This is the interview I had with David. The next episodes will be on format, where the focus will be stories.
This is all more of a test than anything else...Hell of a funny convo though.
9.20.2011
12.03.2009
Moment 898: Coffee with Charley
This is going to be short and really it's just a post to remind me that I need to get into this era of my story.
Last Saturday, after pulling a shift at NBC, I met up with Charley for some coffee- but we never found a coffee place that was open. So we ended up going back to his sister's place (where he was shacking up) and had some pasta and beer.
We talked about a lot of shit but of course we always led back to our time at American Journal.
Now- the situation at AJ was the most fucked up, crazy, unbelievable shit you could ever think of. Really. I'm not joking.
But that was an awesome introduction into what it would be like to edit in NYC. It was so extreme! Everyone was a character in that tent and I miss every single...well, MOST of them- immensely.
Charley and I talked late into the evening about that place, where sleeves were chewed and the bodies of feinted P.A.s were casually stepped over in the name of journalism.
Yes.
I must recant some of that stuff here and I will. Daunting as the task may be.
Last Saturday, after pulling a shift at NBC, I met up with Charley for some coffee- but we never found a coffee place that was open. So we ended up going back to his sister's place (where he was shacking up) and had some pasta and beer.
We talked about a lot of shit but of course we always led back to our time at American Journal.
Now- the situation at AJ was the most fucked up, crazy, unbelievable shit you could ever think of. Really. I'm not joking.
But that was an awesome introduction into what it would be like to edit in NYC. It was so extreme! Everyone was a character in that tent and I miss every single...well, MOST of them- immensely.
Charley and I talked late into the evening about that place, where sleeves were chewed and the bodies of feinted P.A.s were casually stepped over in the name of journalism.
Yes.
I must recant some of that stuff here and I will. Daunting as the task may be.
9.08.2009
Moment 072: Football- The Pop Warner years...
It's that time of year again. My cup runneth over.
Football!
Every year my passion for it grows exponentially and I don't really understand it. It went from a gentle expectation that came with my favorite time of the year (Fall) to a full bodied lust that began to burn furiously sometime around June.
Anyone who has ever known me from before the past couple of years might only describe my interest in the sport as slight if at all, for I didn't carry myself as a football lover. Of course anyone associated with me even somewhat closely over the past 5-6 years would be able state with certainty that I am a football nut.
When I think back on it- you know, my introduction to football and how everything fell into place- it does make sense.
My step father was the football lover in the house. I don't know how he got me watching but I remember plenty of Sunday afternoons rooting for the Cowboys. Now, I wasn't a freak then. I was a kid. So if there was something going on outside for me to do- biking, running- whatever. I'd do it but I would never be so far as to not know what the score was.
And the Cowboys were a great team to root for. Dorsett, Newhouse- all the Cowboys were like shining knights of blue and silver. Stars blazing a trail across a stripped field of green. I remember watching Staubach have what seemed like the entire Redskins defense huddle over him menacingly- only to emerge from the cluster of red jerseys almost effortlessly. It was always amazing how many times he got out of a jam and made a great play.
On top of that, they had the hottest cheerleaders ever and since. Rows of beauties in every color and shape, all smiles and kicks and excitement.
Thinking on it now, those Cowboys probably made me feel like a real Texan, too. Not like someone who had been carted in from the hot sands of Arizona under the cover of darkness.
Pop not only had us watch football- he even talked us into playing for the Base pop warner league.
I would dread those weekly practices as they were sweat and tears, yo. We met up two or three times a week and it was intense.
Today- I would pay to go through some of those routines but back then- ugh. The hardest part really was doing all the exercises at the beginning. The running. The jumping jacks. The push-ups. The tires. The whistle stops...Yeah, the fucking whistle stops.
After that we would run through plays and that was pretty awesome but the cool shit was Saturday.
Game day.
Mom would pack a bunch of food and drinks and stuff into a cooler and Pop (who was coaching my brother's team) would have charts and whistles and pads and shit.
Then we would get out there in our uniforms (My team was the JETS- which is kinda appropriate-, Joe's were the Steelers) and just rip shit up like we were being paid. We were highly competitive back then. I never saw a parent hit a coach or a ref or anything like that kind of nonsense but the parents of the neighborhood that I raise my kids in now would frown on the sheer ferociousness burning in the eyes of my fellow team mates back then.
Sometimes that competitive edge got us into trouble.
Once- while we were on the bus to that weekend's match, we came across a kid from the opposing team who was walking, so the driver decided to stop and give the guy a ride.
This skrawny little thing slowly made his way to the back and a few of us decided to get the bus fired up to let this kid know he was being driven to the ass-kicking of his life.
"We're gonna whoop! Up! Side-the-head! We're gonna whoop'em upside the head!" we began to chant and it wasn't long before the whole bus was rocking with the righteous thunder of the Kelly AFB Jets.
Young girls dressed in green and white uniforms of cheer, gnashed their teeth and stomped their feet just as viciously as any boy on the team- Their Pom-Poms pumping rhythmically to the chant.
Our tender little visitor sat quietly amidst the choreographed chaos. He had a panicked look on his face- like some poor bastard sitting on a stake during some sacrificial dance.
When the bus stopped. He practically leaped off and ran to his team. We smiled as he as did so...until we saw what he was running to.
On the other end of the field were the biggest bunch of beasts packaged as preteens I had ever seen up until that time. Massive children that resembled gorillas much more than anything human and all of them dressed as our freshly released captor who was now pointing frantically in our direction.
We were done for.
What followed was the most embarassing display of a "football game" ever known to the sport. A one-sided event very similar to a Harlem Globetrotters game except muddier and intensely more violent.
Football was my first and only organized sport and I would have to say that My year with the Jets was probably my favorite- even though I would go on to play for a few years after that.
Micheal Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" and The Gap Band's "You Dropped A Bomb On Me" are miracles of science as they are instant portals to the past. When I hear those songs I find myself sitting on that bus on the way to a game or standing on the sideline in my number "72" jersey waiting to get back into the game.
My position was defensive tackle but sometimes I would play offense too. I would get other positions later due to my tallness but never was I able to run the ball. My dream was to get into that end zone! I knew I was fast enough I just never got the ball.
My closest shot was a game where I was on the defensive line and once the ball was snapped- I shoved the kid in front of me to the ground (which was easy because he was smaller than I) and barreled down on the quarterback who was smaller than the guy I had just stepped over.
The QB, startled at how fast I got through the line, slipped and dropped the ball.
Now, I knew that once I picked that ball up they would call the play and we would pick up the game from that spot. The coaches told us several times that we weren't allowed to have run backs in this league,
BUT:
1. That rule never made any sense to me. and
2. This was my chance! I was gonna score, dammit.
I scooped the ball effortlessly with no one standing between me and the goal line. I was just a few leg pumps away from the dream that any kid wearing pads and a helmet has. I was gonna make a touchdown! Whether it counted or not.
A bolt of energy shot through me as the crowd collectively gasped- realizing the tables had turned.
I planted my first step deep into the earth and pushed. I propelled forward slightly, tucked the ball and shifted my weight all simultaneously. A young Dorsett in the making.
I went to dig at the ground again with my next step but it wasn't there. Something small lassoed my ankle and pulled my foot back and out from underneath me. Not prepared for the sudden change the top half of me came tumbling down like some old worn out Vegas Casino. Slow and hard.
I looked back and saw the kid who I plowed through to get into this joint, still clutching my foot with his eyes closed.
The ref took the ball away from me and planted it back where I picked it up- barely a yard away.
When I got back to the sideline the coach patted me on the back as he noticed my obvious disappointment- "Nice turnover, Kim- But even if you'd had run they'da brung it back."
Yeah- GREAT!
I think TD Remorse is popular with a lot of guys who played pop warner and didn't get in the end zone. I was talking to my friend Larry a couple of years ago and he had TD-R, too. Maybe they'll come out with a pill for that and hawk it to us during the news. I'd buy it.
I continued to play through for Kelly AFB for a few years up until I was a Freshman. Every year was pretty much the same for me. Pop (coach) and Joe (unstoppable tank) were the champions of their league one year.
Joe may not have been able to read worth a damn nor did he have the sense to comprehend many of the complexities of the plays but he could NOT be stopped. In this he was amazing. He could have been a great athlete if he hadn't been distracted by things he shouldn't have never ever been a part of.
Our final year playing for the base Joe and I were joined by our cousins, Marvin and Micheal.
Marvin was my age so he was on my team. Micheal was Joe's age. My mom and her sister, Jewel (Marvin and Micheal's mother) seemed to compete in everything- even this.
Anyway- we had some great times hanging out as we where growing up and playing football together was extra cool!
Marvin was the QB, green eyed, light skinned AND a ladies man- so I don't even have to tell you what his situation was like- Me? I was me. So, I managed to have fun telling different cheerleaders "secrets" they should know to get to Marvin.
I don't remember much from this year except there was this one game that we were losing horribly. I was a corner back and I remember running in after the quarterback in a direct line- which the coach had told me NOT to do! The coach always told me to make corners- BUT THE DUDE WAS RIGHT THERE!!! So I ran right at the guy and suddenly he spun and was running around me.
I turned to catch him but now I was falling behind and he was sprinting away from me like a gazelle. The worst part was that he was holding the ball down at his side just out of my reach- TEASING me with it.
After he was finally brought down, I was called to the sideline where I was admonished mercilessly. It was my fault, so I could say nothing.
The rest of the game went pretty much the same for the rest of the team. Until- early in the fourth quarter, there was an opponent running down field towards me. He was ducking and weaving all of our other players and it was looking like it was going to come down to only me!
I prepped myself, followed his waist and dove at his legs- I was told if you want to stop a runner- wrap up his legs where he can't use 'em.
I didn't know this but at the same time a team mate- Whose name was Scott, I think- Had hit the guy from above at the same time- from a different direction.
So we struck this poor kid with a one-two punch from two different directions simultaneously.
Not even thinking about it- Scott and I leaped up from the ground and high-fived each other for our success...over this kid's still unmoving body.
We giddily ran off the field- still not noticing the body- to the boos and disgust of the audience- That was when we looked back.
They were slow and careful about getting the kid off the field but he was alright.
It wasn't many games after that when I stopped playing for the Base in the middle of the season. School was different and required more attention. I had ROTC. And the practices were enough already.
But I still played street ball.
Many years later- I actually ran into Scott at some apartment party near UTSA. We didn't know each other for anything else- I never went to school with him or anything- but when we bumped into each other we instantly recalled the moment where we popped the kid from the other team. We had a shameful laugh- and a drink to the past and it kinda made me feel better about the whole thing- that I wasn't alone in the incident.
It's funny how things come 'round like that.
Football!
Every year my passion for it grows exponentially and I don't really understand it. It went from a gentle expectation that came with my favorite time of the year (Fall) to a full bodied lust that began to burn furiously sometime around June.
Anyone who has ever known me from before the past couple of years might only describe my interest in the sport as slight if at all, for I didn't carry myself as a football lover. Of course anyone associated with me even somewhat closely over the past 5-6 years would be able state with certainty that I am a football nut.
When I think back on it- you know, my introduction to football and how everything fell into place- it does make sense.
My step father was the football lover in the house. I don't know how he got me watching but I remember plenty of Sunday afternoons rooting for the Cowboys. Now, I wasn't a freak then. I was a kid. So if there was something going on outside for me to do- biking, running- whatever. I'd do it but I would never be so far as to not know what the score was.
And the Cowboys were a great team to root for. Dorsett, Newhouse- all the Cowboys were like shining knights of blue and silver. Stars blazing a trail across a stripped field of green. I remember watching Staubach have what seemed like the entire Redskins defense huddle over him menacingly- only to emerge from the cluster of red jerseys almost effortlessly. It was always amazing how many times he got out of a jam and made a great play.
On top of that, they had the hottest cheerleaders ever and since. Rows of beauties in every color and shape, all smiles and kicks and excitement.
Thinking on it now, those Cowboys probably made me feel like a real Texan, too. Not like someone who had been carted in from the hot sands of Arizona under the cover of darkness.
Pop not only had us watch football- he even talked us into playing for the Base pop warner league.
I would dread those weekly practices as they were sweat and tears, yo. We met up two or three times a week and it was intense.
Today- I would pay to go through some of those routines but back then- ugh. The hardest part really was doing all the exercises at the beginning. The running. The jumping jacks. The push-ups. The tires. The whistle stops...Yeah, the fucking whistle stops.
After that we would run through plays and that was pretty awesome but the cool shit was Saturday.
Game day.
Mom would pack a bunch of food and drinks and stuff into a cooler and Pop (who was coaching my brother's team) would have charts and whistles and pads and shit.
Then we would get out there in our uniforms (My team was the JETS- which is kinda appropriate-, Joe's were the Steelers) and just rip shit up like we were being paid. We were highly competitive back then. I never saw a parent hit a coach or a ref or anything like that kind of nonsense but the parents of the neighborhood that I raise my kids in now would frown on the sheer ferociousness burning in the eyes of my fellow team mates back then.
Sometimes that competitive edge got us into trouble.
Once- while we were on the bus to that weekend's match, we came across a kid from the opposing team who was walking, so the driver decided to stop and give the guy a ride.
This skrawny little thing slowly made his way to the back and a few of us decided to get the bus fired up to let this kid know he was being driven to the ass-kicking of his life.
"We're gonna whoop! Up! Side-the-head! We're gonna whoop'em upside the head!" we began to chant and it wasn't long before the whole bus was rocking with the righteous thunder of the Kelly AFB Jets.
Young girls dressed in green and white uniforms of cheer, gnashed their teeth and stomped their feet just as viciously as any boy on the team- Their Pom-Poms pumping rhythmically to the chant.
Our tender little visitor sat quietly amidst the choreographed chaos. He had a panicked look on his face- like some poor bastard sitting on a stake during some sacrificial dance.
When the bus stopped. He practically leaped off and ran to his team. We smiled as he as did so...until we saw what he was running to.
On the other end of the field were the biggest bunch of beasts packaged as preteens I had ever seen up until that time. Massive children that resembled gorillas much more than anything human and all of them dressed as our freshly released captor who was now pointing frantically in our direction.
We were done for.
What followed was the most embarassing display of a "football game" ever known to the sport. A one-sided event very similar to a Harlem Globetrotters game except muddier and intensely more violent.
Football was my first and only organized sport and I would have to say that My year with the Jets was probably my favorite- even though I would go on to play for a few years after that.
Micheal Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" and The Gap Band's "You Dropped A Bomb On Me" are miracles of science as they are instant portals to the past. When I hear those songs I find myself sitting on that bus on the way to a game or standing on the sideline in my number "72" jersey waiting to get back into the game.
My position was defensive tackle but sometimes I would play offense too. I would get other positions later due to my tallness but never was I able to run the ball. My dream was to get into that end zone! I knew I was fast enough I just never got the ball.
My closest shot was a game where I was on the defensive line and once the ball was snapped- I shoved the kid in front of me to the ground (which was easy because he was smaller than I) and barreled down on the quarterback who was smaller than the guy I had just stepped over.
The QB, startled at how fast I got through the line, slipped and dropped the ball.
Now, I knew that once I picked that ball up they would call the play and we would pick up the game from that spot. The coaches told us several times that we weren't allowed to have run backs in this league,
BUT:
1. That rule never made any sense to me. and
2. This was my chance! I was gonna score, dammit.
I scooped the ball effortlessly with no one standing between me and the goal line. I was just a few leg pumps away from the dream that any kid wearing pads and a helmet has. I was gonna make a touchdown! Whether it counted or not.
A bolt of energy shot through me as the crowd collectively gasped- realizing the tables had turned.
I planted my first step deep into the earth and pushed. I propelled forward slightly, tucked the ball and shifted my weight all simultaneously. A young Dorsett in the making.
I went to dig at the ground again with my next step but it wasn't there. Something small lassoed my ankle and pulled my foot back and out from underneath me. Not prepared for the sudden change the top half of me came tumbling down like some old worn out Vegas Casino. Slow and hard.
I looked back and saw the kid who I plowed through to get into this joint, still clutching my foot with his eyes closed.
The ref took the ball away from me and planted it back where I picked it up- barely a yard away.
When I got back to the sideline the coach patted me on the back as he noticed my obvious disappointment- "Nice turnover, Kim- But even if you'd had run they'da brung it back."
Yeah- GREAT!
I think TD Remorse is popular with a lot of guys who played pop warner and didn't get in the end zone. I was talking to my friend Larry a couple of years ago and he had TD-R, too. Maybe they'll come out with a pill for that and hawk it to us during the news. I'd buy it.
I continued to play through for Kelly AFB for a few years up until I was a Freshman. Every year was pretty much the same for me. Pop (coach) and Joe (unstoppable tank) were the champions of their league one year.
Joe may not have been able to read worth a damn nor did he have the sense to comprehend many of the complexities of the plays but he could NOT be stopped. In this he was amazing. He could have been a great athlete if he hadn't been distracted by things he shouldn't have never ever been a part of.
Our final year playing for the base Joe and I were joined by our cousins, Marvin and Micheal.
Marvin was my age so he was on my team. Micheal was Joe's age. My mom and her sister, Jewel (Marvin and Micheal's mother) seemed to compete in everything- even this.
Anyway- we had some great times hanging out as we where growing up and playing football together was extra cool!
Marvin was the QB, green eyed, light skinned AND a ladies man- so I don't even have to tell you what his situation was like- Me? I was me. So, I managed to have fun telling different cheerleaders "secrets" they should know to get to Marvin.
I don't remember much from this year except there was this one game that we were losing horribly. I was a corner back and I remember running in after the quarterback in a direct line- which the coach had told me NOT to do! The coach always told me to make corners- BUT THE DUDE WAS RIGHT THERE!!! So I ran right at the guy and suddenly he spun and was running around me.
I turned to catch him but now I was falling behind and he was sprinting away from me like a gazelle. The worst part was that he was holding the ball down at his side just out of my reach- TEASING me with it.
After he was finally brought down, I was called to the sideline where I was admonished mercilessly. It was my fault, so I could say nothing.
The rest of the game went pretty much the same for the rest of the team. Until- early in the fourth quarter, there was an opponent running down field towards me. He was ducking and weaving all of our other players and it was looking like it was going to come down to only me!
I prepped myself, followed his waist and dove at his legs- I was told if you want to stop a runner- wrap up his legs where he can't use 'em.
I didn't know this but at the same time a team mate- Whose name was Scott, I think- Had hit the guy from above at the same time- from a different direction.
So we struck this poor kid with a one-two punch from two different directions simultaneously.
Not even thinking about it- Scott and I leaped up from the ground and high-fived each other for our success...over this kid's still unmoving body.
We giddily ran off the field- still not noticing the body- to the boos and disgust of the audience- That was when we looked back.
They were slow and careful about getting the kid off the field but he was alright.
It wasn't many games after that when I stopped playing for the Base in the middle of the season. School was different and required more attention. I had ROTC. And the practices were enough already.
But I still played street ball.
Many years later- I actually ran into Scott at some apartment party near UTSA. We didn't know each other for anything else- I never went to school with him or anything- but when we bumped into each other we instantly recalled the moment where we popped the kid from the other team. We had a shameful laugh- and a drink to the past and it kinda made me feel better about the whole thing- that I wasn't alone in the incident.
It's funny how things come 'round like that.
5.07.2009
Moment 617: 911 Cable Ranch Rd.
The first and only time I lived on my own, completely- was in a first floor apartment in a duplex on Cable Ranch Rd.
It was Apt. 911.
When I moved in, my parents gave me their old couch- I had some other furniture I cobbled together including a coffee table but not a bed. So I slept on that couch for the first month or so.
It was pretty cool.
So many great things happened in that place- I'm going to break up each moment of relevance- but this is just about getting the place itself and what the aura was like.
The complex itself set alone behind the Westlakes Mall area next to this man-made huge pond/small lake shaped body of water.
I got the bottom floor because it was the cheapest- I think my rent was around 350 a month. The apartment was about 427 sq. ft. so it was small.
It had two major rooms- the largest one was a Kitchen/Living Room area seprated by a counter so the place still seemed sizeable.
The second room was the Bedroom/Bathroom. Also a sizeable room- especially since I didn't have a bed in it at the time.
The place was pretty sparce for a while as I was collecting things to put in there on my measly $16,000 a year salary- Which I was HAPPY to make, mind you- it was a nice chunk of change for SA at the time- especially for someone my age.
I lived next to the H.E.B. I worked at as a High School Senior. I would visit this place like twice a week to load up on necessities: chirizo, tortillas, eggs, sausage, beans (refried and baked), corn in a can, wine, candles, bread, milk, cereal, ice cream, tomatoes, hamburger meat, a roasted chicken and premade potato salad.
This would cost me between 40-50 bucks and would last me a week- maybe longer. I would buy a pack of Dove soap, dish detergent, toothpaste and a four roll of toilet paper once a month.
It was rare that I would have to buy beer because there was always some left over from some get togther that had happened a couple of days before.
It was cool to be really on my own. I mean, I was always very independant and I was pretty responsible (except with paper work and mail- which I can't stand- but I had pulled it together enough to run things). So I loved it!
There were times when I was pretty lonely on my own but that came after I had lived there for a while.
In fact- there was always people coming over to my place. It was a hangout for Cisco and a lot of his friends as we had dinners/parties like twice a week. My National Guard friends rolled through once a month and Roger came over throughout the month as well.
Jerry, Susan and Ted paid me regular visits and Gary even had a key- so he would stop by and do his laundry PLUS there was a ritual we had where we would buy a Louisiana crunch cake and a box of vanilla bean ice cream and finish it off in one sitting.
Bryan would roll over and we would jam and watch cartoons.
Dave and his wife came by a couple of times so's she could drink my beer.
Rob would come by with the crew we used to hang with at the arcade.
Sarah came by a few times as well as Marcos and Joann, Mike and a few other peeps from Fox Rocks and KRRT.
Randy and Lisa visited me often.
My cousin, Teddy would come by with all kinds of people he was hanging with at the time.
Lisa and Alfred came by a lot too.
Thinking back, I don't know how I got so lonely in that place. But I eventually did-
I do miss it but I don't think I could live like that again. Not really.
Too many memories, yo. I will have to go into detail.
Before I jet on this opening to 911 Cable Ranch-
I remember finding a cat on my balcony and I happened to have a can of tuna so I busted it open and set it out. The cat ate well and hung for a bit then rolled. I was happy for the company while it was there but didn't think anything of it.
The next morning on my way out to work I found a dead mouse on my welcome matt as a thank you from the cat.
That was pretty much the vibe at my place. Give a little, take a little and everything was apprieciated.
Even though it was MY place- it kinda felt shared by the various networks I was associated with.
Yeah. It was a pretty cool place.
4.15.2009
Moment 028: Guns, Wishes and Texas
Like I said before-
We used to live in a small trailer-sized apartment that was kinda connected to Mr. Fred's house- who lived next door to my Grandma.
We were hiding out from my real father because we didn't know how he was going to act when he was around. It was kinda like hiding right underneath his nose and we shoulda known that the cover was gonna get blown sometime.
I don't remember a lot of the details here because:
1- As a 5 year-old I'm sure I wasn't told a lot of the details.
AND
2- Did I mention I was 5?
I feel like we stayed there for a while though-
I remember watching a story on the news about a singer who died from choking on a sandwich while we stayed in that apartment. My mother had to explain it to me and I remember it being really odd for someone to be gone because of a sandwich and it felt- sad.
I also remember standing outside of that place on a New Year's evening and watching fireworks fill the sky- I'm pretty sure that was 1974's first day.
Now- my mother had been dating my step father for a bit around then and it was often that my brother and I would stay the night over at my Grandma's while she and he would go out at night and then retire there to- get to know each other a little better.
It was one morning after such a night that my grandmother looked out the window and saw my biological Dad's car pull up- she panicked and moved from curtain to curtain as my Dad walked past my Grandma's house in a bee-line towards that little trailer-sized apartment.
I bolt of fear struck my body and the energy from it just sat with me as I watched my grandmother fret-
It was that special kind of fear that children have when they see- and feel- that everything is not okay in their parent's world.
My grandmother paced back and forth-
chanting "Oh Lord, oh lord...Oh!" over and over to herself, under her breath- wiping her forehead and placing her hand over her mouth.
I watched her and I just knew the world was gonna end- you know?
Then, BLAM!
I had never heard a gunshot before- I'm sure I knew what a gun was- but I didn't know what that sound was. It was loud. It was scary and it meant something BAD had happened.
Before I knew it- I was streaking in the direction of the noise calling after my mother.
"KIM!" My Grandmother screamed out after me but I was already off the porch and around the corner.
When I got to the apartment my Dad and the man who would be my Step Dad were tussling. My mother scooped me up and was backing out as she yelled at the two men to stop.
That's when my Grandma busted in and somehow between she and my step dad they got my father wrestled down away from his gun.
My Grandmother sat on my dad 'til the cops came and took him away.
Sometime later- and I really don't know how long- it feels like a couple of days, there was talk of moving to Texas with this man who had fought off my dad.
Apparently- he had to go there because he was in the military- we didn't know if we were going to go with him, though.
One night after dinner, around this time- I remember being on the steps outside of that little place with a wishbone that I had split with my brother-
I turned and looked at the winning end of the bone and wished aloud to myself that we would go to this place called Texas- I felt that wish very strongly.
It wasn't long after that wish that we had everything we owned in the back of my Pop's Caddy and were headed to San Antonio.
It was a move that saved my life and made me what I am today- of that I am absolutely SURE.
I didn't know it then but it would be decades later before I would see my father again- at the time, I was very thankful.
We used to live in a small trailer-sized apartment that was kinda connected to Mr. Fred's house- who lived next door to my Grandma.
We were hiding out from my real father because we didn't know how he was going to act when he was around. It was kinda like hiding right underneath his nose and we shoulda known that the cover was gonna get blown sometime.
I don't remember a lot of the details here because:
1- As a 5 year-old I'm sure I wasn't told a lot of the details.
AND
2- Did I mention I was 5?
I feel like we stayed there for a while though-
I remember watching a story on the news about a singer who died from choking on a sandwich while we stayed in that apartment. My mother had to explain it to me and I remember it being really odd for someone to be gone because of a sandwich and it felt- sad.
I also remember standing outside of that place on a New Year's evening and watching fireworks fill the sky- I'm pretty sure that was 1974's first day.
Now- my mother had been dating my step father for a bit around then and it was often that my brother and I would stay the night over at my Grandma's while she and he would go out at night and then retire there to- get to know each other a little better.
It was one morning after such a night that my grandmother looked out the window and saw my biological Dad's car pull up- she panicked and moved from curtain to curtain as my Dad walked past my Grandma's house in a bee-line towards that little trailer-sized apartment.
I bolt of fear struck my body and the energy from it just sat with me as I watched my grandmother fret-
It was that special kind of fear that children have when they see- and feel- that everything is not okay in their parent's world.
My grandmother paced back and forth-
chanting "Oh Lord, oh lord...Oh!" over and over to herself, under her breath- wiping her forehead and placing her hand over her mouth.
I watched her and I just knew the world was gonna end- you know?
Then, BLAM!
I had never heard a gunshot before- I'm sure I knew what a gun was- but I didn't know what that sound was. It was loud. It was scary and it meant something BAD had happened.
Before I knew it- I was streaking in the direction of the noise calling after my mother.
"KIM!" My Grandmother screamed out after me but I was already off the porch and around the corner.
When I got to the apartment my Dad and the man who would be my Step Dad were tussling. My mother scooped me up and was backing out as she yelled at the two men to stop.
That's when my Grandma busted in and somehow between she and my step dad they got my father wrestled down away from his gun.
My Grandmother sat on my dad 'til the cops came and took him away.
Sometime later- and I really don't know how long- it feels like a couple of days, there was talk of moving to Texas with this man who had fought off my dad.
Apparently- he had to go there because he was in the military- we didn't know if we were going to go with him, though.
One night after dinner, around this time- I remember being on the steps outside of that little place with a wishbone that I had split with my brother-
I turned and looked at the winning end of the bone and wished aloud to myself that we would go to this place called Texas- I felt that wish very strongly.
It wasn't long after that wish that we had everything we owned in the back of my Pop's Caddy and were headed to San Antonio.
It was a move that saved my life and made me what I am today- of that I am absolutely SURE.
I didn't know it then but it would be decades later before I would see my father again- at the time, I was very thankful.
3.16.2009
Moment 410: Promotion to Squad Leader
We were a week or so into basic.
We were "pickled"- meaning we had been handed our green uniforms (now they wear BDUs- which are camouflage- so I don't know if they are called pickles anymore).
Our name tags were on order and we would pick up our Dress Blues later. Basic was getting easier but there was still one thing on our weighing heavily on our minds- Taking a dump.
Yeah. I said it.
You see- we had been warned early in the program that when you experience a drastic change in your lifestyle, Like basic training, sometimes this messes with your biological clock. So it is not unusual for a person to have severe constipation.
Sometimes, an airman would get so backed up that they would actually get sick from it.
So a lot of us were looking for that first bowel movement and already at a week and a half in- many of us had not had it yet- including myself. It was a little amazing because we were eating and drinking big meals, 3 times a day.
Other than that- I thought I was doing pretty well.
I had gotten the meal routine down and had managed to stay under the radar, like Gary suggested.
Then one night just before lights out, Dillard, our Dorm Chief, got my attention with a "Pssssst" and motioned me over into the Day Room.
Dillard was an interesting character. He was this tall, olive skinned man whose chiseled face prominently displayed his Native American heritage.
Apparently, he came from a family with some money, too as he had been a professional model and his family owned "Dillards" the department store. He didn't need to be here in the military but there he was.
I remember how he volunteered to be the Dorm Chief that first day we were there. I thought he was a sucker for doing it because he was just ASKING for trouble being the leader of our flight. There were four Squad leader positions beneath him that had to be filled- no one volunteered for those- the T.I. just pulled them out due to the size of a person. I had managed to make myself unnoticeable during the selection by using the Jedi Mind Trick-
Okay, maybe not but I WAS lucky enough not to be picked.
"Pssst" Dillard beckoned.
I walked over to him in the dark- from his expression, I knew that this was serious.
"A couple of things I want to tell you. First off' I found these." He dangled a set of keys in front of me.
"What are THOSE?"
"These are the keys to the closet with all our civilian stuff in it!"
"WHAT!?" I said in a whispered yell.
"Yeah, I found them in the Sgt. Jone's office desk-"
See. Sgt. Jones, our T.I., didn't stay with us- the T.I.s went home after about 6 or 7pm. We were to clean ourselves up at the end of the day and get set for the next day- which meant laying out your uniform on a chair next to your bed in the PRECISE way that was lined out in your basic training manual (your uniform had to be ironed and your shoes shined, of course) and your locker also had to be organized correctly (also in the manual).
Sometime before you woke up (like 4am)- T.I.s would creep through and inspect your displays and lockers with a flashlight. If your shit was wrong you would lose the 341* that you conveniently had to place on top of your clothes.
So anyway- it was after the T.I. left that Dillard had gone into his office at the center of the dorm and found the keys.
"We are going to have to figure out how we are going to use these because I definitely want to read the books I brought." he told me.
"WE?" I said. What did I have to do with this? I'm just a nondescript airman trying to get to his second week of basic. And while I WANT to get into that closet- why am I involved in helping the Dorm Chief figure out how to do it?
"That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about." Dillard said, "Were you in R.O.T.C?"
My face dropped. My eyes bulged. I was in total shock.
"How- How do you know that!? You can't tell anybody about that."
"Sgt. Jones told me."
"How'd HE know that!?" This was worse than I thought.
"I don't know but he told me he is going to make you a Squad Leader tomorrow."
Way worse.
"He said that your R.O.T.C. experience could help a squad come along real fast."
"SHIT! I don't want to be a squad leader!"
"Well, he told me it's going to happen, so I thought I'd give you a heads up."
Dillard raised the keys as he began to move away from me "We gotta figure out what we should do with these." and with that he left me standing in the dark Day Room.
I was pondering the future- Gary's warning about laying low was ringing in my head.
Keeping a low profile would be impossible standing at the front of a squad and being responsible for how they set their displays at night- FUCK!
I could see it now- I was going to lose a book of 341s trying to lead a squad of airmen.
Basic Training just got really hard.
Then, I convinced myself that somehow I would prove I was a fuck up so he COULDN'T promote me to squad leader but I didn't know exactly HOW I would do it. I knew that I was going to get out of this promotion, though. No DOUBT!
That night, I tossed the problem around my head over and over with very little sleep.
The next morning came waaaay too fast and many of our flight woke up to find the 341 on their displays missing. It was going to be a long day.
We formed up downstairs so we could march out to our morning exercises.
We had barely gotten into formation when Sgt. Jones mentioned how shitty we had done on our displays.
Then he turned to the second squad leader- a blond dude named Harris who was not much older than me- I was the youngest in the flight at 18.
"Harris! You look like a pussy. Are you a pussy, son?"
"Sir, No sir."
"Well I say you ARE a pussy!"
"Sir, No sir!"
"Are you calling me a liar, son!"
"Sir, No sir!"
"-And I think I detect a smile on your goddamn face, Airman Harris! Do you find the fact that I think you're a pussy, FUNNY!?"
"Sir, No sir!"
"Well, I think you DO, Harris. YOUR FIRED! We're gonna get us a new Squad Leader up here- GORDEN! Front and center!"
I was so surprised at how fast things were happening that I forgot my plan to fuck up and stepped up in perfect military fashion. I messed up a PERFECT opportunity to be a dumb ass.
"Airman Gorden reporting as ordered, SIR!"
"You're the new Squad Leader."
There was a shuffle because I was taller than the guy who was leader of 2ND squad so he became the new 3rd Squad Leader and I became 2ND Squad leader.
And that was that. We marched out to exercises with me leading the 2ND squad.
Dammit.
Later that day we were headed to the Day Room for our afternoon meeting.
Davis came in from the bathroom area with a smile on his face and his index fingers spread wide indicating the length of the beast he had just created.
"I did it! I finally did it!"
The two or three of us that heard him celebrated with high-fives and light laughter.
"Hold it down, you all- hold it down." Sgt. Blake said. She was the assistant T.I. to Sgt. Jones. A small framed black woman who would say the word "Furnt" in place of the word "Front"- as in "Airmen, align yourselves to the furnt!"
She and Sgt. Jones began to ream us royal over how shitty our displays were the night before and they told us they expected a different story tomorrow morning or there would be hell to pay. They broke the day early to allow us time to get our shit together.
So we split up into our Squads and for the first time I was alone with the five or six dudes that were under me.
I gathered the guys and broke the work up into tasks and asked who knew how to do what. Most of us were familiar with shoe shinning, I had ironing skills so me and this one Asian guy got together on that- we did the folding too. The other two guys went through and made sure that the lockers had everything where they were supposed to be- you know?
Like making sure all the hangars where evenly spaced. That the shaving cream and the tooth paste was closed with the tops clean. That the underwear was folded and placed correctly in the locker.
We were actually having a good time with it. Telling jokes and busying our hands.
It took us a while but we got it all together and put away.
Right after "lights out"- I crept out of bed and double checked all my squads displays before finally laying down- I slept hard that night.
Next thing you know- Taps was playing and we were at it again.
Sgt. Blake broke the bad news in the morning meeting.
"It's not that difficult Airmen!- You have a manual that TELLS you what your displays are supposed to look like and yet you failed! The only improvement in this dorm goes to second squad who didn't have any three-forty ones pulled."
At this my squad, who had chosen to sit near me began whispering "Yes!" and high-fiving one another.
"I suggest you figure out what second squad did and DO IT!", she continued.
Later that day, when it was time to get our displays together- I was asked what we did and other squad leaders broke their squads up into groups to where a group of us were shining shoes- another ironing and yet another checking lockers. So if you were good at something- that's what you did. People who couldn't iron worth a damn got their clothes ironed my someone with some skill in trade for shining their shoes- etc.
It was that night that Dillard decided to bust out the keys. Since we all kinda had assignments as to what we were to do- we might as well have our Walkmans on while we worked.
The 4 Squad leaders and Dillard explained the situation to the flight-
We would have to work diligently-
We would have to round up everything and put it back in the closet at the end of the night-
And of course no one could say SHIT about having our books and Walkmans out- EVER!
So that's how we rolled- listening to music- and dividing up the chores and knocking them out.
I told the Airmen in our Bay-
(the Flight is composed of two areas called "Bays". Each bay consists of two squads. Squads 1 and 2 slept in "A" Bay and Squads 3 and 4 slept in "B" Bay.)
So- I told the Airmen in A Bay that I had crept out of bed right after lights out to double check displays. A couple of airmen asked me if I would look at their lockers too. Which I did.
The following inspection we did much better. This time Blake had a lot of praise for us especially "A" Bay for only losing a couple of 341s.
When we were released to our dorms at lunch a member of the crew started rapping- "We're
A BAY! There is none higher! Oughta take B Bay and set 'em on fire!"
And a tiny rivalry was born. All the other squad leaders were double checking lockers after lights out as well as some other volunteers and that is how we rolled on inspection for the rest of basic.
We did however get lax with putting the books and the Walkmans away at the end of the night because we had figured out places to hide them in our personal areas- such as under the mattress.
This lax behaviour would catch up to us eventually.
We were "pickled"- meaning we had been handed our green uniforms (now they wear BDUs- which are camouflage- so I don't know if they are called pickles anymore).
Our name tags were on order and we would pick up our Dress Blues later. Basic was getting easier but there was still one thing on our weighing heavily on our minds- Taking a dump.
Yeah. I said it.
You see- we had been warned early in the program that when you experience a drastic change in your lifestyle, Like basic training, sometimes this messes with your biological clock. So it is not unusual for a person to have severe constipation.
Sometimes, an airman would get so backed up that they would actually get sick from it.
So a lot of us were looking for that first bowel movement and already at a week and a half in- many of us had not had it yet- including myself. It was a little amazing because we were eating and drinking big meals, 3 times a day.
Other than that- I thought I was doing pretty well.
I had gotten the meal routine down and had managed to stay under the radar, like Gary suggested.
Then one night just before lights out, Dillard, our Dorm Chief, got my attention with a "Pssssst" and motioned me over into the Day Room.
Dillard was an interesting character. He was this tall, olive skinned man whose chiseled face prominently displayed his Native American heritage.
Apparently, he came from a family with some money, too as he had been a professional model and his family owned "Dillards" the department store. He didn't need to be here in the military but there he was.
I remember how he volunteered to be the Dorm Chief that first day we were there. I thought he was a sucker for doing it because he was just ASKING for trouble being the leader of our flight. There were four Squad leader positions beneath him that had to be filled- no one volunteered for those- the T.I. just pulled them out due to the size of a person. I had managed to make myself unnoticeable during the selection by using the Jedi Mind Trick-
Okay, maybe not but I WAS lucky enough not to be picked.
"Pssst" Dillard beckoned.
I walked over to him in the dark- from his expression, I knew that this was serious.
"A couple of things I want to tell you. First off' I found these." He dangled a set of keys in front of me.
"What are THOSE?"
"These are the keys to the closet with all our civilian stuff in it!"
"WHAT!?" I said in a whispered yell.
"Yeah, I found them in the Sgt. Jone's office desk-"
See. Sgt. Jones, our T.I., didn't stay with us- the T.I.s went home after about 6 or 7pm. We were to clean ourselves up at the end of the day and get set for the next day- which meant laying out your uniform on a chair next to your bed in the PRECISE way that was lined out in your basic training manual (your uniform had to be ironed and your shoes shined, of course) and your locker also had to be organized correctly (also in the manual).
Sometime before you woke up (like 4am)- T.I.s would creep through and inspect your displays and lockers with a flashlight. If your shit was wrong you would lose the 341* that you conveniently had to place on top of your clothes.
So anyway- it was after the T.I. left that Dillard had gone into his office at the center of the dorm and found the keys.
"We are going to have to figure out how we are going to use these because I definitely want to read the books I brought." he told me.
"WE?" I said. What did I have to do with this? I'm just a nondescript airman trying to get to his second week of basic. And while I WANT to get into that closet- why am I involved in helping the Dorm Chief figure out how to do it?
"That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about." Dillard said, "Were you in R.O.T.C?"
My face dropped. My eyes bulged. I was in total shock.
"How- How do you know that!? You can't tell anybody about that."
"Sgt. Jones told me."
"How'd HE know that!?" This was worse than I thought.
"I don't know but he told me he is going to make you a Squad Leader tomorrow."
Way worse.
"He said that your R.O.T.C. experience could help a squad come along real fast."
"SHIT! I don't want to be a squad leader!"
"Well, he told me it's going to happen, so I thought I'd give you a heads up."
Dillard raised the keys as he began to move away from me "We gotta figure out what we should do with these." and with that he left me standing in the dark Day Room.
I was pondering the future- Gary's warning about laying low was ringing in my head.
Keeping a low profile would be impossible standing at the front of a squad and being responsible for how they set their displays at night- FUCK!
I could see it now- I was going to lose a book of 341s trying to lead a squad of airmen.
Basic Training just got really hard.
Then, I convinced myself that somehow I would prove I was a fuck up so he COULDN'T promote me to squad leader but I didn't know exactly HOW I would do it. I knew that I was going to get out of this promotion, though. No DOUBT!
That night, I tossed the problem around my head over and over with very little sleep.
The next morning came waaaay too fast and many of our flight woke up to find the 341 on their displays missing. It was going to be a long day.
We formed up downstairs so we could march out to our morning exercises.
We had barely gotten into formation when Sgt. Jones mentioned how shitty we had done on our displays.
Then he turned to the second squad leader- a blond dude named Harris who was not much older than me- I was the youngest in the flight at 18.
"Harris! You look like a pussy. Are you a pussy, son?"
"Sir, No sir."
"Well I say you ARE a pussy!"
"Sir, No sir!"
"Are you calling me a liar, son!"
"Sir, No sir!"
"-And I think I detect a smile on your goddamn face, Airman Harris! Do you find the fact that I think you're a pussy, FUNNY!?"
"Sir, No sir!"
"Well, I think you DO, Harris. YOUR FIRED! We're gonna get us a new Squad Leader up here- GORDEN! Front and center!"
I was so surprised at how fast things were happening that I forgot my plan to fuck up and stepped up in perfect military fashion. I messed up a PERFECT opportunity to be a dumb ass.
"Airman Gorden reporting as ordered, SIR!"
"You're the new Squad Leader."
There was a shuffle because I was taller than the guy who was leader of 2ND squad so he became the new 3rd Squad Leader and I became 2ND Squad leader.
And that was that. We marched out to exercises with me leading the 2ND squad.
Dammit.
Later that day we were headed to the Day Room for our afternoon meeting.
Davis came in from the bathroom area with a smile on his face and his index fingers spread wide indicating the length of the beast he had just created.
"I did it! I finally did it!"
The two or three of us that heard him celebrated with high-fives and light laughter.
"Hold it down, you all- hold it down." Sgt. Blake said. She was the assistant T.I. to Sgt. Jones. A small framed black woman who would say the word "Furnt" in place of the word "Front"- as in "Airmen, align yourselves to the furnt!"
She and Sgt. Jones began to ream us royal over how shitty our displays were the night before and they told us they expected a different story tomorrow morning or there would be hell to pay. They broke the day early to allow us time to get our shit together.
So we split up into our Squads and for the first time I was alone with the five or six dudes that were under me.
I gathered the guys and broke the work up into tasks and asked who knew how to do what. Most of us were familiar with shoe shinning, I had ironing skills so me and this one Asian guy got together on that- we did the folding too. The other two guys went through and made sure that the lockers had everything where they were supposed to be- you know?
Like making sure all the hangars where evenly spaced. That the shaving cream and the tooth paste was closed with the tops clean. That the underwear was folded and placed correctly in the locker.
We were actually having a good time with it. Telling jokes and busying our hands.
It took us a while but we got it all together and put away.
Right after "lights out"- I crept out of bed and double checked all my squads displays before finally laying down- I slept hard that night.
Next thing you know- Taps was playing and we were at it again.
Sgt. Blake broke the bad news in the morning meeting.
"It's not that difficult Airmen!- You have a manual that TELLS you what your displays are supposed to look like and yet you failed! The only improvement in this dorm goes to second squad who didn't have any three-forty ones pulled."
At this my squad, who had chosen to sit near me began whispering "Yes!" and high-fiving one another.
"I suggest you figure out what second squad did and DO IT!", she continued.
Later that day, when it was time to get our displays together- I was asked what we did and other squad leaders broke their squads up into groups to where a group of us were shining shoes- another ironing and yet another checking lockers. So if you were good at something- that's what you did. People who couldn't iron worth a damn got their clothes ironed my someone with some skill in trade for shining their shoes- etc.
It was that night that Dillard decided to bust out the keys. Since we all kinda had assignments as to what we were to do- we might as well have our Walkmans on while we worked.
The 4 Squad leaders and Dillard explained the situation to the flight-
We would have to work diligently-
We would have to round up everything and put it back in the closet at the end of the night-
And of course no one could say SHIT about having our books and Walkmans out- EVER!
So that's how we rolled- listening to music- and dividing up the chores and knocking them out.
I told the Airmen in our Bay-
(the Flight is composed of two areas called "Bays". Each bay consists of two squads. Squads 1 and 2 slept in "A" Bay and Squads 3 and 4 slept in "B" Bay.)
So- I told the Airmen in A Bay that I had crept out of bed right after lights out to double check displays. A couple of airmen asked me if I would look at their lockers too. Which I did.
The following inspection we did much better. This time Blake had a lot of praise for us especially "A" Bay for only losing a couple of 341s.
When we were released to our dorms at lunch a member of the crew started rapping- "We're
A BAY! There is none higher! Oughta take B Bay and set 'em on fire!"
And a tiny rivalry was born. All the other squad leaders were double checking lockers after lights out as well as some other volunteers and that is how we rolled on inspection for the rest of basic.
We did however get lax with putting the books and the Walkmans away at the end of the night because we had figured out places to hide them in our personal areas- such as under the mattress.
This lax behaviour would catch up to us eventually.
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