Summer Camp

Summer Camp

I was twelve years old and felt like I was thirty.  My mom was getting married again.  Wow! I was going to have a stepfather.  I wasn’t too worried about all the evil stepfather stories I had heard from my friends.  I stood a foot taller than Dr. Scott, Mom’s fiancy and out weighed him by about a hundred pounds.  Also, he was seventy years old. He was quite well off financially and was supposed to be very smart.  I wondered, “How smart can he be to be marrying my mom?”  He was the retired dean of the “Women’s College of Georgia”, so I guess he had a lot of book sense, but marrying my mom?  He had been very nice to my brother and me and we had orders from mom to be on our best behavior whenever he was around. Dr.Scott, that is what I called him, not father or dad, just Dr. Scott.  It just seems right somehow.  Dr. Scott looked like what a College Dean should look like.  He had a little mustache, smoked a pipe and wore a hat with a brim almost all the time. 

I was not only getting a new daddy, but I was also getting to go to summer camp way up in New Hampshire. It was a camp for troubled New York City youths and it lasted for the whole summer. I was such a lucky kid.

Mom’s plan, as I understood it, is that Dr.Scott was going to drive my mom and me to New Hampshire to this summer camp owned and operated by Dr. Scott’s rather peculiar sister. They planned to have a small wedding ceremony at the camp.  My brother was going to be staying with our Aunt Eliza for the summer. He never had to do anything he did not want to do. After the wedding,  the newlyweds were going on a summer long honeymoon to who knows where and leave me at the “West Side Story” summer camp.  Oh boy, I could hardly wait...

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Hello Dolly

Hello Dolly

 “Hello Dolly” was stuck in my head.  That song from the old musical had played over and over in my brain for five days now. It was like having the “hic ups” that will not go away. All of a sudden I would find myself humming it or I would start outright singing it as I patrolled. I tried everything to get rid of it. I tried singing a different song to drive it out, but it just would not leave. “How the hell did I know all the words to this damn song?” I am not gay and do not listen to musicals. I can’t remember the last time I actually heard the horrible song.  I figured that it must be a memory from my childhood or something. My mother used to play this kind of music, but I never really paid much attention to it. Maybe it had penetrated into my subconscious mind.

Lately I had been waking up in the middle of the night to find it going through my brain. “Well, Hellooo Dolly, Yes, Hellooo Dolly. It’s so nice to have you back where you belong.” “Oh God, I must be going insane.”

I had begun to notice little things, strange little things. I was in the grocery store couple of days ago, just walking around with the damn song going through my head. I remember I was looking at the cans of sweet baby peas, when an older guy with a white beard strolled by pushing his cart. As he passed I could hear him humming “Hello Dolly” to himself. It freaked me out. Is this the beginning of “The night of the living dead” or something?...

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First Flight

FIRST FLIGHT

I can vividly remember riding along in our ugly brown Buick with my mother. I guess I was about eleven years old. She told me when we left the house that we were on our way to what was going to be a great adventure. She would not even give me a hint as to where we were going, so I was a little dubious as to this being such a wonderful adventure. We rode in silence. I knew better than to ask mom any questions. It’s not that I wasn’t a little curious, but because I was afraid of what the answer might be.  The last time mom and I took off in the car alone on the way to a big adventure; she dropped me off to live with my grandparents for an entire year. My little brother was not along for this adventure, so I definitely had reservations about this being such a good thing.  Little Jimmy not being along was always a bad sign. Jimmy was never excluded from good surprises only from bad ones. I figured she had left little Jimmy with her sister, my aunt Eliza, who loved little Jimmy more than anything else in the world.  Sometimes when it comes to big surprises having a creative artistic mother can be more of a curse than a blessing.

Mom turned our ugly old Buick into the entrance to the airport. We had been to the airport several times in the past to watch airplanes take off and land for entertainment, but that was always at night and this was in broad daylight. As mom found a parking space, she finally told me what the big surprise was.  She leaned toward me with what was supposed to be an excited expression on her face and said, “Billy, I am going to take you on your very first airplane ride.”...

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The Bionic Man

The Bionic Man

Clyde Hall was a small man about five foot five inches in height and weighed in at about ninety pounds, after eating a big meal. He was a mean little bastard. I would call him a career “Wino”.  He had been a “Wino”, living on the streets, for the ten plus years I had known him. What Clyde lacked in size, he more than made up for in mean. Clyde was definitely in the top ten meanest people that I had ever met and I have met a few.  He was on the same level of mean as say “Box Car Ruby” and “Gay Ray Rachel”.  Any one of them would cut you up with a hawk bill knife or razor in a heartbeat, if they got half a chance...

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