I grew up in the countryside north of Niles, Michigan. I have to say it was wonderful to be able to move about so freely in the fields and woods, pastures and skinny-dipping in the farmers irrigation ponds.
I attended a "country school". It was first to sixth grades and some of my most memorable times came about because of some of the teachers and especially the students.
I moved to that school starting the third grade. I was an outsider. We moved from a lakeside community outside of Niles into a country home. Being an outsider proved to be a challenge.
My first day I was beaten by two boys from the demands of a girl whom I didn't even know.
It was tough at first. Tough, because I had a lot of odds against me. The two worst; I was the smallest boy in my grade and I had asthma. For anybody out there who grew up without the convenience of an inhaler, you can understand. I lived with death at my door practically every time I had a bout. Back then the Doc gave us pills. But then you had to wait for the pills to take effect which could be up to 20min, or more.
No fun at all.
But, it was also when I met my new "best friend". I will call him Sgt. Rock for the sake of anonimity.
He lived on a farm with a 40 acre playground! It was AWESOME!! At the age of 8 I learned to drive a tractor, shoot guns and play in haystacks. The haystacks nearly killed me when I found out they could trigger an asthma attack. Much to my parents disagreement I did it anyway.
They had cows. I ate fresh butter and fresh milk. I ate fresh beef and vegetables and eggs....JEEZUZ!! What happened?! My kids have NO idea of what that tastes like.
Sgt. Rock was a free spirit. The countryside festered that in most.
Also, living in the country breeds a lot of imagination for a child. Basically, there's not much to do and your closest friend might live several miles away.
Sgt. Rock was a leader. He was no doubt the biggest influence in my life at that time.
As kids growing up in the 60's we were curious about the state of affairs happening in the world. The cold War gave us goosebumps. And yes, I do remember preparing for a nuclear attack meant crawling under your desk at school. It was also the time of the "Cultural Revolution". But, as country kids we came from some very conservative, yet understanding parents.
The Sgt. saw this as a time to be creative. Easy Rider was in the theatres and Hells Angels were the Rebels of the times. So, what do a group of boys with bicycles with banana seats, high rise handlebars and "sissybars" do?!! They form their own "motorcycle gang" (we had to make the sounds for the bikes though). As I said, the Sgt. was a free spirit and also the Leader of our pack. We wanted to be like the Hell's Angels; rebels, free-spirited and ready to go to VietNam to "kick sum ass"!
We had a pack of about 7 kids. In our minds we were the toughest SOB's on the planet! Except for the time the Sgt. ramped his bike into the air which looked REALLY cool until he came back to earth the wrong way! Yes, my friends, the Sgt. was cryin' like a baby After he caught his breath, After he barred his Balls on the bike. We ROCKED!!!
I can't remember the name of our gang, but we had Colors. We decorated our vests with MC WHATEVER it was....
But you know, some parents can be cruel without realizing what they do to their children's mental growth at times. You see, dear Readers, I had the misfortune of growing up in a household where Levi's were considered to be worn by Hoodlums and thieves. I don't get it. My mother came from the hills of Tennessee and I know they wore BIBS to farm in!!!
But! Not me! No denim, no Levi's.
But, I did make my vest AND with our patches with the MC What....... Boy, did I piss my mother off when she found out I took my plaid bathrobe, cut it up and made my vest from it. And you want to know something?! my biker friends kinda snickered at first, but it was still kinda cool. We ROCKED!!
The Sgt. was like a brother to me back then. I almost lived on his farm in the summertime, fall, winter and spring. We were inseperable,..until, we finished sixth grade and had to attend school in the city. Niles back in those days was a bustling community. A lot of industry. It also had the "city kids" whom disliked us "country kids". It also segregated "US". Not only my best friend, but all of us who left that country school. It was devastating for some of us. Some handled it well. Myself, I liked it in a way, because I always thought the city was fun. There was so much more to do.
However, the Sgt. didn't adjust. Being the "free spirit" he was proved to be his eventual downfall and "dropping out" of school. He was very "outspoken".
We lost track for years. Occassionally, I'd see him, but it wasn't the same. We were growing into young men and VietNam was no longer cool.
And then, one day I received a letter. The Sgt. decided to join the Army and was shipping out. He'd had enough of the BS life was throwing at him. I think it was the anger (maybe) of not being able to conform to a world with too many options.
I got letters of him from around the world. Germany, Japan, South Korea.
And then, he had to come home briefly. His mother died of cancer. We had a wake at the farm in her honor. The Sgt. and I reminiced over old times and we shared the grief of his loss. A moment had passed and the Sgt. turned and started to walk away into a newly plowed cornfield. I let him go thinking he needed a moment. But he returned with this smile on his face that I hadn't seen since we were kids, "country kids". I noticed he had a cord in his hand and as I was about to ask, he said, " This is for Ma, John." And he pulled the cord.
THE CORD was a cable about 150 feet long which was attached to an object I could barely see (it was dusk) out in the cornfield. ***Let me set the scene before I continue. There were quite a few people at the wake. His mother was loved by anyone who came into her kitchen. There were families with small children running through the yard and the barn, by the chicken coop...it was quite the affair.
Now, back to The Cord....
As the cord became taut a brilliant flash of light burst from the field. No, let me say,..an explosion came out of the field with an intense flash of light, a loud boom and then,..the shockwave! Yes, shockwave. Needless to say that not only the Sgt and I were knocked to our asses, but children were strewn about, tumbling on the ground and running in all directions!
After the first few moments of shock we returned to our feet with ringing in our ears and the increasing volume of children crying in terror. I looked at the Sgt and said, "HOW THE F... DID YOU GET THAT?!!" And then we both began laughing so hard we cried. And we cried for Ma.
The Sgt left the following day only to learn he was being stationed at Fort Riley. He had orders to leave for Kuwait (the first assault on Hussein). The Sgt was anxious, it was his moment. He was a tank commander for the Big Red One, the first ground assault unit to move into Kuwait. In one of his letters after the attack he wrote, it was over in a matter of hours with Iraqi's surrendering and crying with relief that the Americans were there to save them!
The Sgt was proud, but never boastful.
When he returned stateside I flew out to Kansas to see him and his wife. It was a 3 day drunk.
One night I woke to go to the bathroom to rid myself of the gallons of Budweiser we'd consumed that day. As I was trying to find the light I stumbled over something on the floor. I found the switch...and the Sgt.,....lying on the floor with his underwear around his knees and his cat sleeping on his back. As I tried to lift him up he said, "hmm, thought I was back in the desert." I never asked.
About a year later I got a phone call from the Sgt. He was being "retired" by the Army. It was devasting to him. It was his life. It was Clinton's plan to reduce spending.
It's been some years and we've lost touch as all good friends do. The last I heard he was living in N.Carolina with his wife enjoying what they could of the "goodlife" (he built a Kegerator by the pool). But I know that's not the way he wanted retirement. Not Sgt. Rock. He was a formidable man. The Army gleaned, trained and created a machine capable of handling a battalion of men ready to give their lives for their country as well as him. He was, as some men say, "built like a brick shithouse" and was bred to be a leader. A leader of Soldiers.
So, in retrospect, I salute you, Sgt. We played "army" as kids, but you lived it!
I thank the powers that be I had an opportunity to be your friend in this lifetime.
I'm carrying that tune of "Born to be Wild" in my head right now.....I really wish my parents would've allowed me to wear a denim vest.
I attended a "country school". It was first to sixth grades and some of my most memorable times came about because of some of the teachers and especially the students.
I moved to that school starting the third grade. I was an outsider. We moved from a lakeside community outside of Niles into a country home. Being an outsider proved to be a challenge.
My first day I was beaten by two boys from the demands of a girl whom I didn't even know.
It was tough at first. Tough, because I had a lot of odds against me. The two worst; I was the smallest boy in my grade and I had asthma. For anybody out there who grew up without the convenience of an inhaler, you can understand. I lived with death at my door practically every time I had a bout. Back then the Doc gave us pills. But then you had to wait for the pills to take effect which could be up to 20min, or more.
No fun at all.
But, it was also when I met my new "best friend". I will call him Sgt. Rock for the sake of anonimity.
He lived on a farm with a 40 acre playground! It was AWESOME!! At the age of 8 I learned to drive a tractor, shoot guns and play in haystacks. The haystacks nearly killed me when I found out they could trigger an asthma attack. Much to my parents disagreement I did it anyway.
They had cows. I ate fresh butter and fresh milk. I ate fresh beef and vegetables and eggs....JEEZUZ!! What happened?! My kids have NO idea of what that tastes like.
Sgt. Rock was a free spirit. The countryside festered that in most.
Also, living in the country breeds a lot of imagination for a child. Basically, there's not much to do and your closest friend might live several miles away.
Sgt. Rock was a leader. He was no doubt the biggest influence in my life at that time.
As kids growing up in the 60's we were curious about the state of affairs happening in the world. The cold War gave us goosebumps. And yes, I do remember preparing for a nuclear attack meant crawling under your desk at school. It was also the time of the "Cultural Revolution". But, as country kids we came from some very conservative, yet understanding parents.
The Sgt. saw this as a time to be creative. Easy Rider was in the theatres and Hells Angels were the Rebels of the times. So, what do a group of boys with bicycles with banana seats, high rise handlebars and "sissybars" do?!! They form their own "motorcycle gang" (we had to make the sounds for the bikes though). As I said, the Sgt. was a free spirit and also the Leader of our pack. We wanted to be like the Hell's Angels; rebels, free-spirited and ready to go to VietNam to "kick sum ass"!
We had a pack of about 7 kids. In our minds we were the toughest SOB's on the planet! Except for the time the Sgt. ramped his bike into the air which looked REALLY cool until he came back to earth the wrong way! Yes, my friends, the Sgt. was cryin' like a baby After he caught his breath, After he barred his Balls on the bike. We ROCKED!!!
I can't remember the name of our gang, but we had Colors. We decorated our vests with MC WHATEVER it was....
But you know, some parents can be cruel without realizing what they do to their children's mental growth at times. You see, dear Readers, I had the misfortune of growing up in a household where Levi's were considered to be worn by Hoodlums and thieves. I don't get it. My mother came from the hills of Tennessee and I know they wore BIBS to farm in!!!
But! Not me! No denim, no Levi's.
But, I did make my vest AND with our patches with the MC What....... Boy, did I piss my mother off when she found out I took my plaid bathrobe, cut it up and made my vest from it. And you want to know something?! my biker friends kinda snickered at first, but it was still kinda cool. We ROCKED!!
The Sgt. was like a brother to me back then. I almost lived on his farm in the summertime, fall, winter and spring. We were inseperable,..until, we finished sixth grade and had to attend school in the city. Niles back in those days was a bustling community. A lot of industry. It also had the "city kids" whom disliked us "country kids". It also segregated "US". Not only my best friend, but all of us who left that country school. It was devastating for some of us. Some handled it well. Myself, I liked it in a way, because I always thought the city was fun. There was so much more to do.
However, the Sgt. didn't adjust. Being the "free spirit" he was proved to be his eventual downfall and "dropping out" of school. He was very "outspoken".
We lost track for years. Occassionally, I'd see him, but it wasn't the same. We were growing into young men and VietNam was no longer cool.
And then, one day I received a letter. The Sgt. decided to join the Army and was shipping out. He'd had enough of the BS life was throwing at him. I think it was the anger (maybe) of not being able to conform to a world with too many options.
I got letters of him from around the world. Germany, Japan, South Korea.
And then, he had to come home briefly. His mother died of cancer. We had a wake at the farm in her honor. The Sgt. and I reminiced over old times and we shared the grief of his loss. A moment had passed and the Sgt. turned and started to walk away into a newly plowed cornfield. I let him go thinking he needed a moment. But he returned with this smile on his face that I hadn't seen since we were kids, "country kids". I noticed he had a cord in his hand and as I was about to ask, he said, " This is for Ma, John." And he pulled the cord.
THE CORD was a cable about 150 feet long which was attached to an object I could barely see (it was dusk) out in the cornfield. ***Let me set the scene before I continue. There were quite a few people at the wake. His mother was loved by anyone who came into her kitchen. There were families with small children running through the yard and the barn, by the chicken coop...it was quite the affair.
Now, back to The Cord....
As the cord became taut a brilliant flash of light burst from the field. No, let me say,..an explosion came out of the field with an intense flash of light, a loud boom and then,..the shockwave! Yes, shockwave. Needless to say that not only the Sgt and I were knocked to our asses, but children were strewn about, tumbling on the ground and running in all directions!
After the first few moments of shock we returned to our feet with ringing in our ears and the increasing volume of children crying in terror. I looked at the Sgt and said, "HOW THE F... DID YOU GET THAT?!!" And then we both began laughing so hard we cried. And we cried for Ma.
The Sgt left the following day only to learn he was being stationed at Fort Riley. He had orders to leave for Kuwait (the first assault on Hussein). The Sgt was anxious, it was his moment. He was a tank commander for the Big Red One, the first ground assault unit to move into Kuwait. In one of his letters after the attack he wrote, it was over in a matter of hours with Iraqi's surrendering and crying with relief that the Americans were there to save them!
The Sgt was proud, but never boastful.
When he returned stateside I flew out to Kansas to see him and his wife. It was a 3 day drunk.
One night I woke to go to the bathroom to rid myself of the gallons of Budweiser we'd consumed that day. As I was trying to find the light I stumbled over something on the floor. I found the switch...and the Sgt.,....lying on the floor with his underwear around his knees and his cat sleeping on his back. As I tried to lift him up he said, "hmm, thought I was back in the desert." I never asked.
About a year later I got a phone call from the Sgt. He was being "retired" by the Army. It was devasting to him. It was his life. It was Clinton's plan to reduce spending.
It's been some years and we've lost touch as all good friends do. The last I heard he was living in N.Carolina with his wife enjoying what they could of the "goodlife" (he built a Kegerator by the pool). But I know that's not the way he wanted retirement. Not Sgt. Rock. He was a formidable man. The Army gleaned, trained and created a machine capable of handling a battalion of men ready to give their lives for their country as well as him. He was, as some men say, "built like a brick shithouse" and was bred to be a leader. A leader of Soldiers.
So, in retrospect, I salute you, Sgt. We played "army" as kids, but you lived it!
I thank the powers that be I had an opportunity to be your friend in this lifetime.
I'm carrying that tune of "Born to be Wild" in my head right now.....I really wish my parents would've allowed me to wear a denim vest.
Posts
1 comment:
John, you are definitely an original! That was interesting and I look forward to reading more. Hope you are well and pushing on, just remember to kick in that second wind and you'll be back at the Camelia Grill for a cheeseburger in pardice before you know it!
Take care my friend!
Tortoise
Post a Comment