Revelations for an identity seeking youth in a tropical Paradise

As the departure date approached, we saw quite a bit of Uncle Jim.

Although my reader will notice that I rarely have anything good about Uncle Jim, he was familiar with Hawaii, and shared some  pleasant thoughts with us.

HOWEVER, as Mom and Uncle Jim were perusing our travel documents, the misinterpreted MSTS (Military Surface Transport Service) as an abbreviation for "Matson", and thought perhaps they might be delivering us to Hawaii on The Matson Steamship Line's luxury liner Lurline.  That was not the case.Our adventures in San Francisco can be found elsewhere, as well as the escapades of three young voyagers aboard ship.

I have experienced a large number of ship arrivals, once as a passenger and many times as a casual observer.  It is an awe-inspiring event for  the passionately patient. 

When the time had finally arrived for us to "abandon ship", we went directly to Dad's enforced location behind the safety line. Our hosts for lunch, who met us with Dad were from a small town near our small coastal home town . we rode in their car to Fort Kamehameha among and past the buildings, which showed pockmarks from bullets nine years earlier, and Hickam Air Force Base to their Fort Kam residence near the mouth of the harbor's channel.  

After a satisfying luncheon, we were back in the car, headed for our apartment at picturesque Sierra Manor, which no longer occupies the site.

Next day we enrolled in Robert  Lewis Stevenson Intermediate School, which still displayed the ancient title, "NORMAL SCHOOL" above the main entrance.

I now realize that Stevenson Intermediate School was another step toward my cherished fortunate life. The principal told my parents that since our residence was in Kaimuki, we were could attend his school. Dependents who lived near Pearl Harbor, where Dad worked, we would have to go to THEIR school.  I feel that my perceptions would have been unfortunately different.

The small town Texan's walk through the ancient portal of Stevenson, formally "NORMAL SCHOOL" as a student dispelled all the pre-arrival adolescent fantasies of shy dusky maidens vying for  favor of the handsome young newcomer.  The kids at Stevenson were very sophisticated urban dwellers in a capital city only slightly smaller than Austin.  The "handsome newcomer" had traded his amiable minority status in the caddie pool for minority status in a COMPLETELY new environment!

The "Natives", representing the world, but primarily Asian, tolerated my presence, although many haole malahines did not entitle themselves to the same benefit.  

I learned immediately that "shy dusky maidens" did not exist, and girls joked and swore equally with boys.  

On my first day of classes, I met  Mr. Peterson, my general science teacher who spoke as if he already Knew me, although I had never seen the man before.  I learned after I got home to Sierra Manor that I learned that the Petersons owned Sierra Manor, and we saw much of them while we were there.  I found that my elation with my minority status was not for everyone.  I think my parents may have passively contributed to my freedom of movement in Honolulu.  Two of my younger friends at Sierra Manor would often return home bruised and bloody as a result of fistfights at school.  I fear that that their fathers' frequent use of terms such as "gooks" and "local yokels" for the permanent citizens was significant.

My good fortune was further enhanced by experiences after the move to Aiea Heights.

Remembrances NOT necessarily random, from an old guy who loves his fortunate life.

When this elderly citizen "observes" the world in which he has spent his life (so far), he is filled with love for the remarkable fortune the years have given him.

Can a "Charmed Life" actually be possible?

"I have little first-hand knowledge of my first three years, except for a very short time during the Holiday Season of 1938, when I exhibited a mortal fear of Santa Claus.  

My mother has told me I was born dead.   I can't confirm the veracity, but she claims that the doctor spent a very extended time manipulating mt static form before I took my first breath.   Maybe it was little more than 'NewMom Anxiety' that guided her perception."

"I am confident that our first few years as a family were spent at my Mom's parents' home in Nacogdoches.  Dad would spend the week on the road, returning on weekends to 'Headquarters'.

When Dad was in residence, he usually dominated the conversation, but everyone was happy to listen.  He was the "Radio" which was lacking  in the household.

Much of my "charmed" life is defined in a somewhat extensive series of meandering anecdotes, entitled MEANDER3081, so in order not to be too self-laudatory, I will TRY to concentrate on highlights of my good fortune.

When I was eight, Mom drove my sister and I to San Francisco to spend the summer waiting for Dad to leave for the Pacific, where he would be for the duration of The War.  I learned a great deal about The Bay Area.  In that year, I had prayed for a bicycle, expecting to wake up next morning to find it in my room, and discovered that God does not work in that way, but I had my bike that year.  Right after our return from SF, I received much-desired swimming lessons.

When I was ten, one of Dad's friends from The Postal Service retired, and hired me for his personal caddie. I observed from our trips to other courses, that our local nine-hole course was a quality course, and often attracted players from Houston.

When my employer finished his customary two rounds and decided to spend some time in the clubhouse, I'd mosey over to hang out with the caddies.  I learned much from the caddies that I consider a significant contribution to my great good fortune...."Don't call us NIGGERS, we Colored Boys!" was top of the list.  (remember that we were still legally segregated and the other school was still searching for identity). I was tickled to find the very quiet little fellow whom Mom had picked up years before was there among the caddies and he was the youngest among four brothers, all of whom used nicknames.  Allen, the oldest, was known by his peers as "Dogie", the next must have been fairly unremarkable, because although his his face is clear to me, but no names come to mind...The third, Hezekiah was known interchangeably as "Yopie" or "Hezzybull", and the youngest, little "Bee" must have had another name, but I never learned it.

When my employer gave up his golfing, I started sighing in to the Caddie Pool, and finally realized for the first time that I was a "Minority",..even though there was no hatred in the caddie pool.  I still was the only fishbelly in the caddie pool when the groundskeeper, another black man.hand-picked several
"Volunteers" to go up to the LCRA canal and wait for him.  After we had been swimming for awhile it was time to go to work.  I feel that I may have been the only "newbie" in the work detail, it went so smoothly. I LEARNED!

When I was twelve, I spent a week with Uncle Bud who will always be cherished as one of a most favored contributor to my growth as a human. 

Although, after my caddie pool awakening, I could never share his feelings concerning "Jigs" and "Junglebunnies", his wisdom brought much to my life.

In the year that I was fourteen, Dad's mother passed away after a long debilitating illness, and I experienced another life-building revelation.

As a result of his experience with the Fleet Post Office in WWII, his reserves obligation recalled him for the Korean "Conflict".  His group of reserves went to Alaska and Hawaii. While many chose Alaska because "they could get their families to come up and join them".  Dad knew he could never adapt to cold weather, so chose Hawaii, and found that the U.S. Navy was indifferent to dependent travel expenses, so we once again began to arrange a return to The City by the Bay, this time to be shipping OURSELVES out.

At this time I had my driver's license, so Mom did not have to drive the whole distance.  When we arrived at Pearl Harbor, the first view we had of Dad was the Marines pushing him back to the safety line where he was supposed to wait.

I have finally decided that my second excursion into minority status is much to extensive for a single sitting, and will be continued in the light of a new day.

THEN TO NOW...

 In the autumn of 1954, I ventured with two friends to Dallas for The University.s final pre-Royal Red River River Rivalry, eager for full student participation.

A massive crowd was gathered for a downtown pep rally, where a large number of more affluent students were staying in hotels.

While I was engaged in patting unchallenged the stiffly sprayed blond coifs of tipsy coeds, a city bus was slowly working a precarious passage through the revelry.

When I looked up from my task, I saw in his place at a window seat near the rear of the bus, a wide-eyed black man was waving a cheap handgun.  Within seconds two Dallas policemen had boarded the bus, unarmed the "assailant", and escorted him  in handcuffs off the bus.

It was many years later. in the retrospect of today's controversy, that I began to wonder what the black man saw as he looked out at a milling mob completely surrounding his vantage point.  Was he fearing the loss of his life when he saw the police, or did he feel grateful to be saved from a perceived threat?

A REMEMBERED THANKSGIVING ADVENTURE

During August of 1999, Before The Matriarch had earned her title, we spent a delightful week with the Taos Art School studying Georgia O'Keette Country.

At the end of our week, as we reluctantly prepared to depart our favorite little city of mud, we made a stop.  My life companion had her eye on an interesting woodcrafter's shop and wanted to look around.

The proprietor was an amiable young man, and seemed to know how to work with wood.  We chose a really attractive picture of a bench which would enhance our relatively new entry hall and provide additional seating at party time.  We selected a material and a finish and he quoted us a reasonable price, half of which we paid.  In addition, we purchased a well-built and "kinda cute" wall-hung cabinet for the master bathroom.

The young fellow said he could have it ready by Thanksgiving, so we eagerly planned to come back and take our bench home.

We set out on our trip on Wednesday, and hit a moderately heavy snowstorm on US84 between Santa Rosa and the real Las Vegas, which made quite a hazard of the Texas flatlanders slippin' and slidin' all over the highway, which also landed us in Las Vegas around noon,

After finding a couple of potential lunch vendors closed, perhaps because of the weather, we arrived at the plaza, and a banner on the hotel, announcing a special Thanksgiving meal.  For $50 (somewhat more than we had intended for lunch on the road we had sumptuous repast and time to consider whether to take the very slightly longer route through Santa Fe, or the customary route over the mo mountains, which contains a steep incline that would surely be treacherous if snow covered.

We decided on the latter, which was clear and sunny, providing smooth sailing to Taos.

Our bench was not even begun as yet, but we always enjoy ourselves in Taos, so we never have a wasted trip.

For about two additional years, we communicated by email while our craftsman suffered hard times and poor luck we suffered diminishing patience.  Finally. on a visit to Taos, we found him at the shop, and working!  He introduced us to his recently acquired partners, and said they had ample funding, and were really catching up on orders and would be able to start our bench in about a week.  We told him to cancel our order, I had already made a piece of uurniture for the entry, and we were amply pleased with it.

We found among his finished stock a box like the one we already had, which now was selling for almost three times the price we had paid for the first.  We took the box in lieu of a refund. and never expect to see him or the hal a C-note we are still owed.

BUT WE HAD FUN!  And we use our "his & hers" bathroom cabinets daily.

HELEN CONTINUES...

When we had our next date,nearing the end of my first semester at The University, I repeated my words from the last (much to my own embarrassment), the Pixie  had no words. She dutifully turned off the porch light.

The kiss was the sane as before, and I drove home in high spirits.

My entrance evaluation had given me a couple of deficiencies in trigonometry and solid geometry, but I  earned an advanced standing in freshman English, learning from a great man of many talents, Americo Paredes.

Although they made my freshman load a bit heavy, they all contributed a great deal to my education, and the English in MANY ways.

On the first day of classes, I found a seat next to an outstanding young lady wearing a diamond ring.  I decided I wanted to be in the seat next to her from then on, just for the opportunity to catch sidelong glances as she sat in class.

Although I frequently had lustful thoughts of Elizabeth (Always "Liz"), the diamond made her engaged, did it not, and so our friendship grew as a platonic relationship. I felt that whispering "Oh, Bill!" after skimming the pages of a test we were going to take,...using me as an expletive gave me a special place in her heart.

It was only after we returned from Holidays Break that more sophisticated classmates wandered by her desk with, "I hear you got engaged, Liz..." or, "Liz, are you engaged now?"

We carried on in the usual manner, with me walking with her around campus or driving her when an opportunity arose.

At semester's end, on the evening before she was to fly home to Hew Jersey to wed, we were in my car at her dorm, I asked, "Is there any kind of prohibition against kissing a bride before the wedding?"

"Of course not~", she said, and slid over into a hug which put us closer than we had ever been, and KISSED me!  And she slid back and began to open her door before J could get there to open it for her.

I am quite sure it was an ordinary kiss for her, but I was enlightened!  LIZ HAD SHOWN ME THE WAY!

I felt that I had been given a little bottle of Love Potion #9!  I wanted to kiss everything in sight!

When I got to my parents' home between semesters, I phoned the pixie.I wanted to slowly introduce her to my newfound skill before I had to return to Austin.  She said she could not possibly make it during the allotted time span, but she'd fix me up with someone who could.  It was not long before she called back, and gave me a name, address, and phone number.

I think I enjoyed my unexpected date.  I can;t really remember where we went, or even the girl's name, but when we parked in front of her house and I was overwhelmed by the closeness.  I was afraid she might swallow face!

I have since come to believe that my pixie had true sympathy for my lack of sophistication, and not knowing about Liz's contribution, was bestowing a parting gift.  My adored pixie was gone forever.

Back in Austin, at the home of Aunt Pearl and Uncle Bud, I was looking for a new recipient and Uncle Bud introduced me to a fellow from the neighborhood, who had a daughter who was about to finish high school school.  She gave me a lot of practice, but shortly before her graduation, her orthodontic braces came off, and she was anxious to take her romance elsewhere, and without the braces, kissing was not the same, and so I was in no way disappointed, but happy for the experience.

Back in the small coastal town for the summer, I fell hopelessly in love, with a three-year-old! Little Beverly never received any kisses from me, but I loved her just the same.

While I was away, learning academic stuff as well  as how to kiss, Mom had taken up supervising three pre-schoolers to supplement my education funds.

it would be unkind to say much about Sue and Dale, but Beverly was a sweetheart, and clever well beyond her years!  She obviously had attentive and loving parents.  During the days, when her parents were at work, I was also at work, so really did not see much of little Beverly, but Mom gave daily reports.  When the time approached to go back to Austin, Mom announced that Dorothy, the diminutive sweetheart's mother, suggested I look up her sister Helen when I got to Austin.

When I got to my Austin home, Uncle Bud, who was ever my benefactor, said he had a cousin, Fae,  who was at The University, and gave me her address.  I did not give it much thought until I noticed she lived across the street from the apartment house where my best buddy Jerry lived, and I spent much time at Jerry's.

We walked across the street to check out Fae, and found a mother lode.  We met Helen, May,  "Jeaner", Fae, and a girl lying on the floor with a textbook.  Fae introduced her as Helen!

If OH! EM! GEE! had not yet to be invented, it would have sprung forth with gusto from my incredulous lips! "YOU'RE DOROTHY'S SISTER!", to which she replied, "You're Bill. Dorothy said I should look you up,"  And neither of us had made any effort to do so.

Fae and I, Jerry and Jeaner, had become really close regulars, but I entertained in the depths of my being to get just ONE kiss from Helen, and she was having none of it, although I persisted!

And so it came to pass that Jeaner, Jerry, Fae and I, spent an afternoon at Bastrop State Park picnicking.  After the sun had been down for awhile. and since we really had not prepared for night-time chill, we prepared to end our picnic.

While lifting a box full of provisions to my shoulder, I discovered that the lid to the pickle jar was loose.

When we got to the girls' house, Jerry went on home while Helen offered to wash my shirt whileI wore one of Fae's.  After a long period of self-deprivation, the urge to pee became unbearable, so I made my excuses and trotted over to Jerry's. Jerry was on the phone, and after I had wordlessly rushed past him but before I had closed the bathroom door, I heard Jerry say "Bill just walked in wearing a girl's shirt that's too big for him!"  He also said, as I was finally able to exit, "I was beginning to worry you'd never be able to stop that leak!"...Believe me, so was I.

When I finally got back across the street, Helen presented me with my shirt, washed, ironed, and folded.  I concluded that since we had shared a domestic relationship, it was time for THE KISS, and I told her so.  She agreed, and said, "Let me check and make sure the iron is off.  I'll be right back!" and scurried off to the kitchen.

She was back shortly, moved in close, and, in front of all the others, announced "I'm ready, let me have it!" I will never know how many obnoxious substances she could have found in the kitchen, but I'm sure she must have used them all.  When our lips touched, she had made her point, and everybody knew it!  The message was loud and clear, and I knew this central Texas farm girl meant business!  I was never to get my kiss from Helen.

When one is as old as I, the most likely place to find old friends is in the obituaries.  I found  Helen had left us in 2013 at age 78, bearing the surname of Adolf, the boyfriend from the time I was pursuing the  kiss,...loyal to the end.  Next I found Dorothy, who moved on in 2019, earlier this year, at 89.  The saddest part of Dorothy's story was that she was preceded by all her children.

Little Beverly passed away in 2012, at age 61, longest lived of Dorothy's four children.  According to her obit, she made a good life, as I was sure she would.



"

HELEN (A long story)

I had a life before The Matriarch, but just barely..

I was a timid soul who enjoyed hanging out with my male friends at the "steep banks" down at the river, and was aware that there were things that boys and girls did together down there, but I did not know how io initiate such a relationship. Mama had impressed the idea that women should be treated with respect, but I had no idea how I could apply that to me,...yet.

I had never kissed a girl.

Once at a high school party out in our local park, a game of "Post Office" was initiated, and anticipating an opportunity, I ordered an Air Mail Special Delivery from Glenda.  Hand in hand, we walked into the deepest shadows I could find, and lowered ourselves to the ground, knees to knees, and waited...until I finally said, "I'm ready...", and Glenda, who was familiar with the game, revealed, "You're supposed to kiss me.", and so, I took her into my arms, drew her close, and kissed her,...ON THE BACK OF HER NECK.

In my senior year of high school, at a meeting of our Methodist youth group, I was "fatally" attracted to a young pixie from a nearby town who appeared mutually attracted.  She was just about the cutest creature I had seen before, It led to a number of trips throughout the following year to the nearby town, and after I moved to Austin for college, the letters she send with an air mail stamp from the town about 179 miles away. I was aware that she and her best friend Mary Helen colluded to find clever things to write to "their" collegiate.

Finally, after many dates, as I was walking her to the door, I choked out the words, "For a change, should we kiss good night?"

Immediately her pixie face seemed to gain a fresh radiance, and she nibbled her lower lip in her playful, customary way, and asked, Should I turn off the light?"

After we had stood for a few seconds sin the darkness, we gently touched lips, and I walked back to my car, exhilarated!

In retrospect, I can only surmise the effect of our first kiss on my pixie, but I have decided I must break this "Autobiography", and will finish (I hope) in a second installment, in which will be Helen (probably) and others (surely)...continued...

AN OLD MEMORY OF UNCLE CHARLIE...

On a beautiful day in northern New Mexico, The Roommate called me at work...

Can you get away to come home? Uncle Charlie is here!

That was something of a surprise, because my parents were also visiting at the time.
It seems that at an earlier time (Uncle Charlie and my dad did a great deal of time on the road in their work, and both preferred driving), Dad was somewhere in Oklahoma when he saw a car headed toward him on the opposite side. From the slow and irregular speed of the other vehicle, Dad deduced it must by Uncle Charlie, so he turned around, and overtook the other driver. They had a pleasant roadside conversation, and since Uncle Charlie had been traveling west, Dad gave him our Santa Fe address, and suggested he look us up sometime. It was a mere happenstance that the "sometime" occurred when my parents were there! However, I was delighted to see both Dad and Uncle Charlie together, because, I a good listener, but lousy in a one-on-one verbal conversation. THEY were the talkers in our respective families . After a while, we decided we should go for a drive and show Uncle Charlie our (at the time, "little town") of our beloved Santa Fe. We all packed ourselves in our 1960 VW, with Uncle Charlie at "shotgun". We took in the "mandatory" Upper Canyon Road, and circled back on the other side of the canyon, Cerro Gordo Road, Then we began a ride up the mountainside to show Uncle Charlie the beauty of our chosen home. We were not too far up when I was trying to point out the lovely vistas, and noticed that he was pressed so tightly against the passenger side door that I feared he might break through and bang hid head on the cliff. I heard him saying "Billy, you got a nice little car and a fine home, can we turn around now,please?" It was somewhat later in life that Uncle Charlie took his "trip pf a lifetime" to Europe aboard a ship, and "fell in love" with Europe. He gave up his fear of high places, and decided that flying aboard a jetliner would probably not kill him, and would spend a great deal of time exploring the sights across the pond, jumping over, rather than floating across..

A WELL ESTABLISHED, BUT RARELY PONDERED, COMMENTARY ON RELATIVE TIME.

Having just watched "The Whole Truth" on PBS with David Eisenhower, a discussion of developments energy in this great land of ours, I was attracted to the varying attitudes about the time required to develop renewable energy as a viable replacement for fossil fuels. 

I can recall that in the early years of the automobile, electric and external combustion power was tried for automobiles, but was probably politically discouraged in favor of internal combustion. 

Without the plentiful and cheaper fuel with prices limited by law, I think it is likely that development of alternative fuels could have come much further along.  When the price limits were removed, the "traditional" vehicles had b
become habitual.

By the time I began driving legally, at age fourteen, no one was considering anyrhing other than a gasoline powered passenger vehicle.  Diesel was for long-haul trucks.

ABOUT "the time required" for changes...

During the half a year before I became four years old, my family lived in four different places in four different towns.  It seemed to me that we were in each place for a long time.

We then returned to live in the city of my nativity for what I have often deemed "the longest year of my life" (which was actually no more than three-quarters of an actual year, but experienced as a four-year-old).

Now that I am significantly older than four, and my mind is filled with joyous experiences of many, many years, I read of the battle of Little Bighorn and think of it as {slightly) less than sixty years before I was born.  The last of the Indian-fighter solders left Fort Davis only forty-five years before I began my earthly visit.  In the context of the years I have witnessed, the passage of time seems so trivial now.

A lady lies in our old town cemetery, who was born when George Washington was President, and died less than forty-four years before my birth.  I will always wonder how she felt about all that happened to our country within her ninety-eight years.

But most of all, I ponder my own life, and all that has transpired through the years.