The Tree:
It's funny growing up in the deep south of the good 'ole USA! Certainly, I am proud to have been born in this country, even though it was simply blind luck.
What I love most about this country is the ability to dream, to fail and begin anew; not in a spiritual sense but within the confines of a seemingly harsh reality.
Southern rock was a mainstay and I found myself following in the footsteps of those I would never meet. Free as a bird! Although, I can guarantee each lady remembers me. Maybe one or two have fond memories. For the rest I am truly sorry.
As a career military man my Father mentored me in the basics: how to shake hands, look others in the eye and fighting principles as opposed to specific techniques. In that era that existed only a few generations back, toughness was a prized possession as was learning the hard way.
What was my Father's advice like?
Well, you have already heard the story of my first fight. The kid was older and much bigger than me. It happened on an AFB in Myrtle Beach, SC. My Father gave me a stick and some advice.
The other piece of advice that stands out from the great American Hero, "Johnny, women will never believe what you say."
Follwed by this example, "From the very beginning you can tell a girl that you are not leaving your wife and family for her. Nonetheless, she will kick, scream and cry when you don't."
So certain songs resonated with me. I wanted to be that free bird. Marriage was not for me. I knew that!
I do understand that many people who read these stories would have to ask themselves what kind of sociopath raised Johnny. Well, you can thank the military industrial complex which prizes toughness, infidelity, alcoholism - you know, the fun stuff! The stuff that makes you feel alive!! The stuff that kills you!! The stuff that causes a slow death in those around you!!!
However, I do take responsibility for the wreckage I have caused. Well, some of it.
I lay some blame on our culture which prizes infidelity, toughness and alcoholism.
***
I am more of a sporadic drinker than an alcoholic. I may go years without having a drop then months without skipping a beat. I might even consider myself to be an anti-social drinker.
That may be why I am so thrilled that 420 is gaining traction. It wasn't always so.
***
It was my second day at Peterson Corp. The day before I worked with two stone cold rollers, Steve and Tubs. When I showed up to the yard, it was like a Fat Albert cartoon if Rudy and Fat Albert had been replaced with their much cooler siblings who drank, smoked weed and fucked a lot of bitches.
Almost everyone there was ripped, muscular and had their own sense of style. I fit right in except for the muscular part. That would come through time because of the physicality of the profession.
Tubs is strutting around like a rooster, shirtless, with a long tie. I am squatting on the ground and Robert Brown walks by. He is wearing a pair of cut off jeans with another pair of shorts over the top. Although I am not in the habit of checking out a man's package, you couldn"t help but notice. I think we are hardwired to recognize danger and it appeared he was smuggling a python in his britches. Baby Red and Mingo were so wide they could not fit through your doorway without turning sideways. Mingo, an amateur boxer, along with Tony, Vince, DaDa and Odell. Each with a unique style where individuality was celebrated, not just tolerated.
I had grown up around black people on the base. This was a totally different experience. These dudes were from the hood.
Sherlock was a giant who played scab football for the Bucs during the NFL strike.
However, we had something in common.
"You made it back player."
I loved the environment. I was waiting on Ernest to assign me a truck for the day. Since Tony returned to work I wouldn't be working with Steve and Tubbs. Today it would be Jerome and Tommy Lee.
It was Tommy Lee's route and he kept asking me questions on the drive to the North Side of the county. Jerome would interpret. I felt bad but Tommy Lee was used to it. He had a hair lip which made it hard for me to keep uo with the conversation. At least until I recognized one particular question, "Johnny, do you smoke weed?"
Those were the days. Drinking Schlitz Malt Liquor Bull and smoking fatties, at work. Hanging out with your soon to be friends.
***
Tommy Lee and Jerome had a pickup truck that Shirley drove following behind ours. In the days before Craigslist it wasn't so easy to get rid of an old washer, car battery, radiators and cast iron grills.
This truck was not for rollers. It was a junk route. I made an extra $40 that day picking up some brush in a customers back yard. They gave us beer too!
My kind of job!!
***
The following morning, Friday, I was hoping to get on another truck. Tommy Lee and Jerome had their own racket going but I preferred to work with rollers. Not only was it more fun but we could get off early enough to make it to Chico's (Jose's if you want to be technical).
Jose's was on the corner of Linebaugh and Gunn Hwy. An Oasis in the desert of Carrollwood stuffed shirts. Behind Jose's sat a tattered, makeshift, wood worn bench; held up by two cinder blocks.
Normally, Radio and Rambo would be on the bench. Not because they were not first stringers but out of respect. They were both in their early 50s. Rambo loved the Bull and Radio's drink of choice was Wild Irish Rose.
Hit Man was a regular as was Tony and Chavez.
Although Chavez never came back to the store after that fateful Friday that would almost change his life.
Chavez was a former prize fighter and Tony was an up and comer. Tony, part Pitt Bull. Chavez, with hands of stone.
Tony would admit to me later that when Chavez cracked his jaw he saw stars. Tony's upbringing was similar to my own in the sense that toughness and infidelity were sought after as a prize.
To all of our amazement a friendly tussling match turned into a shoot. It got real. Real quick! Chavez cracked Tony's jaw with a looping overhand right. Tony fell back. Picked up a brick. Without the fanfare of a Bruce Lee kip Tony sprung to his feet nonetheless.
It was then that the Pitt Bull smashed Chavez in the side of his head with that old, faded red brick.
***
That weekend Sandee and I went out to celebate my new found job, career if you will. Sandee was partial to White Russians, straight up vodka and an occassional beer.
When in Rome I drink as the Romans do. Why not? She's paying!!
The good old days. Way before it became popular to make it rain, players - pimps, if you will - had the ladies picking up the tab.
A bygone era for sure.
Although I was not eager to pick up the tab, she was my lady. Even though I did not respect her with my fidelity, it was a certainty that others would show her respect! After all, I am old fashoned!
On many a night, after a naked drunken escapade on the way home from the bar, we were just as likely to drive home naked as we were to bother with putting on our clothes.
On this particular night I wish we would have.
We had been drinking at the bottle club on North 41. Bottle clubs are the place that musicians, servers and hard core drinkers hang out after 3 am when its no longer legal to sell alcohol.
The loophole of all loopholes. A rock solid business if I have ever heard of one.
The way it works is simple. You bring your favorite bottle of liquor and they sell it back to you. And let's not forget the cover charge. But that's what i loved about Sandee, wild nights of youthful admiration. The closest I have ever been to finding a soul mate. The fact that she had a great job was simply a bonus.
***
After a fantasy filled fuck session behind the dog track we made our way on Nebraska avenue in Sulphur Springs. Barely a mile down the road, three jits (short for jitterbugs) rolled up next to us at the light. Sandee had a solid "C" cup but I gave her an A+ for being such a great teacher.
Catcalling would be a mild word for what was happening. Although we were both naked, Sandee had their attention.
Now, they had my attention!
Fueled by fire, fury and too much alcohol I made my move. I must have forgotten I was naked. Maybe it was my old fashioned attitude about respecting my lady that ignited the fire.
I jumped out of the passenger side of her car and as I ran towards the other car they came rolling out. Like trading, I had no plan. Just an untested idea. From my peripheral vision I could see two brothers coming around the side of me and one was in front.
I made my move. Not having the equipment to slap them around with my cock I had an idea. I attempted to kick the driver in the nuts. He sidestepped my attack. I felt myself being restrained by a full nelson. This jit was probably only about 5' 6" tall. My bet was that he had been a member of the same Belmont Heights boxing gym that trained Vince, Mingo and Baby Red. However, he had that Pitt Bull streak like Tony.
There are times when you would rather be knocked out to stop the pain. Luckily, for me, they didn't put the boots to me!! Besides, who wants to kick a naked man while he is down.
***
The following week at work was not only embarrassing but painful. My jaw was swollen as if I had some uncurable disease that would cause me to resemble the elephant man. My eye was blackened. My pride was shattered!!
Every step behind that garbage truck was painful. The inside of my teeth hurt!!
Finally, the route was over. It's time to hit up Chico's.
"Johnny, you look like you were in the fight of your life! I would hate to see the other guy."
"Nah. He looks pretty good right now."
No faking the funk on that front!
,
,