CHAPTER 13 The Lesson Of Roaches

The Giant Rats of Sumatra reinforced what I had already come to conclude in life; the World was not ready for change. I spent the next couple of months with my folks remodeling the bathroom in exchange for my room and board, and wondering what would happen next in my young life. Carol and I were still dating and at least that part of my life was making some sense. The relationship was healthy, though we both thought each other slightly strange. I guess that was the fascination. She was a tiny girl, just under five feet with big brown eyes and very dark hair. I was a strapping six-foot 240 pound giant beside her. There was an intimate style to her though, that could get to you. She got to me quite well and I, to her. However unlikely our romance was, it continued.

As far as my radio career was concerned, I heard far too much from my parents about abandoning my college education to go chase a meaningless life as a radio DJ. It continued past the point of boredom and on into a depressing drone of monotony at almost every meal. My remodeling job on the bathroom being finished, my usefulness at the house was coming into question and things began to become desperate. I confronted blunt hints from my mother of finding a "real" job like the other people on the street. I could sense the direction the mood was taking and things were beginning to turn ugly between my family and I. To make matters worse, I had resumed my friendship with Scott and there was no mistaking my mother's disapproval of him. To her and the rest of the world, Scott was an aloof bohemianistic Soldier of Fortune with a completely impractical sense of values and absolutely no future. Actually, she and the world were quite correct in that asessment, but he was my friend and chosen teacher. There was a sense of destiny between us and I felt obliged to help him however I could.

There are turning points in life that are like a completely new beginning. The very first thing you remember doesn't matter. That you remember anything at all, does. Scott needed help moving. His half-ton or more of science fiction magazines and gun books stored in Greenville, Texas were destined for his home in Temple, Texas. It was a town I recalled quite well. I was astounded. The half-ton or more of books, military equipment and other junk were about to join at least a full ton or more of the same thing in one entire corner of his family garage. Scott was voracious and thorough in his reading. I tried to imagine how many hours and even months he must have spent in that dusty garage poring over magazines. It was beyond my comprehension. In one dusty stack of magazines lay a lesson in survival. Once, several years ago, it had been a huge jar of Peter Pan peanut butter. Time had turned it into a completely enclosed eco-system that would have made a fascinating demonstration for Biology 101. A leak in the garage roof directly above the jar provided just enough water to keep the life forms inside alive. I marveled at it. It was full of roaches.

Once upon a time, Scott had made a peanut butter sandwich or two in this spot. Since neatness was not one of his strong points, the peanut butter jar had remained where it was left. The sides of the jar were absolutely clean. It was impossible for the roaches inside to climb out. Long ago, they had turned to cannibalism to survive, with one generation feeding upon the other. Had there ever been a real excess of rain, they would have all escaped or drowned. It would probably have scared the rest of the roaches in the neighborhood to have to associate with such savages. Maybe not. There were two or three really big ones in there and hundreds of smaller ones. I wondered who would eat who. Perhaps the big ones were raising their young for food. Perhaps the young ones were grooming the old ones as though they were cows. Almost anything would have upset the balance of that little self contained society. A bit of food added, too much or too little water, even the arrival of another roach from the outside could have wrecked that little world.

All the elements of Sin were present and fully developed in that jar. There was greed and rampant incest from one generation to the next, there was starvation and hunger, there was adultery, thievery, murder, slavery, caniballism, covetousness, vanity, and the lust for power. I stared at the jar for a very long time until I found myself in that state of mind that has no explanation; how very like our own world was this. I still believe in Angels. One day at the edge of one of those desperate family moods, the phone rang. It was Dillard Carrera the Program Director of KVIL-FM radio in Dallas, asking if I would consider an all-night shift at the station. I politely inquired as to when the job would begin. He informed me that it would start the following night if I could arrange it. I felt as if I had been released from prison.

God had had his chuckle.