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Dan
Howling at the Moon
Listen to them--the children of the night. What music they make!
Friday, March 14, 2014
Friday, February 14, 2014
“Road Trip—Pt VIII: Ever After”
This saga really isn’t complete without this last
chapter. Like most stories, though, the
end is really just the beginning. Even
when I was a kid, I’d get to the “…and they lived happily ever after” and
wonder what that meant. Sometimes I’d
try to imagine what kind of life Prince Charming and Snow White managed, or the
charmed Prince and Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty. Did they live happily? How?
Maybe he turned out to be Dorian, instead.
As for me, I knew I needed to find a way to make a
living. I had learned that lesson well
from my parents. I had always tried to
make myself independent. I had my
grandmothers and my mother teach me to cook when I was very young. I was making my own pancakes from scratch by
the time I was six. They also taught me
to do rudimentary sewing. Although I
avoided laundry and housecleaning, it could be done. It’s actually much easier than baling hay.
Mom and Dad were happy to see me home safe and sound. I had borrowed a dime and called (yes, this
was a very long time ago) the night before to let them know where I was and
that I was safe. The warm weather I’d
experienced since the morning after my arrival in Atlanta had held in the
Midwest, and all the snow was gone. I
got home the next day, gave Mom my laundry (see?), and went to find Dad to talk
to him about school.
As I mentioned earlier, he had told me often that I should
get my teaching endorsement. It would
only take me another semester, and that term would begin in a week or so. I had time to hitch back to Tarkio and get
registered. Eight weeks of classes and
eight weeks of student teaching. He said
he’d help me rent an apartment in Tarkio; since I’d graduated, I couldn’t get
student housing any longer and only needed it for half the term. During student teaching, if I could get
somewhere close by, I could live at home.
Sounded like a great plan to me.
Mom was thrilled.
Not long after that decision had been made, I thumbed my way
back to Tarkio. Typically for the
Midwest, the temperature had plunged and it was cold again, but not too bad,
and more warm weather was predicted. I
headed for the Registrar’s office.
Crystal, the lady who had run the office for decades, I think, was surprised
to see me, but helpful, as always. I
knew what I needed to do. She gave me
the forms, and I sat down in the hallway to fill them out.
I wasn’t surprised to hear someone say my name. It was a small campus and everyone knew
everyone. What did surprise me, though,
was that I looked up to see an old girlfriend standing there. Nancy Fender and I had dated for about a
month the summer before I started college and she began her senior year in high
school. I hadn’t seen her in four years. She’d finished the two year course at what
was then called Christian College in Columbia, Missouri, a fairly uneventful
year at MU, and was at loose ends…so much so that she’d accompanied her younger
brother to Tarkio when he was thinking of applying. She had to remind me of all of this later
because I wasn’t really listening. I was
lost. I can still see her standing there
in her mother’s old fur coat, a fuzzy brown stocking cap (she never wore hats!)
and mittens. The cold had made her
cheeks ruddy. Her blue eyes seemed to
have light of their own, and just remembering her smile makes me warm.
I do remember that we talked at length and caught up. I told her she should come to Tarkio and
finish her degree. She thought she might
like to teach elementary school. I had
been a student advising assistant for my own advisor for two years, and I knew
she could transfer all of her credits.
She could be finished in a year, maybe three semesters. I didn’t know if I’d sold her on the idea. I did know when she and David left that I
sincerely hoped to see her again.
February 4th was three days into the Spring
Term. Another warm front had moved in
and almost everyone was out that afternoon, enjoying the sunshine. For some reason I was sitting on the south
side of the Student Union and there wasn’t anyone else around. I swear, I think I knew, and I was just
waiting.
A bronze Malibu pulled into the Visitor parking down the
hill, and Nancy stepped out. She’d
decided to take my advice and had come to register. From that moment on, we were together for
just a little over two weeks short of forty-one years. The trip to Georgia and back had been a good
adventure. My life with Nancy Jane was
what “happily ever after” means. Not
always easy, but always worth it.
Excuse me. I have
something in my eye.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
“Road Trip—Pt VII: Blow Out”
The final leg of my journey was a real blast. The two girls who picked me up were going to
Nebraska City to see the driver’s boyfriend.
I don’t remember where they were from or much else, either, except that
it was “rock on down the highway!” They
were going to Nebraska to party, and they weren’t waiting to get there to
start. After the usual preliminaries, we
were all the best of friends, singing to whatever was playing and telling one
another the most believable lies we could invent.
We hadn’t been travelling more than an hour or so when the
girl driving, who owned the car, asked me if I knew how to get where we were
going. Yeah, I know. She’d already asked. Next thing I know, she was pulling over at a
rest stop so I could drive. Fine with
me.
She got in back with her friend, pulled open the tab on a
beer, and lit up a joint. It was almost
70 degrees. I cracked my window open and
drove.
“No, thanks. I don’t
smoke.”
“Nope. Don’t drink
and drive, either.” Besides, back then
my fraternity brothers called me “Two Brew.”
I wanted to get home in one piece.
The adventures weren’t quite over, however. The battleship on wheels I was driving had
seen better days, and I’m sure she was wondering what the hell she was doing
making 70+ mph on the Interstate. The
worst thing, though, was that the old girl needed new shoes. Just west of Columbia, with a sound like a
gun shot, she broke a heel, and the next thing I knew, I was watching her rear
end slide onto the shoulder and trying to keep her from falling down a rather
steep bank and hurting herself…and us.
I managed to get straightened out, slow down, miss at least
one sign, avoid the other lane of traffic, and come to a dusty stop. I realized then that the terrible noise I had
been hearing was my two travelling companions screaming their lungs out. By the time I got the car stopped, they were
both in the floorboard behind me, one on top of the other, soaked in beer, and
trying to put out a roach that was in one girl’s hair. I had to laugh. Couldn’t help myself.
Everyone managed to get out of the car without further
embarrassment. We were all laughing by
then. Relief does that most of the
time. I received all sorts of
congratulations and a hug or two for managing to keep from killing the three of
us. Both girls said they never would
have been able to control the car in that situation. They had no idea what to do in a skid. Turns out, they neither one knew how to
change a tire, either. Luckily, however,
the driver’s papa had made sure there the trunk contained a decent spare and a scissors
jack for his little girl. I was really
happy to see an X-wrench instead of the usual knuckle buster, because I the lug
nuts were welded on with rust and road grime.
After about an hour of dirt and sweat and swearing I finally
got the tire changed and the trip resumed.
The party soon cranked up again in the back seat. We did stop for food a couple of times. My luck continued to hold, and my new
sweethearts popped for my meals since I was doing the driving. It was getting dark by the time we got to
Tarkio.
If it had been earlier in the day, I might have gone on a
bit north, just pointed them west on Highway 2 to Nebraska City and hitched the
remaining few miles to Shenandoah, but I felt like staying in Tarkio that night
and opted for directions instead. They
seemed almost reluctant to have to drive themselves. Wave goodbye, girls.
I went to look for my buddies, a cold beer, and good friends
for the night. January Term was always
four weeks of party anyway. They were
happy to see me, and happy to know that I’d be back at school for another
semester, too. The next day I’d go on
home and see what I needed to do to make that happen. The last chapter starts the next story.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
“Road Trip—Pt VI: Passing in the Night”
The sun was shining auspiciously the next morning, and it
was decidedly warm for late January. My
bright red Alpha Sigma Phi jacket was sufficient even shortly after the sun
woke me and I broke camp. It was
disappointing that I stood there for a long time before I got a ride. I hoped the driver would take me to a truck
stop, at least, so I could get something to eat. The general didn’t stop for some time after
he picked me up, but I didn’t complain after he told me he was headed for
Memphis and would enjoy the company.
We did enjoy our conversation that day. I’ve often wondered what happened to him and
if he remembered the kid he drove across Tennessee. He was kind enough to stop for lunch and let
me ride on with him, and when we got to Memphis, he even drove across the city
and dropped me off where I could easily get into Arkansas and the I-70/I-55
interchange. A few hours and some
unmemorable rides later I was in St. Louis.
There I was again, standing on the side of the highway. Not far away and obviously headed in the same
direction, a young woman about my age stood next to a pack almost as big as she
was. It was getting dark.
I am pretty “Old School,” as many of you know, especially
when it comes to my romantic notions of the Chivalric Code. [Laugh if you wish.] I know I wouldn’t want my daughter thumbing
her way across the country. Wouldn’t
have even back then. Some of my female
college friends probably have some stories of their own. On top of that, a sort of unwritten code of
the highway was that you gave precedence to a hitcher who was already at the
place you were dropped off. She was
there first. I headed her way to go on
down the road.
She eyed me suspiciously, of course, as I walked up the
roadside toward her. I put on a smile and
waved with both hands open when I said, “Hello!
I’m headed on to northwest Missouri, probably not until the morning.”
I think it alleviated her fears. We exchanged pleasantries. I don’t remember much about her, not her name
or even much more about what she looked like.
Friendly, at least. We chatted a
bit. I told her I was going to grab a
bite to eat and look for somewhere inexpensive to spend the night. I could tell from the look in her eyes that
the thought of food was a bit troublesome.
With as many reassurances as possible that I was harmless (no, really!),
I talked her into letting me buy her a sandwich. Can’t remember where that was, either, but
next door to the little diner was an old hotel.
These days you have to go out to some small towns—or the
seedier parts of cities—to find places like that. The rooms were just for sleeping. Each floor had one bathroom that had a tub
and shower. Everyone on the floor took
turns using it. I do remember that one
night was $10. That was forty-two years
ago, remember? My dinner companion had
loosened up while we talked over our sandwiches, but it took a good deal more
convincing to talk her into sleeping on the floor of my room. I had discovered that she had very little
money left and I do recall that she still had a long way to go even if I don’t
remember where that was. We had both
spent the night before asleep in the rain, but she didn’t have a tent and had
sat up all night under an overpass. She
eventually accepted my offer—I had told her I had a sleeping bag and would be
comfortable on the floor, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She did use my bag as a mattress, however. Her time in the bathroom included doing some
laundry in the sink, and she wasn’t in the least embarrassed about hanging her
underwear on the furniture to dry or spreading a pair of wet jeans over the
radiator. We’d used up most of our small
talk by then; we were both tired; she snored.
I heard her get around the next morning, but I only let her
know I was awake to wish her well and safe travels as she left. I followed not long after. I think I had about five dollars left. With my fingers crossed, I headed for the
highway again. I knew we were headed the
same direction, but she must have had good luck catching a ride that morning
because I never saw her again. The sun
was shining brightly behind me and I was headed west. Home stretch.
I flipped over the plywood sign I had been carrying. One side said “Missouri.” This side had “Tarkio” in big red letters. I knew from experience that drivers were more
likely to stop if they had a general idea of where you were headed. Not far from the Mississippi a beat up boat
of a car pulled over. Two young ladies
leaned out the passenger side window.
“Is Tarkio anywhere near Nebraska City?”
Yep. I was going to
be home very soon.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
“Road Trip—Pt V”
I didn’t stand on the side of the highway too long after
convincing my last ride that it was in his own best interest to let me out of
his car. Remembering that incident still
raises the hair on the back of my neck, and it was the only part of the trip when
I didn’t feel safe. Still, it was a
learning experience. Just a few minutes
later someone stopped. I don’t recall
any specifics until I was standing in the rain on Interstate 40 somewhere in
east Tennessee as night was falling. I
didn’t have much cash left, and very few people back then had credit cards, at
least in my family.
Not far away, the median between the east and west bound
lanes provided a sparse grove of Russian olive trees, ubiquitous to the
Interstate system for some reason, that would shield me somewhat from the
passing cars. Strapped to my pack were a
small tent and a sleeping bag. I had the
means to build a fire, but this wasn’t a good place for that. It would attract too much attention, like the
Tennessee Highway Patrol or a carload of hell raisers, and I doubted there was
much dry wood anyway. I found a
relatively level spot among the trees, pitched my camp, and dug out a can of
Campbell’s Pork and Beans and some crackers.
I can’t begin to remember the times I’ve had that meal. Hot or cold. Always a staple. The Ramen noodles of my generation.
My tent was relatively opaque, so my flashlight wasn’t
giving me away. With my hunger appeased
and the rain beating on the walls, I settled in for the night. I am never without something to read. Back then I carried a collection of Frost’s
poems just about everywhere I went. He
seemed appropriate for my situation.
I lay there for an hour or so, reading and thinking. The last month or two had been
cataclysmic. Several major events had
occurred. At that moment, I was without
a job or prospects of one; my very serious girlfriend had dumped me—hard; my
friends of the last four years were moving on with their lives…and I was camped
in the rain hundreds of miles from home.
I could have felt pretty sorry for myself. The thing is, I knew where my home was and I
knew how to get there. I knew that I
could go back and have a safe place to stay, food to eat, and advice from the two
people I most admired, my parents.
Dad was always my example of “take a chance, follow your
heart, do the right thing.” When they
got married—he was 19 and Mom was 15—he was working as a drive attendant at a
gas station in Bethany. Thirteen months
later I was born. He tried working at a
munitions plant in Topeka but was allergic to the sulfur in the gunpowder, so
it was back to the gas station. He spent
the rest of the summer stripping bluegrass in Minnesota. I’m not sure what he was doing back in
Bethany when my brother Ben was born the day before my first birthday. When Mike came along about eighteen months
later, Dad was just into his first year with the Missouri Highway Patrol and we
were living in Chillicothe, Missouri.
Then it was Stanberry. Then
Albany.
After eight years with the HP, he followed a call to enter
the ministry, and we moved to Rock Port.
While we were there he earned a BS in English from Tarkio College and
taught junior high English in Rock Port while still serving the church. In his “spare time” he coached some junior
high football (he never played the sport), drove a bus, and at least one summer
was the constable for the city.
Another change of plans and he became the Dean of Students
at Tarkio College during my sophomore and junior years. After that it was off to the UCC church in
Shenandoah, Iowa. Along the way he
earned a Master’s Degree from Northwest Missouri State and taught part-time for
Iowa Western Community College.
Mom was able to finally get her GED while they were in Rock
Port. When she wasn’t Dad’s secretary at
the church, she worked in the office of the local Soil Conservation
Service—usually she was both. I remember
her most, however, as the high school principal’s secretary. (I spent too much time in the office…ahem.) In Shenandoah she also worked for a local
insurance group and a podiatrist.
My brothers and I all have college degrees. We were lucky, too, that Dad performed the
ceremonies for all three weddings. Mom
and Dad got to spoil four grandkids, as well.
Not too bad for a couple of kids from the hills of northwest Missouri.
Thinking about my family, reading Frost, listening to the
rain on my tent, I knew it was time to head home and see about getting on with
my own life. I took out my maps and
checked the most direct route. If I
could flag down some good rides, I could be home in three days, at the
most. It had been an interesting trip
and I’d had fun, despite the day’s confrontation.
One of the things my parents taught me was never to regret
the road not taken. Just to be as ready
as possible and go. I know they were
ready for their last road. Doesn’t make
me miss them any less.
Monday, February 10, 2014
"Road Trip Pt—IV"
The early to mid-1970s were probably the end of hitchhiking
as it had been done since the invention of the automobile (and maybe other
modes of transportation, too). Today it
is rare to see someone with a thumb out.
The world just seemed to become too dangerous. My trip back from Georgia was the longest
distance I ever traveled that way, but we frequently hitched from Kansas City
to Omaha and beyond when I was in college at Tarkio. Most of my extended journey that January was
fun, educational, and safe. Most….
One of the rides I had before my cathartic night in the rain
in Tennessee was short. At my
insistence. A harmless enough looking
older fellow stopped for me somewhere in the north Georgia foothills after my
pleasant ride in the back of the truck with the kids both human and bovine. He was as untidy as the inside of his sedan,
however, and—I realized after I got in and shut my door—that he and the care were
quite odiferous, as well.
As usual, the introductory conversation included his giving
me the once-over just as I was trying to gauge his company. I knew I was going to make an excuse to hop
out at the earliest intersection just to get some air, but he soon made my
decision more immediate.
“You’re kinda good lookin’ young feller, ain’t ya.”
“Um. Thanks.”
“You know, my place ain’t too far from here. My wife’s a pretty young thing married me to
get away from her pa. She cooks good,
but I don’t keep her happy; know what I mean?”
“Huh?”
“Why don’t we go let her fix us some grub and then maybe you
can put a smile on her face for a while.”
“I, uh, don’t think I’m interested. But, thanks?”
“Well, me givin’ you a ride and all, I think I’ll just drive
on home so’s you can see for yourself, anyway.”
I was beginning to have a new appreciation for what
“uncomfortable” means. About the time I understood
how this conversation had turned, I developed an itch on the outside of my
right leg. It seemed to become more aggravating
the more he talked, and I was scratching the whole time we debating our
destination.
“No, I really need to be moving down the road. I appreciate the ride, and I’m sure your wife
is a nice lady and all, but if you’ll just pull over here, I think I’ll get out
now.”
“Buddy, you ain’t going nowhere until I say so, and I say
we’re going to my place now.”
Boy, did my leg itch.
It got so bad about then that I had to pull up my pant leg to get at it…and
the .45 caliber Colt in the ankle holster.
What? You thought this hillbilly was
walking around that far from home with just a thumb?
He almost choked on his chew when he saw what I had pressed
against his leg. Luckily, he didn’t slam
on the brakes.
“No, sir. I don’t
think you understand. You’re going to
pull this piece of shit to the side of the road real easy-like. I’m going to get my pack and send you on your
way, or you’re going to need a doctor to put your leg back together after I
blow it off at the knee.”
Braking.
And that, children, is why you should not hitchhike. Or pick up a hitchhiker. Even a clean-cut, innocent young fellow can
be full of surprises. The rest of the
trip wasn’t uneventful, but nothing held a candle to those fifteen minutes.
Friday, February 7, 2014
“Diana”
She wore her temptress veil last night…Diana, that fickle,
ever-changing witch who drives me to such howling lunacy. I swear she knows how showing me only half of
that beaming face pulls me to her. My
imagination conjures images of a seducing smile only half hidden in shadow.
The romantic radiance she reveals illuminates my world and
makes even the ugliness seem pure and clean.
The shadows of my life are softer, more promising than foreboding, like
the cold gentleness of her touch.
Such a teasing huntress.
I know she is not mine alone. I
might see her every night and often catch a fleeting glimpse of her by day, but
she is never mine to claim. Others speak
to me of her beauty…and sometimes of her cruelty…and I know the longing in long
nights alone with only thoughts of her that gather like clouds and rush across
my mind and heart.
I am not the only one who sings her songs or chases visions that
wax and wane. She pushes me to fantasy
then leaves me to make it come to light.
Harsh reality is not her world although behind the veil, perhaps, she
hides truth with her beauty. The
fullness of a dream is only found in its reality.
Again and again she finds me and goads me to my best self in
her light, or hides my lesser goodness in her shadow. But she is always there.
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