stack of hats and found a ten dollar bill laying there. I picked it up, walked back around and into the shop and asked Larry what I should do with it. Larry looked at the ten, then at me, then slipped the bill out of my hand and walked over to the cash register. He opened the register, put the ten dollars in the till and pulled out two fives. He put one five in his pocket and handed me the other one. He then said (and oh how I wish you could hear the voice I'm hearing in my head right now), "Mr. Mihills. You have just learned a very valuable lesson." I had indeed learned a valuable lesson.

After a few more days in the Modern shop I was considered "trained". I could remember the various prices, I knew how to act toward the guests, and most importantly, I had mastered the art of sewing names on the hats with the modified Singer sewing machines. This was a talent most would never learn and absolutely no one would ever need post Pom Pom Hats. I don't know how I picked it up so quickly. It was a sewing machine mounted on a wooden box with a hand control under the box. It would turn the thread and needle as needed to write out a simple name on any hat sold. You would think most people would say "No thanks" to a name sewed onto their new hat but oddly it was very popular. After I was moved down to Boom Town to be one of the Ace name writers, a little boy walked up and handed me a white sailor hat he had chosen from one of the stacks of hats. He also handed me a dollar bill and said he wanted his name on the hat. I took his dollar for the hat and put the hat on the machine. I asked him his name. He whispered, "Henwy". I asked a second time because I didn't hear him. Again he whispered, "Henwy". Still a little confused I asked if he could spell his name for me. He said, "yeth, H-E-R-N-Y." I spun that name out real quick and put it on his head wishing him a "great rest of your stay at Six Flags". He wandered off happy with his new purchase. About ten minutes later this big six foot plus, two hundred and sixty pound line backer who was Henwy's dad walked up, slapped the hat on the counter and said, "FIX IT". I fixed it....real quick!

I had more fun working in Boom Town than Modern. It was more relaxed, not as busy, and the popcorn girl in the wagon outside our shop was so darn cute it hurt. I dated her a couple of times but my 80 hour work weeks made dating kind of hard. If I wanted to take a day off it was fine with the owners but man oh man that loss of eleven hours of pay was hard to take. If I was working this hard during the summer so I wouldn't have to work during the school year, cute little popcorn girls had to be put on hold. I admit I weakened at times and gave up at least enough hours to go out occasionally. One of the guys, named Ronny, was a senior at Abilene Christian College (now ACU). He was engaged to his high school sweetheart but didn't see her much during the summer. He worked 12 to 14 hours every day of the week except Sunday when he would leave at six to go to church with his sweetheart. Typically, he averaged 90 hours per week and never spent a cent of his money. I remember close to the end of my first year there Ronny came to work with one of his shoes slapping the sole with every step. He hid his feet from the owner so he wouldn't get in trouble and then taped the sole onto the shoe with black electrical tape to keep it together. That next Monday Ron showed up wearing a new pair of shoes. We teased him about finally spending some of his money but he admitted his girlfriend's dad had bought him the shoes.

Ronny and I were typically the only two in the Boom Town shop after five each day. The others all took off to have a life while Ronny and I worked our silly brains off just so we wouldn't have to work during school. After five in Boom Town was when we had the most fun. It was great shooting staples into the balloons the girls wandered around selling. Three or four balloons would pop all at one time and the girls would stop, look around, then wander on off like it was a normal part of the day. We also had contests to see who could shoot a cricket into a crowd with the most finesse. One evening we really got bored and shot flaming crickets into the air like an ugly fireworks display. We did get really bored in Boom Town. The flaming cricket caper almost cost us our jobs though so we decided to grow up a bit.  

You know, these memories are just the tip of the iceberg. Six Flags was a great place to work. Sadly, most of the really funny stuff that happened out there needs to stay in my memories. I never did anything I'm ashamed of but boy oh boy the opportunities were sure available. If I told some of the things done by some employees, there might be litigation problems. I personally avoided anything unsavory to the point of earning the nickname "The Christer" which I didn't appreciate at all. It was hard work staying as good as my mama wanted and still be accepted by the crowd I worked with. When I get to heaven my mama is going to say, "You did good Rusty. You can't sing worth a lick* but you were a good boy."

*This is a set up for another story down the road.

I forgot to add a title....

Well doggone it, it's tough being in such demand. Here I was trying to get some much deserved rest when all of a sudden I started getting harassing notes from all two of my followers saying they wanted another story. I've been stumped since wrapping things up on my glory days at Foodway Grocery Store. I was going to tell about meeting Debbie but she thought I should write about my job at Six Flags. I can't seem to get my ducks all sorted out on that set of stories because there are so many of them it's hard to get them lined up in a row. That part of my life started out on the unpleasant side anyway so I hesitate to go there. Maybe someday. So, what should I tell you about? The grandkids don't seem to mind if I tell them the same stories over and over but what do they know....they're kids. Adult, grownup readers want to hear new stories. I'm always afraid I'll tell the same story twice and there are just too many of them now to check each time. I don't think I've told this story but stop me if you've heard it.....

There's a verse in the Bible, Ecclesiastes 10:18 to be exact, that reads, "Because of laziness the building decays, and through idleness of hands the house leaks". I can sit here and attest to the fact that the writer of Ecclesiastes knew what he was talking about. I've been moving around a little easier lately and taking stock of how things stand around me. I don't use profanity, but if I did I could describe things much more colorfully. I'm not going to bore any of you with my past health woes. Just accept the truth from me when I say I lost the ability to do much of anything at all. I'm improving slowly and as I improve I try to check on things that have gone without maintenance way too long. Did you know that if you left gas in your lawnmower two years ago it probably won't start right away? Did you know that if you leave batteries in a flashlight for too long they grow into a spooky mess best thrown away? Did you know that it's important to clean out the overflow tube on the AC on a regular basis? As you can see, even immobile and out of harms way for nearly two years, I was able to learn many, many new things. I am happy to pass on more valuable homeowner knowledge to anyone who asks. Anybody? Anyone? No questions? Okay then, let's get on with the story.

Everyone has a favorite time, song, smell, activity or something that brings back the warmth and glow of good times past. Times when the sun shined just a little brighter, the breeze was a bit more refreshing and there were no problems. Life was just good. Those are the times we miss the most. For me of course the time frame has to be the 50's through the 70's. No one, and I mean NO ONE can argue that those years gave us the best music ever recorded. Detroit gave us the best metal for the money vehicles, whether you loved GM, Ford, or Chrysler. Those times cannot be reproduced. Those of us lucky enough to grow up in that era have the memories...wonderful memories....and all it takes is a bit of a song or an old classic rolling down the street to start those memories whirling. 

My second car, but the first car I actually bought for myself was a 1959 Chevy Impala hardtop....cream colored with a bronze colored interior. It looked like something you would want to drop a spoon into to have a taste. It was beautiful....well, except for those teardrop taillights, oh, and those massive fins coming off the back of it.....and well, it needed new tires, the tailpipe was rusted off, the muffler was non existent, and someone had evidently driven it into the salt water of the Gulf of Mexico because every little unpainted surface was rusting and spreading like a cancer. I used to spend my weekends cutting out rust, patching up as only a sixteen year old can, and spray painting with anything on the sales rack that came close to the right color. I loved that car.

After I met the woman I wound up marrying, I bought a 1967 Pontiac Tempest, seafoam green, black interior, deep dish chrome reversed wheels and baby moons. This was a high class automobile. Oh sure, if I had shopped I could have bought the GTO version for close to the same price, and sure, there were lots of Chevy Malibu's for sale....again, for the same price, but doggone it I saw this Tempest sitting in the owners driveway and I had to have it. I nearly fell over when he told me the price. It was a good $400 less than anything else in that range and it was beautiful. I didn't even hesitate giving the guy some earnest money to hold it til the next day. I rushed home and told my dad I had found a new car and I was buying it. He asked if I wanted him to go with me to look it over. I told him "no". I didn't want to risk his finding something wrong with it. The next day I could barely make it through my classes before getting over there to pay for that car. Sure enough, the guy had kept his word and not sold it to anyone else. It was going to be mine!! I paid the guy, left my old Chevy sitting in the street in front of his house, and drove my prize home. Later, my brother Glenn rode over with me to get the Chevy. That Pontiac was indeed a beautiful car. Why they don't paint cars seafoam green anymore is a quandary to me. Yes, it was beautiful.....and I proudly owned it for two whole days before I started smelling something odd....kind of like antifreeze on a hot engine block....hmmm. After another day of driving I started seeing steam coming out around the hood when I would stop at a light. It was then that I decided I really should look under the hood and see what was going on. I wasn't an idiot. I knew it wasn't smart to try to open a radiator cap when the engine was hot so I waited a good two minutes before trying. When that radiator cap came loose steam and burning hot water shot all over the place. I was lucky I didn't get burned but I didn't feel that lucky at the time. What a mess. 

After cleaning up all that antifreeze on the block of the engine, on the frame of the car, on the hood of the car, and the fenders of the car, then all the driveway, and the blue jeans which were all the clothing salvageable I was able to simply put a new thermostat on the block and all was well....til the next time. The next time I started smelling the familiar antifreeze smell I had a carload of passengers with me and we were driving down Main Street in Fort Worth. I judicially kept my worries to myself thinking I would take care of it as soon as I got back to Hurst. Unfortunately the Pontiac didn't get my memo and started blowing steam right in front of the Tarrant County Courthouse. I drove over to the side of the street and thought I would find another bad thermostat but no.....no, no, no....nothing so simple. The entire bottom of the radiator had fallen off the car and was laying in the road in front of the courthouse. Now I don't mind your criticism of my lack of intelligence in picking out a car. I don't mind your ridicule in my penchant for buying lemons, but do not let me hear anything out of any of you when I tell you what I did. I gently closed the hood of the car, climbed back in and drove off....yes, all the way to Hurst. I told everyone to ignore the burning smell. It was something I would take care of when I got it home. We made it home. I don't know how we were able to do that other than it was a really cold windy day and maybe that saved the motor til we got to Hurst. 

Detroit did make stouter cars back then. If any of us ever tries that with one of these newer cars, well except for the electric ones, the motor will be ruined almost instantly. So don't do it. There's no need. Today we have Uber. I finally learned how to shop for cars after a while. The secret is in always buying new cars with a long warranty. That seems to work for us. I have helped both the boys pick out used cars to buy during high school and college and as I sit here patting myself on the back I can think of only one lemon bought by either of them. I'll let them try to figure out which car I'm talking about but let me say this in all sincerity, I tried to talk said son from buying said lemon but, "he had to have it". Worst piece of junk to ever grace the lot at the used section of the dealership but it really did look good. 

Where Do We Go From Here?....

Well, let me see.....my plan had been to move directly from my exciting life at Foodway to my really exciting life at Six Flags and then on to college. Debbie informed me this was a bad idea for two reasons. First of all, nobody wants to hear my life story....it's just not that interesting. She's right of course. The second reason continuing on to Six Flags is a bad idea is she thinks I should tell a little about our own life together. Not sure there's much interest there either. Trust me, I have some great stories to tell about working at Six Flags. Some of them are even stories that can be repeated in print, however, I will follow Debbie's suggestion and start telling a little bit about our own story. I will return to Six Flags someday. After all, I know you will all want to hear about launching crickets at the balloon girls, our daily "fart" jokes, and my favorite encounter with a little boy named Herny. See, that was good times. I'll come back to it someday.

Before I leave my childhood behind though, I wanted to pass on a memory I recovered while chasing the Snickers thief down Pipeline Road in the last story. It's not a knee slapper but I like it...and it's my blog so there. To set the story up I need to explain a little about my mom. My mom was not a driver. As far as I can remember, I was in the car with her three times while growing up. The first time is only remembered because my big sister, Cindy, has told us about it several times over the years. Mama had decided to try out my dad's 1950 Chevy with a standard transmission. She managed to get stuck on a hill and rolled backward more than forward for an uncomfortable amount of time and gear grinding. My sister patted me on the head and advised me to not worry, mama would make it eventually. According to Cindy, her words were exactly, "Don't worry baby Dussel. Uze mama will make it up the hill." I'm pretty sure I wasn't the least bit worried about it. The second occasion was when our next door neighbor, Sherry M had missed her school bus. She asked my mom if she would take her to the high school so she wouldn't be late. My mom didn't want to try but she loved the neighbors as much as I adored the much older Sherry. She loaded us all up in the Chevy and started out on the longest and scariest trip to Bell High School any of us will ever experience. All of us kids in back were screaming, Sherry and her mom were in the front seat, wide-eyed, pale as ghosts, holding on to anything they could grab, and moaning quietly while praying their respective souls out. My mom was yelling at us kids to quiet down so she could concentrate and not hit any of the oncoming cars. This was while driving on a two lane blacktop later known as Pipeline Road, with drainage ditches on each side and very little room for error if a random driver came along foolishly challenging my mom for the road. She only drove into the ditch one time that day but I lost count of the poor souls who left the road to avoid being hit by some derelict, pea green Chevy driven by a mad woman. Mama only tried driving one more time after that. We all wanted to go to a Halloween party at our church. The church was about six blocks away and it looked easy enough because Pipeline Road had been widened and repaved and my dad had just bought a shiny new Pontiac with one of those newfangled automatic transmissions. She got us to the church but we were all so traumatized by the ride we couldn't enjoy ourselves. She absolutely refused to drive home. We sat around for the longest time trying to figure out what to do. We could walk home of course but how were we going to get that new Pontiac back home before our dad got off work? Eventually she asked one of the high school boys to drive the car home for us. As far as I know, mama never drove again. I'll explain that my dad worked night shift occasionally and car-pooled, leaving the car just sitting there as a temptation to a non-driver. Had he known....whew!

All of the above is to explain why so many of my stories involve walking, riding my trusty old candy apple red Western Flyer bicycle, or bumming rides from my aunt Cricket. Mama should have learned how to drive when she was growing up. All her sisters and brothers were accomplished drivers...all of them, and there were a lot. I can only figure since she was the baby sister of the herd, she was pampered and didn't have to do anything she didn't really want to do. Learning to drive was almost as bad as going to school, which was something else she didn't want to do. Anyway, this is my explanation of why we were stuck at home most of the time. One of those times was a bitterly cold and windy day. We had all been wanting to try out the new Dairy Kreme (not to be confused with the more popular and highly successful Dairy Queen. Hurst was small. A major concern like Dairy Queen wasn't interested in investing in our little wide spot in the road. Luckily for us one brave entrepreneur was willing to try us out with the lesser known Dairy Kreme). He built it on Pipeline Road right next to where the city was about to install Mary Drive. I think he must have been advised his was a good spot because Mary Drive was eventually going to lead to the first city park Hurst ever built. Although the location was only about a mile from our house, to get there you either had to drive on the dreaded Pipeline Road or walk down our street, past the woods, over the creek, and through someone's pasture. As our family discussion focused on greasy hamburgers and fries, we begged mama to drive us over to the Dairy Kreme. Daddy was at work and the Pontiac was just sitting there innocently waiting for a driver but after our hair raising trip to the church building earlier in the year, we didn't argue too much when mama said, "Absolutely not!" I valiantly offered to ride my bike down Pipeline to get to the DK. My mom wouldn't allow that because she was afraid some crazed driver would run off the road and hit me. Not to give up on a hamburger, I offered to walk over for the treat. The wind was blowing, snow was threatening, and I could imagine bears living in those woods but I did want that hamburger. Mama finally agreed as long as Cindy went with me. Cindy didn't really want to make the trip but she enjoyed a good burger as much as the rest of us so we put on our coats, put the exact amount of money we needed in my coat pocket, and off we went.

When we finally made it to the pasture the wind was blowing so hard we had to lean into it. Our simple little "I live in Texas, I don't need a heavy coat" coats weren't blocking the wind at all. We were freezing...but we could see the Dairy Kreme through our tear filled eyes. We got to the shop and it felt like heaven when we walked in...smelled like heaven too I might add. We ordered six hamburgers and three orders of fries to go. Then we sat down on bar stools to wait and discussed the merits of soft serve ice cream being good even in the winter. It was five cents for a cone and we decided that if we had counted wrong and had a nickel left over, we would treat ourselves to a shared cone when we left. The counter lady finally brought the burgers and fries out and told us what our total was. I pulled out all the money we had put together and dumped it on the counter. She counted out all the crumpled bills and change...then she counted it again. Finally she looked up and told us we were 5 cents short. We couldn't leave with our food unless we had another nickel. Of course we didn't. I told her if she would let us go I would bring her a nickel right after I got home with the food. She said no. I guess I didn't look honest. So I left Cindy sitting at the counter and started back home for another nickel. Mama wasn't too happy about it when I walked in the door without the burgers. I thought she was mad at me but she explained she was upset with the lady at the counter. She just knew she had counted out the exact amount we needed but she gave me another nickel and I headed back out into the cold, grey afternoon. I was about frozen when I walked into the store the second time.  I was ready to slap that nickel on the counter and show my disdain to the stingy old lady but when I saw Cindy sitting at the counter finishing up a 5 cent soft serve ice cream cone I forgot all about my grievance with the store and concentrated on anger for my big sister. I asked her how she came about being able to buy that ice cream when we didn't have enough to pay for our food. I was thinking all kinds of evil things about lying, theft, and corruption in the sibling unit. She explained to me that right after I left to get another nickel, the counter lady got to feeling guilty about sending me back out. She felt sorry for Cindy...for Cindy mind you...because she had to sit and wait for me to walk one mile home and one mile back in freezing weather for lack of a silly nickel....so she gave Cindy an ice cream cone to enjoy while she waited. I've never understood why she just didn't give us the cotton-picking nickel we needed to pay our bill. But, and this is a big but, those hamburgers were just about the best we ever ate when we finally got home with them. Of course they were cold....and soggy from sitting on the counter all that time, but man oh man, they did taste good.

Okay, let me get to a story about Debbie and me......would you look at the time. I guess I better quit before you all start yawning and regretting this little trip down memory lane with me. I promise, next time I'll start out with, "Does anyone know that pretty little Debbie Tatom who just started coming to our church?"

Okay, Let's Wrap This Up....(part three)

If you'll remember from the previous story, we had just waved bye-bye to Buford and Ken as they went on to bigger and better opportunities after high school and the offer of a fascinating career at Foodway Grocery Store. The last I heard of them Ken had taken a job at a machine shop working a metal lathe and Buford got drafted. Their continued stories were probably much better than this one but this is the one you're stuck with reading.

With both the experienced guys gone, management had to rely on the up and coming leaders from the sack boy ranks. My friend, Rick, and I showed the most promising of the lot so we were each promoted to part-time checker and full-time stocker. We were given brand new price tag maker thingies, and new feather dusters, which we proudly displayed in our back pockets. We took our new roles seriously and never goofed off when management was watching. We remembered the plight of the sack boy and never gave any of them a hard time when we were called up to the front because too many customers were trying to checkout at once. Things were rocking along great. We loved our jobs, management loved us, and the sack boys all respected us and did as they were told. We never once, ever, lined a timid little inexperienced sack boy up to catch all the boxes being unloaded at the back....well, okay, we did it once but only for fun....and we stopped after just a few minutes. We did not demand this sack boy sneak out and steal deodorant for us after unloading a truck. We selected ours from the bent and damaged basket like the honorable guys we were...and, we selected it ourselves before we started unloading the truck. We did not share it with the timid little sack boy however. Some things need to be learned by experience.

Rick and I were serious about our stocking responsibilities. We would walk the store, particularly during a busy day, to make sure shelves were stocked and floors were clear of clutter. One day the produce department announced a day long sale to celebrate the upcoming Thanksgiving Holiday. The department was hit hard with shoppers so around six in the evening we were asked to check it out to make sure it was still in good shape. Mr. Rejas, the produce manager, was almost in shock. He was a skinny little guy who had survived a grueling escape from Cuba in the early 60's and was left with chronic malnutrition and nervous ticks. He had run from back room to display areas all day restocking and hadn't had a minute to stop for lunch. He couldn't even keep the floors swept. There was a lull in traffic in that area so we convinced him to take a break while we restocked and straightened up for him. What a couple of swell guys we were! We got busy while he was gone and started cleaning things up. I started at one end while Rick worked from the other. While working along Rick yelled at me, "Hey Mihills, take a look at this rotten tomato I found. Want me to throw it at you...hahaha?" We laughed and went back to work then all of a sudden I got hit in the leg by said tomato. I grabbed a handful of grapes and peppered him soundly. He in turn grabbed a Granny Smith apple and launched it at my head. His aim was terrible though and flew way over my head, way over the top of the first set of shelves, and directly into the cash drawer as it opened on register one. The checker, who was a nervous sort herself, calmly made change, handed it to the customer, closed the cash drawer and walked off the job. She was a nice lady. I hated it but you have to admit, it was funny and worthy of mention in the overall history of Foodway. I did not know how applesauce was made until I sneaked over and opened that cash drawer to clean it up. Wow! That's all I can say....wow! No one ever reported the incident and we certainly didn't volunteer any information when the three managers discussed just what it was that had made sweet, nervous Clara walk off the job without a word. On a positive note, when Mr. Rejas got back to his department he found it stocked, cleaned, and unmanned by the two boys he had left in charge.

During this transition from sack boy to very important top guy, I struggled with the social aspect of my life. I had commandeered the old Hoopie as my own and was told if I was going to drive it I had to pay to insure it. That seemed fair until I actually started paying for it. Teenage boys are considered high risk drivers so the insurance premium is kin to highway robbery. It took a good chunk of my paycheck to cover it and the gas I used up....another cost I was allowed to cover. I was left with a few dollars in my pocket each week and rarely enough to entertain the ladies, of which I was still stuck on one. I also never had time to schedule my driving test so I went a whole semester before getting a break to go and fail my test twice. On my third attempt I aced the test...sort of. Anyway, I finally had a car, license, insurance, and on average, five dollars in my pocket. I was a rich man. I got up my nerve to ask out the girl of my dreams, Francine.......and she said, "I don't think so." I took it bad and slouched around in a dark depression for a long, long time. If I remember right it was at least a week before I snapped out of it and called another girl, Carrie Lou, up for a date. She had told me once before if I ever got a car I could ask her out. My call went like this, "Hi Carrie Lou, this is Russell....Mihills....Russell Mihills from school....oh good. You do remember me. Hey, I got a car!" "You got a car?" she replied. I said yes I had indeed taken ownership of a car. Her next words were, "Pick me up Friday at seven." I said okay and immediately started worrying about how I was going to pick her up at seven when I always worked til nine on Friday nights. I wasn't about to blow this though so I went to the manager, the nice one who was truly in charge, and explained my situation. He would let me off at six as long as I didn't make a habit of asking. He was a great guy. I really hated it when he got promoted and left our location. He was replaced by "Sarge" who is a whole different story in itself. I might come back to him someday. Life was definitely going my way.

One summer day around dusk, Rick and I were taking a break outside. While there, all of a sudden the front door of the store slammed open and a guy darted out running for all he was worth. The night manager was right behind them and when he saw us he yelled "Stop that guy!" Well before I go any further with this let me ask you, if your boss ran out chasing a customer yelling STOP THAT GUY, what would you assume? Well, we assumed the store had just been robbed. We took off after that guy as fast as our apron clad bodies would take us. We chased him all across the parking lot. He was headed east toward the park. He ran past CA's Restaurant as it was filling up with customers and weaved in and out of confused hungry people. We were right on his tail. He ran across the road and through the drive-through car wash. We never let up our chase. As he headed for the park we knew he would have to get back up to Pipeline Road to go over the bridge or risk falling while running along the creek bed. When we saw he had chosen the creek bed, Rick yelled that he would circle around and box him in at the bridge. I continued to chase the guy down the creek and under the bridge. Rick wasn't there to stop the guy. He got tied up waiting for a break in the traffic on Pipeline Road. I was losing steam and eventually gave up. Rick and I huffed and puffed our way back to Foodway expecting the police to be there. We were going to look like heroes. There were no police cars with flashing lights. There wasn't even a night manager frantically wringing his hands over worry about us. We made it back into the store and heard the night manager say, "What in the XXXX were you two doing?" We couldn't believe it. We were trying to save the store's money. He told us the guy wasn't stealing money! "Where did we get the idea he was robbing the store?" he asked while starting to laugh. Well, well, we thought....uh, we figured....we don't know. He told us, "I was at my desk and looked up in time to see this guy sneak a candy bar into his pocket. When he saw me, he bolted. I was just trying to stop him. Good grief guys, this is Hurst, not New York City!" You know, as I think back on it, I just bet that guy never gave another thought to stealing a candy bar. If he got to craving a Snickers, he probably paid for it or just walked away hungry.

Oh, the stories about my life at Foodway could go on and on but seriously, don't we all have something better to do? I'll stop without telling about the near death experience in the breakroom, or the summer day the girl in the yellow bikini strolled in to do her shopping. I won't go into any detail about the whole jalapeno right out of the can eating contest. Maybe someday. Thanks for allowing me to tell you some of what made me who I am. Some of these experiences may help to explain some of my Pom Pom Hat Shop stories....if I ever start telling them. 

Where Were We?.....(part 2)

Let's see, in last week's episode the spiffy young college kids were racing down the mountain road when they realized the bridge was washed out! Too late to stop, they plunged.....oh wait, that's a different cliff hanger. Oh yeah, our young hero was realizing the little "hoopie" his dad had bought for all the kids to learn to drive in might possibly be something of a collector's item so no more crashing it into other old wrecks when the brakes failed! That was probably the first major lesson I learned during my tenure at Foodway. Of course the very first thing I learned was to never put the eggs in the sack first. That was such a no-brainer I don't even count it as a learned lesson.

I learned another valuable lesson shortly after going to work at Foodway. In fact, I learned it within about thirty minutes into my first shift. That lesson was 'rank has it's privileges'. The people with rank above me were two clowns who were seniors in high school. One I'll call Buford. Buford was an idiot and took great pride in his idiocy. I'm sure he practiced his down home Texas accent at night until it was perfected. He never let a word slip out of his mouth unless it was fouled in some way with crudeness. He was definitely a proud Texas boy. The other kid I'll call Barbie Ken. Okay, I'll just call him Ken because I'll get tired of writing Barbie Ken over and over but in your mind's eye picture Barbie's perfect boyfriend Ken and you will get a glimpse of how this guy saw himself. I do admit Ken was a darn good-looking guy but sadly he knew it better than anyone else. 

These guys had advanced up the corporate ladder from sack boy, to fill-in cashier, to full fledged stocker....complete with the fancy price stamper thingy in one back pocket and a feather duster proudly sticking out of the other back pocket. Occasionally Buford and Ken would be called to the front to help run a register or sack groceries. They did not like this and they always let the lowly sackers know about it. They made life miserable for us during and after this rudeness shown to them. As all of you know, I'm just about the nicest guy in the world so I never let any of this misery get to me. I let it slide right off my shoulders. I did not let it build up inside where it became a hideous growth of pulsating hate...really...no really.

One Saturday not long after I started at Foodway the store was packed and the front was going crazy. The manager kept calling Buford and Ken to help up front and every time he did those boys got more and more sadistic in their paybacks. I had one customer who must have been having a big party because it was all I could do to load all her groceries onto the cart to haul them out to her car. I was having a fit because of the weight even though Buford had graciously helped me load the cart up. Remember me telling you about the hill? The hill was a problem when the cart was heavy. This lady walked out to a little light blue Ford and popped the trunk. I started to load her groceries and looked up to see the cart heading down the hill toward Pipeline Road. I ran after it and grabbed it but because Buford had hung her pack of Pepsi's out on the edge of the cart, when the cart stopped the Pepsi's kept going. Twelve bottles of Pepsi went in twelve different directions. I impressed myself with my speed in catching all of them and getting them back in the little cardboard crate. As I politely put them in her trunk she told me I could just get in there and get her another 12-pack. As I pushed the cart and the ruined Pepsi's up to the front door I saw Buford and Ken laughing their miserable little heads off.

My head swelled with pride the day Buford asked the assistant manager if Mihills could help them unload the stock truck. This was a job only the top guys got to do so I felt I finally measured up. The assistant manager (who I had to use all kinds of restraint to not refer to as the Ass Man) agreed to let me help. I didn't know he was in on their sadistic plan. The truck came in and the rollers were set up. I thought it odd that the rollers didn't extend all the way through the backroom but stopped about ten feet in. Buford and Ken were stationed at the end of the rollers and I was assigned further into the backroom. Looking back I should have been able to figure out what was about to happen. Two guys unloading a truck and throwing the boxes to one guy, and a little guy at that, was not going to work out well. Two minutes into the operation I figured out what was up but I refused to give in. I kept up with their best efforts to wear me down and I know it was only by the power of the pulsating hate mentioned above. I was feeding off of it and feeling no pain. By the time the truck was empty, all three of us were covered in sweat, stretched out on the floor, and trying to catch our breath. I felt good. I had burned off a lot of nasty energy. They were mad. Their idea of a good time had backfired on them. Finally, after Buford was able to talk he growled, "Mihills, get out there and get us some of that spray deodorant off the shelf and bring it to us." I went out there thinking I would get some Old Spice maybe, or something even better if I could find it but then.......then my world of reparations opened wide up! I grabbed the spray can and went back to where they were still resting. I tossed them the deodorant and Buford grabbed it mid-air, opened it up and sprayed it all over himself. Then he tossed it to Ken who politely only sprayed it on his underarms. Then wonder of wonder, Ken asked if I wanted to use any of it. I told him I was okay. About that time Buford figured out what I had brought them. Feminine Hygiene Deodorant!!! Buford actually laughed. Ken made me a promise. He told me I would pay dearly for my little trick.

One Saturday after hauling groceries out to a candy apple red Pontiac Catalina I was walking back in with a big smile on my face. The lady in the Catalina had been trying to convince me I needed to ask her daughter out on a date. I had never met her daughter but I imagined if mom had to drum up dates for her there might be a problem or two. Anyway, I was still wearing the smile when I heard someone ask me, "What are you so happy about?". It was a friendly question and I recognized the voice. It was Francine. She was standing at the register with her mom waiting for Ken to finish ringing up her groceries. I finished up sacking for them and was all happy and all....you know, wagging tail, jumping up and down...stuff like that. Ken picked up that this was the girl I was crazy about so he asked me, right in front of Francine and her mom, if she was my girlfriend. I didn't know what to say so I resorted to my fallback response of turning brilliant red and saying nothing. No one answered Ken's question so he answered it himself with, a sing-song, "Oh she is! Mihills has a girlfriend!" I carried their groceries out to the parking lot....to the little light blue Ford, and yes, there was a 12 pack of Pepsi's on the cart. I was very careful with those Pepsi's. When I got back inside the store Ken was waiting for me. He said, "Wow, you've got yourself a pretty girlfriend. Guess what. I'm going to take her away from you." I told him I didn't own her so he couldn't take her away from me. We were just good friends. He persisted, "No, Mihills, I can tell. You're crazy about that girl and that's why I'm going to take her away from you. Do you know why? Because of the deodorant thing, that's why." He took Francine out on a date a week later. Barbie Ken was a jerk.

Both Buford (wonder of wonders) and Ken graduated from high school a few months later and went their separate ways. Better jobs, higher wages, draft board....that sort of thing. Anyway, life at Foodway got much better for me and all of us junior guys....because we weren't the junior guys any more. We were top dogs! We were going to get to make life miserable for a whole herd of new nerds coming in. The thing is, the guys I sacked groceries with and I were just too nice to do that to anyone. Foodway was about to enjoy some good times. Tune in next week for the final episode to see what, if anything happened with good old Francine and hear the amazing tale of theft at the store and hair-raising chase scene....I can't wait!!!

Let Me First Say....(part one)

 ....I am married to the most wonderful woman in the whole world. We've been married for over 52 years, which means we got married in grade school. Not really of course but we were young. Couples tended to do that back then. Now they put it off until they're out of school, out of college, out in the work force, out of touch with lots of eligible partners. Oh sure, waiting til you're out of college to marry is a good idea and I highly recommend it. I was a junior in college when Debbie and I married and I remained a junior for the next twenty-five years before graduating with a bachelor's degree, just after my oldest son's college graduation and just before my youngest son's. But this isn't a story about marriage or a poorly managed college education. I just wanted to get it out there in front that I AM HAPPILY MARRIED to the love of my life before I start talking about my first "girlfriend". Actually, the story is more about my first job but the girlfriend enters into the picture so to save any discomfort when my editor (Debbie) proofreads the story I just want to say one more time I am married to the woman of my life, my wife.....enough said.

The day I stopped being a wayward, carefree teenager was the day my mom came home from shopping at the Foodway grocery store down the street from our house. She came into my room where I was busy daydreaming and told me if I wanted to go to work I should put on a white shirt and get down to Foodway. I said, "Okay". She said, "Right now, I told the manager you're on your way." Well, thank you mama...I didn't know if I was pleased or put out with her but I didn't have time to think about it because my mom was holding my white shirt for me to change into and my older sister, Cindy was standing there waiting to drive me down there...with a silly looking grin on her face I might add.

Did I mention all this took place on a Friday night? No? Of course not. It wouldn't matter to anyone who never worked in a grocery store but to those of us who faced that Friday night and all day Saturday onslaught, thank you. I appreciate your sympathy. Back then there were laws on the Texas books called 
"Blue Laws". I don't know why they were called that. I don't know why they were there....I don't even know why the phrase "Texas books" is appropriate but all that aside the laws stated that no store other than an emergency type store could be open on a Sunday. We all just naturally assumed it was listed somewhere in the Bible, maybe in Leviticus. Sunday was a state moderated day off for everyone except police officers, doctors, nurses, firemen, and of course preachers who only had to work on that one day.

Because all the stores were closed on Sundays everyone who worked, and back then it was everyone who wanted to eat and have a place to live, had to get all their shopping done on Friday night or Saturday. Christmas shopping was especially chaotic but everyone seemed to love it. People didn't seem to get so grumpy and argumentative until they were allowed to shop 24/7. No downtime for anyone. Oops, I didn't mean to go there. Back to the story. 

As I was saying, my sister Cindy dropped me off at the front door of Foodway and drove off as fast as that Pontiac Bonneville would take her back home. I wondered about that later. Was I supposed to walk home? Anyway, I walked into a madhouse. The store was packed with shoppers trying to get their weekly groceries bought and paid for and the store was obviously shorthanded. My mom had told me to look for the guy in an apron, gold-rimmed glasses, and frayed look on his face. I was to boldly ask him for a job. I found the guy. He was sacking groceries for a customer as fast as he could. I did as my mom had instructed. My sales pitch went kind of like, "You don't want to hire anyone to work here, do you?" He didn't even have to take a breath before telling me to go to the office right behind him, grab an apron, and start sacking groceries on aisle five. I grabbed an apron but I didn't know how to put it on. I wandered over to aisle five and the cashier helped me with it and showed me how to put groceries into the bags without ruining most of them. She was a nice old lady. (Old...she was probably thirty.) I did okay that night and before I realized it the magic hour of nine came along and the store closed. 'Whew' I thought. I made it through that. I'm gonna go home and rest. I did not know I would also be mopping and waxing all the floors and helping restock the shelves before going home. Good grief, what had mama gotten me in to. Believe it or not, we were done and out of there by 9:30 and my dad was waiting for me in the parking lot. The bedraggled man who had put me to work was the night manager. He told me to come back in on Saturday morning at eight and the store manager would talk to me. He would either officially hire me or pay me for my time and send me home.

The next morning I was there before the store opened and met all the employees working that day. Everyone but the manager was smoking, drinking coffee, and laughing it up. The manager was sitting in his office with a serious look on his face. I nearly turned around and walked out but I did need to start working. I walked in and introduced myself. I was surprised at his friendliness and appreciation for my willingness to jump right in and help the night before. The job was mine if I wanted it with a few stipulations. I had to have a car, no bicycles or reliance on parents, I had to show up clean shaven, white shirt, starched and ironed jeans or slacks, tie, polished shoes....and the most important part, he had to see and approve my report card at the end of each six weeks. Anything worse than a "C" and I would be fired on the spot. Out of all those stipulations the only one that worried me was, "had to have a car...no reliance on parents". I kind of had a car. My dad had bought an old car for Cindy and me to learn to drive in but so far we hadn't done any "learning". I didn't have a license and I sure didn't have any insurance. I was definitely reliant on my parents....so I answered, "No problem, when do you want me to start?" He wanted me to start that day right after I completed the application.

Now that I'm engaged as an up and rising sack boy for Foodway Grocery Store, I'll explain why I felt I really needed to get a job when I had no expenses in life. It was girls....isn't that always the case. It all comes down to girls. In my case it was just one girl. Before I was old enough or had any right to "fall in love" I fell head over heels for a girl a year younger than me. I had nothing of interest to present to this girl. I had no money. I couldn't drive. I was too young and stupid to have any imagination....but I fell "in love" anyway. Even though this girl, who I'll call....Francine, yeah Francine...even though Francine was younger than me, she had her drivers license, she had friends and a social life, and she even had a partially developed personality. As I desperately tried to interest Francine in being interested in me, I floundered because I had no means of transportation other than riding her around on the handlebars of my bike, I didn't have any money to take her out on a date, and I didn't have enough imagination to even know how to plan a date. I was still a stupid little boy without a clue. As an example, on her birthday I found out she had mentioned she was crazy about a Ford Thunderbird she really liked down at Helm-Lary Ford in Hurst. Old romantic me hopped on my reliable Western Flyer and rode over to take a look at the Thunderbird. Then I went to the hobby shop and spent one of my first paychecks on a model of that same Thunderbird, along with the matching paint. On Francine's birthday, when everyone else was giving her cards, flowers, and perfume I gave her the Thunderbird. I was impressed. She was not. Neither was anyone else at that party.

Dumb old me was learning fast about life. Not too sure I wanted to learn it. I had it pretty good as a dummy but I had to grow up. I talked to my dad and told him about the requirement the store manager had for me to drive myself to work. He, of course didn't act like he had a bit of sympathy for my rushing into adulthood but he told me I could take the Hoopie (our '53 Studebaker) to work and back....no other driving around. No joy riding! I'll find out! You know I will! I was overjoyed. I had a car to drive to work. Now all I had to do was avoid getting a ticket for driving without a license, having insurance, and as I found out later, not having a title to the car....different story. I wasn't too worried. The store was less than four blocks straight down one residential street so I felt safe. I felt like a king the first day I pulled into the Foodway parking lot driving my own car. Did I mention Foodway was located on a very steep hill? Probably not. Well, Foodway was located on a very steep hill which would normally be a mundane detail* but in this story it's good to know that on that day as I proudly wheeled into the parking lot the brakes on the Hoopie failed. Absolutely no brakes and no way to stop. Thinking like the adult I had magically become, I looked for the oldest car in the parking lot and ran into it. That stopped it, mission accomplished. Very minor damage and the owner couldn't have cared less. In fact, I had to point out the damage to him. The Hoopie already had a dent in the front so all was well. When I got my first break that night I called my dad to report the brakes and true to form he reminded me it wasn't his fault I was in such an all-fired hurry to grow up and I could figure out for myself how to fix those brakes. Naturally though, by the time my break was over I looked out to see my dad out under that old car fixing those brakes. 

The very first Saturday I had to work I drove off a little before eight and as I was pulling up to the intersection where the store was located I saw flashing lights come on behind me. I hadn't been speeding. I had been driving carefully....what had I done? How did he know I didn't have a drivers license?? I stopped just inside the store parking lot and waited for the strong arm of the law to ruin my life. I still remember the officer adjusting his belt and holster as he slowly walked up to the car, looking at it like it might be stolen. I rolled my window down and tried to not seem nervous...failing miserably. He looked down at me for a second, removed his sunglasses and said, "Son, any chance you might want to sell me this car?" I would have given it to him if it had really been mine but it belonged to my dad of course. I told him so and he wanted to make sure I told him if the car ever went up or sale. It's been nearly sixty years now and that old car still hasn't gone up for sale. However, that was my first hint that I might be driving a collectible and it made me a little more thoughtful of how I would stop it the next time the brakes failed.

I've got a lot more to say about my history at Foodway Grocery Store. It was a wonderful experience despite the pitfalls. I'll tell you about the pitfalls and more about good old Francine in the next installment.

*Editors note: This mundane detail is important in part two of the story as well.

In Summary...

 .....I promise, this is my last post boring you all with my ailments from the past two years. I've gone full circle now and a very patient physical therapist is trying to whip me back into shape after nearly two years of either sitting on my backside or falling on my face. After a particularly difficult workout yesterday he told me I absolutely have to help him in this long trek to make me workable again. I argued that I am faithfully doing all the exercises I've been assigned twice daily.....well, sometimes I do most of them twice daily and sometimes I do a few of them when I remember but, I DO at least think of them twice daily. He said, "Never the less Mr. Mihills, (he calls me Mr. Mihills when he's frustrated with me...he calls me Mr. Mihills a lot it seems) you have got to do more. You need daily aerobic training." While struggling to maintain a serious expression on my face, I frantically tried to remember what "aerobic" meant. I knew it was something I had always laughed at and never considered for myself...so, I sat staring blank-faced at him as if I were in shock.

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence the therapist continued. "You need to be out walking daily." I told him I had tried to walk but until I had some stamina I would walk until I had to stop and then call my wife to come get me or, if on a treadmill, fell off. He came back with, "Okay then, you need to ride a bike daily." I told him both my wife and doctor would not allow me to ever get on another bike because of my previous head injuries. Not to be discouraged...or maybe not to be defeated he came back with, "Excellent! You must go to the pool and swim for thirty minutes three times a week!" Rather than give him another excuse as to why I couldn't do that particular aerobic exercise, I just said, "Okay". I didn't have the heart to tell him I don't know how to swim.

I actually did go through the motions of learning how to swim during my sophomore year in college. I took swimming as a PE credit with thoughts of splashing around, doing cannon-balls, and holding my breath as long as I could...you know, the stuff kids do at pools. I did not think for a minute that this class was actually for swimming swimming...real swimming. I thought it was an easy credit to round out my need for one more PE course. On the first day of class I was shocked to find a real swimming coach wearing a real life-guard badge on a real swim suit, and sporting a shiny and very shrill whistle. To make the situation even worse, this coach was a woman! A very stern looking woman, built like a well-trained Marine. 

This coach, who I will simply refer to as "Coach" rather than constantly spelling out her complete name of "Coach Lucrecia McEvil", yelled for everyone to get into the pool and show her what we could do. Since nearly all of us were as dumb as me we did jump but then stood in the shallow end not wanting to show her how we could splash, do cannon-balls, or hold our breath. We were all old enough to know that would not impress Coach. A couple of brown-nosing idiots did try to swim but dropped like rocks and nearly drowned before Coach fished them out with the "Hook". Coach was very happy. She had a whole class of new clay to mold into Olympic swimmers by the end of the semester....if we survived.

Now I know I may come across as stupid in many of my stories. This is because I have spent a lot of my life stupid. But signing up for a swimming class just to get an easy college PE credit to finish up my sophomore year ranks right up there with the biggies as far as stupid goes. The only other stupid that comes close was when I was called in after I had applied for graduation and told I was three hours short to graduate. I needed an elective and most available classes were already full. Rather than delay graduation I signed up for calculus...seriously. I didn't even know how to spell calculus but I did not want to delay my graduation another semester so I signed up for, as an elective...calculus. I did pass it but my GPA took a bit of a hit. Anyway, that swimming course nearly caused me to start my "junior year" of college one hour short of actually being a "junior". It nearly caused me to sport an F in a physical education course. Shoot, it nearly killed me!

Coach was merciless. She drove us hard in that pool. I never knew a person could sweat in a swimming pool but sweat we did! By the end of that semester most of us had overcome our fear of water and could take a bath without someone standing guard outside the door. We could all shower and enjoy it. Some of us could actually say we could "swim" if we were asked...as long as we didn't have to prove it. Unfortunately for us, we did have to prove it to Coach. Our last day of class was our final for the semester. Pass it and go home with an A on your record. Fail it and go home with an F, no credit, humiliation, and the promise to never come near her pool again.

The test would have been a cakewalk had it been written, or even oral....but N-O-O-O. Coach insisted we take our test in the pool. Each one of us had to swim the length of the pool however we chose as long as we didn't drown. Then we had to climb out, go to the high dive and jump off, swim back over to the lanes and then swim back to her on our backs. If we could do that we would pass the course. I may have never mentioned this before but I am deathly afraid of deep water. I am so afraid of deep water I never go swimming, or even ride in a boat for fear I might somehow wind up in water over my head. The only fear I have worse than deep water is heights. In this test I had to overcome two fears at one time. I had to climb about a hundred feet in the air, walk out on a tiny little board about six inches across, and then jump...willingly into water that I knew had no bottom. This actually made the first step of the test easy for me because I was so focused on climbing the ladder to that high board I didn't give my swimming the length of the pool a second thought. It seemed like in just seconds I was across that pool and climbing out. I climbed out of the pool and walked as slowly as humanly possible without being declared dead to the ladder leading to that board so very, very high up there...way up there....higher than any man should be asked to go. At one point I froze on the ladder and had to be prompted by Coach's whistle to "hustle on up there Mihills...people are waiting!"

I got to the platform finally and couldn't even look down. I was so far up I couldn't believe it. How did I get myself in this situation? I graciously allowed every swimmer arriving at the platform to go ahead and do their jump before me. I didn't mind waiting. Finally, I was the last idiot on the platform. The whistle blew. I heard, "Get on the board Mihills!" I inched my way out thinking I might throw up before making it to end of that death board. I heard, "Move it Mihills. We don't have all day!" Actually I did have all day and I didn't much appreciate being rushed. I made it to the edge and looked down. I could not jump. I couldn't. My body was frozen in place. I heard that whistle blowing and non-coherent yelling going on but all my mind was registering was HIGH and DEEP! The good Lord finally slapped me up the side of the head and told me I was embarrassing Him and I needed to get moving. I heard the shrill whistle reach a new and improved octave and Coach trying out a new and scary growl, "Mihills, if you don't come off that board right now I'm coming up there to push you off!" I jumped....I fell forever it seemed before I hit the water then I sank probably three hundred feet at least. I frantically used every swimming technique I had learned and scrambled back up to air. I was so excited to have done the impossible...that was until I remembered I had to swim back to that miserable old woman on my back.

Coach yelled for me to get on with it and swim back to her on my back. I never mastered any part of swimming but I especially never mastered swimming on my back. People, including both sons and all eight grandchildren, tell me swimming on my back is the easiest way to swim. I say to them "NUH UH!" When I try to swim on my back I automatically propel myself to the bottom of the pool but I was not going to fail this test now. I had mastered the high board for crying out loud. I pushed off and successfully got about six feet away from the edge of the pool before I started sinking. I fought my way back up, grabbed a lungful of air and repeated the process over and over until I was about to the middle of the pool. I was completed worn out. Coach mercifully blew the whistle and yelled, "Mihills, you passed! Get out of the pool before you drown!" I was so happy. I was so tired. I sank to the bottom of the pool....and walked to the side so I could graciously pull myself out and get to my next class. 

So, today I get to experience swimming again. I am going to use Cody and Cayce's pool. I have made them promise no one will be out there to watch me and no cameras will be going. I do suspect though that Cayce will have someone hidden to make sure I don't drown. Cayce seems to want me to live longer for some reason and watches over me even more than Debbie. I don't even own a swimsuit so before the humiliation of going to their pool, I have to go through the humiliation of buying a swimsuit....oh, and a large towel.....some cheap sandals...sunscreen.....probably a lifesaving device disguised as a toy for the pool. Oh yeah, I need to check with our lawyer to make sure my will is up to date. I hope to be able to write again.....no promises....

Hershey

If you know me at all you know I am not a "pet person". I can't understand having animals running around causing all kinds of problems, most of which create a disgusting backyard ambiance. However, I did fall in love with one little puppy who came into our lives years ago. We named her Hershey. I don't know why but that's what she was stuck with...

Hershey was one of a large litter of....mutts. Their lineage obviously came from all over the neighborhood. We had a chance to pick one out "for free", and if you have ever had a pet you know the phrase "for free" is meaningless. Our boys, Jamie and Cody, immediately chose the runt of the litter because she was cute. I could not for the life of me distinguish one little mutt from another but those two boys had to have the cute, little...runt. So Hershey came into our family. (This is another phrase I didn't get at the time. Dogs are not family!) 

Hershey was typical of all puppies when first separated from mom and siblings. She was fun to be with during the day. She loved the boys so much she would pee when she got excited. She was nearly always excited. The night time brought new problems though. I insisted Hershey be an "outdoor" pet. I will explain why I used " " on the word outdoor later. Hershey did not like being alone in the backyard at night. Night after night she cried, howled, and begged to be let indoors. I continued to go to the boys rooms to tell them their dog was being a nuisance and it better stop. After the first two unsuccessful nights I gave up on the boys and brought her inside, made up a bed for her next to our bed, and slept with one arm hanging down into the box so she wouldn't feel lonely. I threatened her within an inch of her life if she made a mess in the house and she listened. This impressed me and I began to develop a small ember of....like for this animal.

Before I go further I will explain "outdoor" pet as an adjective rather than a redundancy. I was raised in a family where pets absolutely never came into our house. They were outdoor only. This one rule wasn't my dad's rule. It was my mom's. She forbade animals in the house. If you knew my sweet mom at all you knew she rarely forbade anything. She was a hoot....but she did not like dogs, cats, or anything else she couldn't either ride or eat. We could have any pet we wanted as long as it wasn't a cat, bird, lizard, snake, or rodent. We could have a dog and we had several over the years but only one ever made into the house for a brief moment. Our poor little dog Handy sneaked in an open back door one day and paid the price. He ran out of that house just a bit faster than the shoe my mom had thrown at him while she screamed bloody murder. Us kids didn't even come in for several hours after that. This is how I came to believe pets were strictly for outdoors.

I married a beautiful young lady who loved pets. We hadn't discussed this particular conflict before the marriage so I had little to stand on when the arguments started. While we were still in a one bedroom apartment learning how to be a married couple I came home to find a really ugly little mutt sitting in my chair! Rather than the prescribed, "Honey! I'm home!", Debbie heard me yell, "Arghhh! Debbie, there's a stupid mutt sitting on my chair! ARGHHH!" This scared the little pup and caused her to pee...all over my chair. My hysterics grew much more alarming as I ran toward my chair yelling for that dog to get out of there. This caused the poor little urchin to do the other thing dogs do....all over my chair. We did not keep this little pup for long. Luckily Debbie found a suitable home for her. This turned out to be a blessing for the puppy because Deb had found her wandering around the construction area of the new DFW Airport. I never knew while she was out there because the new dog was all I was interested in. She found it lost, dirty, hungry, and scared. She brought her home, gave her a bath in our bathtub, fed her and groomed her. Then I came home and made Deb get rid of her.

As the years passed and and the family grew, Debbie always wanted a pet around. I would not yield on my rule of no pets in the house so she kept her little orphans outside as they came and went. This was until we got Hershey.

Hershey was without a doubt, the smartest dog I've ever met. I would swear she would understand and commiserate with me when I sat out on the patio and complained about my stupid career choices. She learned to never bark unless she needed to give us a warning of impending doom...like the trash men coming by. AND, the best feature Hershey offered was never even trying to come into the house when a door was open. She knew her place. While she was still learning about her new home though she ran into a few problems on her own. Our yard was a pet's delight. Trees, pond, shed, and toys inadvertently left outside were a constant source of entertainment for her. I had a nice stack of firewood stacked next to our two trashcans which were just inside the gate leading to the front. Hershey learned really quick that she could climb up the firewood, onto the first can, and then jump up to the larger can. Here she could see out to the front if she stretched her little body far enough. It was her special place.

One morning the boys couldn't find Hershey. They came in worried because they could hear her crying but couldn't find her. I went out back with them and sure enough, Hershey was no where to be found.....but we could hear her. Eventually one of the boys figured out where she was. She had done her normal thing and jumped up to the tall can not knowing that one of us had left the lid on crooked. She hit that lid and fell in as it flipped over and slammed shut. Poor little thing spent the whole night in the trashcan. 

Hershey also impressed all of us because she actually understood us when we gave her a command. I know she did although she never shook her head and replied, "You got it boss". She just did as she was told and she never had to be told a second time. One afternoon I was going to cross the street to visit with my neighbor George. The boys were playing with Hershey in the front yard but when I stepped into the street Hershey tried to follow me. I turned around and said, "Hershey! Stay!" And stay she did. She sat down at the curb and waited for me to tell her what to do next. George and I wandered off to his garage out back and I was there for about two hours. When I came home I found Hershey still sitting  where I had told her to stay. She was waiting for me to tell her it was okay to go on back to the backyard. My ember of like was growing for Hershey and now I was beginning to think of her as family.

Debbie never gave up asking about letting her pets roam inside the house. When Hershey won me over I gave in and told her she could let Hershey in but she still had to sleep outside in her doghouse. Debbie went to the sliding glass door and called for Hershey. Hershey ran up and stopped at the door. Debbie told her to come on in. She looked at Debbie as if she were asking if there was a trick involved. Finally she ventured in and the boys were delighted. They played and Hershey was good. No damage, no accidents so it became a normal thing to let her in to play. She never seemed too anxious to stay for long inside. After just a bit she would wander back to the sliding door and hint she would like to go back out. Hershey was turning into the perfect pet. I loved that little dog.

We were so impressed with Hershey we began to brag about her like a grandparent would brag about a grandchild. Debbie loved to demonstrate Hershey's obedience and "smarts" by entertaining guests. She would go to the sliding glass door, open it and say, "Hershey, in!" Hershey would come in and say hello to everyone. Then Deb would slide the door back open and say, "Hershey, out!"....and out she would go. One day the boys had some friends over and they were sitting on the floor watching TV. Debbie told them to watch while she went to the glass door, slid it open, and invited Hershey in. As soon as Hershey came in Debbie told her to go out. Then she repeated the process, inviting Hershey in to play with the kids then telling her to go back out. Hershey always obeyed immediately by running full speed at the open door but on the last demonstration of the day as Debbie yelled for Hershey to go out, she slid the glass door closed and poor little Hershey ran right into that glass door. She didn't get hurt, as far as we know, and that's the only reason I'm sharing that memory. We all laughed til tears came at the situation but then immediately the boys and their friends all ran to Hershey with love and kisses. Debbie did feel bad but even today if that story is told she can't help but laugh.

One holiday weekend we decided on a trip to the Hill country to see some of my relatives. Jamie had his first job so he had to stay home and promised to be careful, not let strangers in the house, have no parties, and take care of Hershey. On Sunday afternoon we got a call from Jamie. He was worried about Hershey. Something didn't seem right. Now, normally I would have gone on with my weekend and not worried about it but Hershey was family. We packed up and came home a day early. We got home and immediately went out to check on Hershey. We found her swollen, lethargic, and struggling to breathe. This was a Sunday night. No veterinarians were open. In a panic we found an emergency animal hospital in the next town over and took Hershey there. They thought she had been bitten by a snake so they treated her, gave us some pills to force down her, charged us a small fortune and sent us home. We fixed a bed in the garage for her and she seemed comfortable. She could at least breathe without difficulty. The next day though she was worse. We watched over her most of the day but by late afternoon we knew we had to get her back to that hospital. We loaded her up and got over there in a hurry. The doctor on duty was the same as had been there the night before so he knew what he was dealing with. We were escorted in immediately ahead of a couple other pet owners waiting their turn to see the doc. When they saw the shape Hershey was in they didn't seem to mind at all. 

As all four of us stood around that stainless steel table with the boys both crying, the doctor tried to figure out what he could do for Hershey. His aide was there as well and they were trying to figure out what to do while Hershey got worse by the minute. Her breathing became labored and she wouldn't wake up as we patted her and talked to her. The doctor finally told us our little dog was dying and there was nothing he could do. Now all four of us were crying (yes, I did cry for a pet). The aide and the doctor both had tears in their eyes as he suggested we go ahead and "put her down". I never liked that phrase but it made sense to me then. We had to help Hershey since she couldn't help herself. She was struggling for each breath. The doctor told us we should go ahead and leave while he did what needed to be done. I felt like I was leaving a close friend behind and I have a lump in my throat right now as I tell you about it. We went to the waiting room and mourned the loss of our little dog. When the doctor came out and told us Hershey was gone I couldn't bear to see her again. The doctor offered to have a service come get her and bury her in a pet cemetery. Now, I have never been one to spend money on an animal but right then I didn't care how much it cost. I wanted Hershey taken care of properly.  We agreed to have Hershey buried in this cemetery and paid the enormous sum of money to have it done. This cost, along with two emergency hospital visits in two days, cost more than I would ever have willingly spent on any pet for any reason....but this was Hershey.

A week passed after Hershey was gone. The boys and I had emptied the yard of all memories of our little friend. We gave the dog house away, threw away the food and water bowls, and I hauled off my stack of firewood where I figured the snake had probably been. Then we got a card from the cemetery owners thanking us for "trusting them with our precious pet" and advising us Hershey had been buried with dignity. Debbie and I both wondered if dignity was an act of kindness or the name of another pet.

I wish I had another dog like Hershey but I know I never will. Debbie still loves animals and wants to bring them home as pets but I don't allow it anymore. None of the later pets have measured up to Hershey's standards and Debbie eventually grows tired of them and gives up on them. I don't want to say "bye" to another little dog.....I'll say "bye" to cats all day long. I can't stand cats.

A Glimpse of Memory....

I've been bemoaning the fact that my old memories have faded away. It happened during my surgery and multiple CT Scans (although the neurosurgeon poo-pooed that idea). I have been working toward getting them back, the memories I mean, along with the normal use of my legs and vocal chords. It's a long journey but I'm getting there. I know people are as tired of hearing about it as much as I am living it. 

A few days ago I was sitting in my den feeling sorry for myself when something Debbie said jolted a memory to the surface. It wasn't a monumental memory....wasn't particularly funny even but doggone it, it was a memory. I'll tell you about it but first a word from our sponsor: 

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We've had the opportunity to host a college intern this summer. She's a sweet girl but shy. We're really trying to make her feel at home. In fact, Debbie made her do the dishes just last night....just kidding. We don't know how to entertain young people anymore. If you are older than six, you've outgrown our talents. We don't know how to do anything but watch TV and work in the yard. (Debbie works, I watch). This sweet girl (I'll call her Gina) is finally coming out of her room to visit with us occasionally now but she still doesn't seem at home. One evening she came into the den and sat down in one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the room and started watching one of our super intellectual shows. Debbie invited her to come sit on the sofa with her. She did. Debbie then told her we don't have any rules about furniture and stuff. "Go ahead, take off your shoes, stretch out, put your feet on the coffee table. Get comfortable." That last comment reminded me of the time I realized that even as a stinky, skinny little boy, I was still important and welcomed. 

We absolutely did not put our feet on any of the furniture. We had an ottoman which was not to be used as a footstool by us smelly old kids. We could sit on it if our clothes were clean but we could not put our feet on the ottoman. It was 'furniture'. The same held true at my aunt Ramona's house but only in the formal living room. The den was lovingly offered for our destruction. But when we went to aunt Cricket's house, there were no rules. I'm serious. This wonderful woman who laughed all the time and carted us around to junk yards, playgrounds, and anywhere else we suggested showed me I was welcome. We lived close enough to aunt Cricket that we could go visit her regularly. It was about a twenty minute drive to her house unless uncle JD was driving. Then the trip lasted about ten hair-raising minutes. On one occasion, probably the birth of another sister, I had to spend the night at aunt Cricket's house. I was warned to be on my best behavior. After my shower that night I came into their den and sat down in the only chair I knew no one else would want and sat there with my hands in my lap. The show being watched was some old comedy and everyone was laughing and having a good time. They were even eating ice cream IN THE DEN and not at the dining room table. I didn't know what to do so I became invisible, or so I thought. I had been perfecting invisibility for several of my six or seven years of life, however aunt Cricket saw me anyway. I'll never forget what she said and how she said it; "Rusty, get over here and grab a spot. Put your feet up on the coffee table and get comfortable. Peggy, (my cousin) get in there and get Rusty a bowl of ice cream." This type of thing had never happened. I know it's a silly little memory but it was important enough to me that as I searched back for fond memories, this is the first one that came back. I sure loved my aunt Cricket...still do love her. I'm sure she's reading this. I think Heaven would not be heaven if my blogs were blocked.

One more amazing thing happened this week. I was hitching a ride home from a little league game in my son Cody's car. As we drove along Cody said to Carter, "Hey Carter, see that old bicycle shop over there? It was a grocery store when I was in high school and I worked there!" Carter was so impressed he almost acknowledged Cody's comment. That made me offer, "Hey Carter, if you really want a blast from the past, one of these days I'll drive you by the old derelict building that was a brand new grocery store where I worked as a kid!" I'm thinking Carter was overwhelmed with awesomeness because he had a bit of a glazed over expression on his face which told me he couldn't wait to see that old building. Whether I ever drive by that old building again or not, that quick jolt of memory brought back a flood of fond memories stretching from high school, through college, and into my professional career. As soon as I got home from the game I grabbed a notebook and wrote down eighteen memories I had recalled. Stay tuned because I've got some catching up to do. There will be stories ranging from 'chasing the shoplifter' to 'blazing grasshoppers' to 'life in the fast lane as a 19 year old "boss". I can't wait to write them. I hope you can't wait to read them.

Seasons...

I'm not a huge fan of spring time. Oh sure, it's nice to be freed from coats and sweaters...to be able to sit out on the porch without either freezing or sweating, and to look forward to summer for some reason. But spring doesn't hold a lot of memories for me. I do remember the joy of switching over from football to baseball. I was a miserable failure at football, never even considered basketball with all that running and stuff, but I was a fair baseball player. At least I knew what was going on during any given game. Other than that, I wouldn't bother with spring. 

Spring is when bugs start to show up. Creepy crawly bugs of all sort begin to show up. The absolute worst spring time spectacular is the coming of the season's termite swarms. Now, we haven't been bothered by termites in nearly 25 years but before that every stinking spring we would be swarmed...and it didn't matter which house we owned...termites swarmed in the spring. It got to where I started down a path of depression right after Christmas worrying about termites. 

Spring is when it starts to warm up a bit too much. This year we've been blessed by a reasonably long spring. Normally in Texas winter ends on one day and summer begins the next but not this year. I have to admit, it's been nice. But I still don't like spring. Spring is the prelude to summer and summer in Texas is...to remain a Christian...not very nice. 

I despise summer. Cookouts, fire works, baseball games, or anything else remotely considered fun can not compensate for the cotton-picking heat. I begin looking forward to fall sometime around the middle of June. Sadly, it's a long wait since fall generally happens in late November down here. Fall is always a nice weekend though.

Winter is....eh, you know. It's winter. Nobody likes winter. So now you know I'm only happy during the weekend we call "fall". So why do I live in Texas you ask? Go ahead, somebody ask. You back there on the third row second seat....speak up boy! Well, I'll tell you why I live in Texas. Two reasons come to mind. First of all my mama lived in Texas the year I was born so I felt I needed to be here for that. Secondly, grandchildren. I can't move away from my grandchildren. Just watch though. All of them will graduate from college, marry, and move off to Idaho or Colorado....or maybe Virginia! The less intelligent ones might move to Florida, but I know none of them will stay here. If I'm still breathing I'll be stuck right here in Texas. Just me and Deb. The boys have already said they're out of here as soon as all the kids leave home. Why will we still be here in Texas? Because Hurst is in Texas and Debbie can't leave Hurst. 

Don't get me started on Debbie's love of Hurst. She was dropped on her head as a baby and never fully recovered. And, I didn't start this story with the plan of talking about Hurst, or Texas, or seasons for that matter. Truth be told, I can't remember the story I was about to tell. It's gone from my memory now. I thought of it during the night and managed to hold on to it til I started writing, then POOF, it was gone. If my memory doesn't come back completely soon I'm going to have to start making stuff up.

I told Debbie recently I was having flashbacks of my youth but always late at night. She suggested I write myself notes about the memory before going back to sleep. Very few people carry pen and paper to bed with them and I'm one of those people. Then she reminded me I could make notes on my phone to be read back later. I thought that was a great idea and began putting words down to spark my memory. So far I have "Starbucks", "Pelican, and "Giant Snake". I don't know where to go with those notes. I'll keep working on it.

In the meantime, if you remember something from the past and I was even remotely related to the incident, please let me know. Maybe it will spark a story. I do have memories left that aren't funny. It seems sadness and misfortune aren't easily forgotten but I sure don't want to write about any of that. My job is to lift your spirits and I know I've failed lately. This NPH did a number on my brain. Stupid NPH....stupid, stupid, stupid...but hey, at least I'm still handsome!

Downtown...

 It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....oops, sorry. That's the start of another short story....about the French Revolution....and I didn't write it. My stories are about the best and worst times of growing up in the 50's and 60's. There were very few "worst times" but a whole lot of "best times". I'm sorry for anyone who didn't get to grow up in that time frame.

I was out for my daily 1-1/4 mile walk today and got to thinking about how much excitement grew with us kids as we knew shopping day in downtown was coming up. If we still did our shopping this way now we would be considered old fashioned, out of sync old people but I just bet we would have more fun. We didn't get to downtown as often as some of my rich cousins living over in River Oaks and Lake Worth. Downtown for them was just down the road on Jacksboro Highway straight into the city where it turned into Henderson Street. The drive for them was accomplished by one of two wonderful aunts who took the time to learn how to drive when they were teens. 

My mom never took that time needed to learn to drive. When we lived in River Oaks this wasn't a problem because either Aunt Ramona or Aunt Cricket would always let us tag along wherever they went. Then my dad decided to do us a favor and move us out to Hurst, or as family members referred to it, "the sticks". He wanted us to have more open country to roam around in without fear of getting run over on those busy streets all the sane people lived on. There was nothing.....nothing in Hurst at the time but a grocery store, drug store, doctors office, and the dime store. All these establishments were centrally located out on old Highway 183. We did have lots of safe areas to play and explore but we did not have access to wheels and a licensed driver to take us anywhere else unless my dad was off work....and in a willing mood. These two things didn't merge very often but not because daddy was an ogre. He just worked so much when he finally had some time off he wanted to spend it at home and not "galavanting all over town". This was his favorite phrase, "I don't want to go galavanting all over town for crying out loud!" He was a funny guy.

I have gotten so far off the subject now I've got to stop to remember what I was originally writing about.....hmmm...give me a minute. Let's go to the kitchen for a snack..............well, that was a bust. Debbie really needs to go grocery shopping. But I did remember my story.

Going downtown in the 50's was exciting for just about everyone in the family. There were so many things to see like the gospel preachers yelling to us about Hell, the air vents on the sidewalks where hot air would swoosh up on us from some mysterious place, the air-conditioned drug stores where you could get an ice cream cone for a nickel, and most important of all, the old man with no legs selling pencils. He got around by using his hands like feet. He was always, always there. Daddy never failed to buy a pencil from him but then he always gave the pencil back. Oh sure, daddy grumbled about having to be downtown instead of home but that didn't stop him from shopping as hard as the rest of us. Most of the memories I have though of downtown were before we moved to Hurst and we would hitch a ride with one of our aunts. I was so small back then that we had a protocol we had to follow. Cindy had to walk right next to Mama and I had to follow close behind while holding on to the hem of her dress. That was evidently a common way to keep the kids in tow back then. Many a big sale at Leonard's Dept store was spent holding on to mama's hem while making beady eyes at some other kid holding onto his mama's hem. If we let go of that hem all was lost. And that happened one day.

I loved going up the escalators in the stores to the second and third floors. The windows up there were always open and you could look down on the people on the sidewalks. Great fun, but mama wasn't always shopping next to a window. Usually the really big sales were closer to the escalators and far away from those wonderful open windows. One day she stopped next to a window to look at some outfit she would love to have but never buy. I got busy looking out the window and let go of that hem. I had the best time at the window dropping little pieces of trash found on the floor. Feathers were my favorite although they were few and far between. Anyway, I eventually realized my right hand was hemless and the panic started to rise. I looked around and mama and Cindy were gone! I held the scream in until I had a chance to do a reconnaissance of the area and luckily spotted my hem. I ran over and grabbed on to the hem and held on tight for about fifteen seconds. That's how long it took me to realize the hem I was holding did not belong to my mama. The scream came then. I yelled like a girl which brought attention to the owner of the hem I was holding. She screamed even louder and pulled her hem away from my sweaty little fingers. That made me scream with a new and improved, blood curdling scream previously unused by me. I was awash in unfamiliar hems and scared out of my mind. Fortunately, mama found me pretty quick since I had stopped all activity on the second floor of Leonard's. She put her hem back in my hand and told me not to ever do that again...I did not.

As I grew a little older and the trips to downtown were less frequent I was allowed more freedom during shopping day. I could wander around as long as I stayed on the same floor and didn't drink from the pale green water fountain. (That's another story too sad to tell.) I did use the green fountain once though out of curiosity. The water tasted the very same as the white one next to it but some old man really got on to me so I never did it again. He scared me so bad I wished I had mama's hem to hang on to. It didn't take long for the appeal of shopping to grow stale. You can only watch women look at clothes for so long before you want to run out the door screaming for mercy. The attraction of open windows disappeared after some fool introduced air-conditioning to the better stores. There was no appeal to downtown shopping anymore. That is, until Leonard's opened their world famous discount basement store. That's a story for another time but I will say the last time I visited that basement I was grown with a family of my own. A family member who will remain unnamed absolutely had to visit this famous basement while he was in town. Like I said, another time....