Crosstimber

We came back from a year in New Mexico feeling pretty rich. My dad felt it necessary to quit Convair rather than face a transfer to California where all the crazy people lived. He decided the best thing to do was to bring the family back to Hurst where folks were normal...even if it cost him his job....which it did. So, there we were, five kids, a mama, and a daddy who didn't have a job.

I spent a lot of time in my adult life trying to figure out how someone with five kids to feed could willfully walk away from a good paying job with eighteen years seniority without having something better lined up. It had to be a difficult decision to make. There were two in junior high, two in grade school, and one little prima donna who had yet to face the discomforts of formal education. However, the decision having been made, we traveled back to Hurst thinking life would be good.

Because we were kids and sheltered from reality, we thought we were embarking on another adventure when we were told the house on Elm Street was still leased out with another six months on the contract and we would have to rent a house some place. We found a mansion, approximately 1600 square feet, to rent on Crosstimber Court in the rich part of town. It was massive let me tell you. It had a beautiful lawn on a private cul-de-sac and neighbors were just as snooty as they could be....it was great! I know those neighbors were tickled for us to move into their quiet neighborhood. Five extra kids on bicycles always improve a neighborhood.

After moving into the house on Crosstimber daddy got busy trying to find work. He tried the Lennox plant and couldn't get on there. He tried to go back to Convair but of course he couldn't get a job there either. Finally, he gave up and went over to Bell Helicopter. He felt a bit odd applying for a job where they manufactured little things resembling grasshoppers. He had worked for many years at "the bomber plant" for crying out loud. He needed a job though despite his aching pride. As it worked out Bell hired him and he started to work at $2.00 an hour. This was in 1962 and I swear that sounded like a lot of money to me. I didn't know for many years just how big a pay cut he had taken to insure we didn't have to grow up around crazy people. That year of 1962 had significance though if you are a student of U.S. history. There was an ugly situation on the horizon called "the Vietnam War". This war used helicopters....lots and lots of helicopters. Bell Helicopter wound up being a great move on dad's part. Just like his ancestors before him, he stumbled into success despite his best efforts.

I truly feel life turns out the best for everyone. Oh, I guess it didn't appear so great for all those poor guys receiving draft notices but that's another story....and a dark story I will probably never tell. Daddy got a great job with lots of overtime, we got to live in a really nice house in a snooty neighborhood, we had a set of woods with a creek running through it just across the street, AND the biggest reward for this move was I was just around the corner from Bertha Leghorn (name changed to protect me). Ah, Bertha Leghorn. I had fallen in love with her in the sixth grade before we were transferred. She was beautiful, she was a cheerleader, she was popular, and as I learned in junior high school, she was not particularly bright. I did not care. I was not particularly bright either.

During the short time we lived on Crosstimber I rode past Bertha Leghorn's house probably a million, no make that a billion times. I kept thinking she might eventually come outside to see how great I looked on my bicycle. She never came outside....ever. I finally decided the reason she never came out when I rode by was because she was intimidated by my good looks and athletic ability on a bike. It never occurred to me she would be hiding inside because that creepy stalker was riding by again. I was so consumed by Bertha Leghorn and the bicycle trips I had to make around the corner it took me way too long to notice the girl on the other side of our back fence. Valerie Whohadapool (name changed to protect me again). Yes, Valerie was a very pretty girl living behind us. As I may have mentioned in this and other stories, I was not real bright. We were getting close to having our house back on Elm Street when Valerie yelled at me one day from over the fence asking why I had never come over to swim with her. I hated to tell her I had no idea she existed. I climbed up on that fence, took a look, and realized just how stupid I really was. Here it was, early fall and Valerie had been out swimming all summer...alone...just her, while all I was doing was riding that cotton-picking bicycle around and around hoping to be seen by Bertha Leghorn. Stupid, stupid, stupid...what more can I say?!

Before I ever had the time to convince Valerie Whohadapool to fall in love with me we moved back into our house on Elm Street. I'm sure the neighbors missed us when we moved. I do know they had a block party after we were gone...probably a form of grief recovery.