CHAPTER 4 Why Do Fools Fall In Love?
The ninth grade gave way to summer and I gave way to algebra. Actually, it was an algebra teacher whom I suspected had very personal reasons for failing me in his course. I suspected jealousy of the relationship between Bonnie and I. We were both in his algebra class. His manne though foppish, was noticeably affectionate toward her. A sociologist with a viewpoint prejudiced in my favor would have observed a personality placed somewhere between Liberace and Joseph Stalin.
In any case, this particular authority figure determined that even though I was coming up with the correct answers to his algebraic equations, the methodology of my thought process was incorrect. I was condemned to summer school with additional tutoring (at a reasonable fee) by this same pompous ass whom I considered a fag. How fun. At home, things got bad. As punishment for being condemned to Summer School and sending my folks therefore to Social Hell, I was forced to learn to play the piano. This sort of discipline creates a noticeable tension in any atmosphere, and I began to have serious and violent differences of opinion with my father. To ease the stress, pay for gasoline and appear to be more of a responsible owner of an automobile, I took on a part time job at Houlihan's grocery and market. Bonnie and I saw less and less of each other but I thought of her at least twice a day when the muzak system played "Zing Went The Strings" by the Kirby Stone Four. What the hell, it would only be three months and summer school was only six weeks long.
The job at the grocery store paid minimum wage which at that time was about $1.15 per hour. Max, the owner and boss ordered me to personally clean the toilets to hospital standards. I did. I also insisted when we were alone, that he inspect them - especially up under the rim where I had used a chemical preparation of my own. You have to stick your head in the toilet to make that kind of inspection. The crappers were spotless, we both agreed. Max had made a deal of some kind for cabbage that sent all the store help buzzing. It didn't seem to me like it could be anything drastic until I heard that we were talking about cabbages by the multiple ton. Upon the arrival of the first ton of cabbage, the produce manager quit. I was given a nickel raise and made Produce Manager in full charge of the produce department. I learned to order stock, peel cabbage, mop the floors, peel cabbage, operate the cash registers, peel cabbage, work weekends and peel cabbage. I became aware that here at the store, I was being used and thoroughly put through the mill. God, how some older people must really hate the young.
In the space of a month I peeled and shelved three full tons of rotting cabbage that had probably been intended for hog fodder. It was delivered in several shipments from a garbage truck. The outside of the cabbage heads were either black and wilting or rotting and slimy. It was my job to peel off the outer layers and place the remaining "good" cabbage on the produce shelves. Max ran full-page ads selling the stuff at a penny a pound. His total investment for both truck loads was sixty bucks. We sold it all.
During my "training period" I learned how to clean mold from produce racks. I learned how to salvage and sell fruit and vegetables that were unfit to eat. I also learned that Max had a daughter that most men would kill for. I began to ask very complimentary questions about her and it became clear to Max that I was putting up a fight on his own turf. My gentlemanly "down and dirty" style brought on a new respect. Max and I saw eye to eye finally, and things began to lighten up. Through all this grinding character building and initiation into the Real World, Bonnie stayed with me. On the way she picked up a girl friend whom I recall only as "Mousie". Mousie was fun and cute and a nearby neighbor of Bonnie, living less than a block away. She had the kind of personality that was both complimentary and totally dependent. Mousie was not particularly well built or attractive, so finding her a ready boyfriend wasn't an option. She didn't seem to want that either. Her attachment to Bonnie became a visible thing. Our love life became jeopardized. It got to the point that we had little time alone and though Mousie could take a hint, it was always too late.
It was somewhere near the third ton of cabbage that I lapsed into that dream-like state of mind that has no explanation. My produce knife was long, thin and razor sharp. I could peel cabbage with my eyes closed and faster than the customers could carry it out. I resolved in this reverie that Bonnie and I would have a down-to-earth talk with Mousie and work something out. I discovered to my surprise, that Bonnie did not necessarily agree. The attachment had become too strong. The whole problem was resolved a short time later. Mousie and her family were forced by very unusual circumstances to move to a different part of town. A freak tornado came out of the sky during a Texas-style summer thunderstorm and totally devastated only one house and slightly damaged another, in a row of four on her block. It was Mousie's house that was nearly leveled. No one was at home when it happened. I had picked up a couple of friends of my own during my Junior High School days but they never interfered with Bonnie and I. They didn't need to. They were the Bobsie Twins, Katzenjammer Kids and two thirds of the Three Stooges all rolled into one. Doug was thin, wiry and lanky. He had a large Roman nose that appeared to have been placed on his face by someone who wondered what he would do with it. Larry Day was blonde, ruddy and pigeon-toed. Somehow he could throw his weight back and run with his legs splayed out as though he were bowlegged. He was fast enough to make the track team. We were all football players. Our friendship extended into high school and by rights, we should have all been jailed or killed. "I dare you" was never spoken amongst us three. It wasn't necessary. What one did, we all did. There was no question in any of our minds that we were all fools, it was a gentleman's agreement. The contest was to determine which of us was the biggest fool of the three. He who gained that honor would be The Loser. Until that was decided, we would be together.
Larry had access to his family car which was a 1949 Chevrolet two-door with a slant back trunk. Doug occasionally drove his sister's car but was more often seen in his mother's 1950 Chevy four-door with a "hump trunk". I had my Studebaker. All three cars were abused mercilessly. "Peeling Rubber" - the wanton squealing of tires on pavement, was a statement of personal freedom in those days as it is, still. That was the least of our hell-raising. There were hare-and-hound chases throughout Cobb Park, southeast Fort Worth and Poly that were simply insane. Weekends at the drag strip were a joy for us all. Any muddy road was a challenge and there were dozens of them. At times we would have two cars stuck at the same time. Somehow, we always made it home. Doug loved the roar and speed of racing but had no understanding of mechanics. You had to have an "ear" for your engine in a drag race. The idea was to shift gears just before reaching the RPM power curve peak. He was challenged by a Ford and asked me to ride with him. We won by about ten feet, with me telling him when to shift.
Cobb Park was a no-man's land of sorts, with winding dirt roads and many places for lovers to hide. All too often there were perverts as well. The cops rarely patrolled it. Larry's house was on a dead-end street that stopped on a steep hill, with Cobb Park below. It was a great spot to watch a sunset if you cared for that sort of thing. Past the curb was a slow, rolling hilltop covered in weeds. If you continued your descent, the trail became very steep. It was rough and stony all the way down to one of the winding park roads that had become our race track. A few motorcycles used it as a hill-climb. It was a full mile in either direction from there to any other exit from the park. Going down that hill in a car was a severe test of brakes, skill and nerves. Any mistake at all could flip a car over. Going UP that hill in a car was our version of Russian Roulette. It was Doug that wiped out after we had all three made the hill many times. He survived just fine. The car was banged up a little, but his folly brought our relationship as friends to a point of precipitation. He was courageous enough of course, but he had blown it by going alone. The fact that he was trying the hill often enough to wipe out meant that his contest had become a private and personal one. The wipe-out should have been while we were all three there to share in it.
We hung together for one full year of High School at Tech before Doug and Larry decided to transfer back to Poly. Our final parting of ways came when Larry confessed that he had experienced a homosexual relationship with a stranger in the park.
No one said goodbye. No one had to.
In any case, this particular authority figure determined that even though I was coming up with the correct answers to his algebraic equations, the methodology of my thought process was incorrect. I was condemned to summer school with additional tutoring (at a reasonable fee) by this same pompous ass whom I considered a fag. How fun. At home, things got bad. As punishment for being condemned to Summer School and sending my folks therefore to Social Hell, I was forced to learn to play the piano. This sort of discipline creates a noticeable tension in any atmosphere, and I began to have serious and violent differences of opinion with my father. To ease the stress, pay for gasoline and appear to be more of a responsible owner of an automobile, I took on a part time job at Houlihan's grocery and market. Bonnie and I saw less and less of each other but I thought of her at least twice a day when the muzak system played "Zing Went The Strings" by the Kirby Stone Four. What the hell, it would only be three months and summer school was only six weeks long.
The job at the grocery store paid minimum wage which at that time was about $1.15 per hour. Max, the owner and boss ordered me to personally clean the toilets to hospital standards. I did. I also insisted when we were alone, that he inspect them - especially up under the rim where I had used a chemical preparation of my own. You have to stick your head in the toilet to make that kind of inspection. The crappers were spotless, we both agreed. Max had made a deal of some kind for cabbage that sent all the store help buzzing. It didn't seem to me like it could be anything drastic until I heard that we were talking about cabbages by the multiple ton. Upon the arrival of the first ton of cabbage, the produce manager quit. I was given a nickel raise and made Produce Manager in full charge of the produce department. I learned to order stock, peel cabbage, mop the floors, peel cabbage, operate the cash registers, peel cabbage, work weekends and peel cabbage. I became aware that here at the store, I was being used and thoroughly put through the mill. God, how some older people must really hate the young.
In the space of a month I peeled and shelved three full tons of rotting cabbage that had probably been intended for hog fodder. It was delivered in several shipments from a garbage truck. The outside of the cabbage heads were either black and wilting or rotting and slimy. It was my job to peel off the outer layers and place the remaining "good" cabbage on the produce shelves. Max ran full-page ads selling the stuff at a penny a pound. His total investment for both truck loads was sixty bucks. We sold it all.
During my "training period" I learned how to clean mold from produce racks. I learned how to salvage and sell fruit and vegetables that were unfit to eat. I also learned that Max had a daughter that most men would kill for. I began to ask very complimentary questions about her and it became clear to Max that I was putting up a fight on his own turf. My gentlemanly "down and dirty" style brought on a new respect. Max and I saw eye to eye finally, and things began to lighten up. Through all this grinding character building and initiation into the Real World, Bonnie stayed with me. On the way she picked up a girl friend whom I recall only as "Mousie". Mousie was fun and cute and a nearby neighbor of Bonnie, living less than a block away. She had the kind of personality that was both complimentary and totally dependent. Mousie was not particularly well built or attractive, so finding her a ready boyfriend wasn't an option. She didn't seem to want that either. Her attachment to Bonnie became a visible thing. Our love life became jeopardized. It got to the point that we had little time alone and though Mousie could take a hint, it was always too late.
It was somewhere near the third ton of cabbage that I lapsed into that dream-like state of mind that has no explanation. My produce knife was long, thin and razor sharp. I could peel cabbage with my eyes closed and faster than the customers could carry it out. I resolved in this reverie that Bonnie and I would have a down-to-earth talk with Mousie and work something out. I discovered to my surprise, that Bonnie did not necessarily agree. The attachment had become too strong. The whole problem was resolved a short time later. Mousie and her family were forced by very unusual circumstances to move to a different part of town. A freak tornado came out of the sky during a Texas-style summer thunderstorm and totally devastated only one house and slightly damaged another, in a row of four on her block. It was Mousie's house that was nearly leveled. No one was at home when it happened. I had picked up a couple of friends of my own during my Junior High School days but they never interfered with Bonnie and I. They didn't need to. They were the Bobsie Twins, Katzenjammer Kids and two thirds of the Three Stooges all rolled into one. Doug was thin, wiry and lanky. He had a large Roman nose that appeared to have been placed on his face by someone who wondered what he would do with it. Larry Day was blonde, ruddy and pigeon-toed. Somehow he could throw his weight back and run with his legs splayed out as though he were bowlegged. He was fast enough to make the track team. We were all football players. Our friendship extended into high school and by rights, we should have all been jailed or killed. "I dare you" was never spoken amongst us three. It wasn't necessary. What one did, we all did. There was no question in any of our minds that we were all fools, it was a gentleman's agreement. The contest was to determine which of us was the biggest fool of the three. He who gained that honor would be The Loser. Until that was decided, we would be together.
Larry had access to his family car which was a 1949 Chevrolet two-door with a slant back trunk. Doug occasionally drove his sister's car but was more often seen in his mother's 1950 Chevy four-door with a "hump trunk". I had my Studebaker. All three cars were abused mercilessly. "Peeling Rubber" - the wanton squealing of tires on pavement, was a statement of personal freedom in those days as it is, still. That was the least of our hell-raising. There were hare-and-hound chases throughout Cobb Park, southeast Fort Worth and Poly that were simply insane. Weekends at the drag strip were a joy for us all. Any muddy road was a challenge and there were dozens of them. At times we would have two cars stuck at the same time. Somehow, we always made it home. Doug loved the roar and speed of racing but had no understanding of mechanics. You had to have an "ear" for your engine in a drag race. The idea was to shift gears just before reaching the RPM power curve peak. He was challenged by a Ford and asked me to ride with him. We won by about ten feet, with me telling him when to shift.
Cobb Park was a no-man's land of sorts, with winding dirt roads and many places for lovers to hide. All too often there were perverts as well. The cops rarely patrolled it. Larry's house was on a dead-end street that stopped on a steep hill, with Cobb Park below. It was a great spot to watch a sunset if you cared for that sort of thing. Past the curb was a slow, rolling hilltop covered in weeds. If you continued your descent, the trail became very steep. It was rough and stony all the way down to one of the winding park roads that had become our race track. A few motorcycles used it as a hill-climb. It was a full mile in either direction from there to any other exit from the park. Going down that hill in a car was a severe test of brakes, skill and nerves. Any mistake at all could flip a car over. Going UP that hill in a car was our version of Russian Roulette. It was Doug that wiped out after we had all three made the hill many times. He survived just fine. The car was banged up a little, but his folly brought our relationship as friends to a point of precipitation. He was courageous enough of course, but he had blown it by going alone. The fact that he was trying the hill often enough to wipe out meant that his contest had become a private and personal one. The wipe-out should have been while we were all three there to share in it.
We hung together for one full year of High School at Tech before Doug and Larry decided to transfer back to Poly. Our final parting of ways came when Larry confessed that he had experienced a homosexual relationship with a stranger in the park.
No one said goodbye. No one had to.
posted by freespeak@gmail.com at 9:40 AM
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