MEMORIES

It was July of 1963, before JFK’s assassination and before my sister Cheryl was born. Gary, my youngest brother, was about 15 months old. I had just finished my junior year in high school and had turned 17 years old the month previous. The day was hot and dry but at least the Santa Ana winds were not in season. My 7AM alarm got me up and going and I could hear Mom & Dad talking in the kitchen. My brothers were still asleep as I headed for the bathroom. By the time I got dressed, Dad had already left and I wandered into the kitchen looking for breakfast.

“How did you sleep Billy?” Mom called. “Oh fine,” I said. “Are you going to help your Father at the key shop today?” “No, Mom. Remember on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I clean lots.” It was the start of my big career in real estate. I’d hop on my bike and peddle a couple miles away to the lots of empty homes and cut down weeds and then clean out black widow spider nests from the inside of the empty garages of the homes. I got five dollars per lot for risking my life with those spiders. There were at least 20 nests to every garage I cleaned and I did not want those critters falling down the back of my neck. No worries, though, I had a special tool, it’s called a broom. Other than that, I was on my own. It seems that more homes were built than could be sold and until they were occupied, it was my job to keep them looking presentable.

“How did Gary sleep last night?” “That little pisello (sounded like pish a leak) is such a good, little boy. Oh, I love him so much!” “Great, Mom. What’s for dinner tonight?” As usual, my mind was on my stomach. “We’re going to have fried chicken. I’ll start making it after I get back from my doctor’s appointment. Remember to come straight home after you clean the lots. You’ve got to watch Gary while I’m away.” “Ah, Mom, I was going over to Duke’s after work, can’t Bobby watch Gary?” “Hey, you want any fried chicken, you be here a noon or before.” “OK, OK, it just seems like I’m the only one of the boys that has to work around here.” As usual, I was giving Mom a hard time and complaining. It’s no wonder that she’d report my complaints to Dad, from time to time and I’d pay dearly. There was no discussion with Dad, you obeyed or you got punished. I gobbled down my banana and Cheerios and headed for work, getting back just before noon.

By the time I arrived, mother was loading the car. “Look after things and they’ll be ‘Lost in Space’ after chicken dinner tonight. (‘Lost in Space’ was one of my favorite TV shows and it was years later before I realized that I spent most of my teenage years, lost in space). Gary’s been fed and changed and is in his playpen. I should be home before 2PM,” she called. “OK, see you then,” I replied and she was gone.

I peeked around the corner of the bedroom and saw Gary asleep and so I softly closed the door. Terrific, I thought, got a break. I had just finished lunch, when Bobby, my younger brother came into the room. Now today, Bob and I get along fine. We seldom see each other and we are very different, but we get along fine. However, back then, there was a storm on every horizon. “Did you know your rabbit got loose? I put him back in his cage but I think there’s something wrong with his leg,” Bobby said. I had a pet rabbit in a chicken wire cage in the back yard and I looked after it every day. “What? How did it happen?” I opened the sliding glass door and went into the back yard to check on the rabbit but it seemed fine. Then it hit me. I should have known. The loud music was the wake up call. “Oh, no!”

I had fallen into another of Bobby’s traps. As soon as I heard the loud music coming from our house, I knew that I was in trouble. I ran back to the sliding door and sure enough it was locked with Bobby grinning and waving at me. “Open this door!” I screamed, much to the delight of Bobby, Dickey, Joey and Johnny, my younger brothers. The music coming from the house was so incredibly loud that little Gary was awake and screaming. I ran to the front door and garage door, both locked. I checked all the windows and they were locked with brothers on the other side looking out and laughing.

Bobby was always the instigator and his younger brothers followed whatever he decided. He had a lot of common sense and people skills, but, at that age, he used those skills in negative ways. When Dad would get after me, I’d cower. When Dad got after Bobby, he’d rebel. I suppose those are the two choices of how to react to strict discipline. Later Bob used his skills in positive ways and became a great business manager and executive, and made lots of money, but as a boy, he drove me nuts. We spent more time punching each other than playing.

Finally, at about a quarter till 2PM, Bobby left out of the back door, while I was in the front. My other brothers let me in. We shut off the music and got Gary calmed down. We didn’t see Bobby for a couple of days after that. He’d run away from home, one of his several “trips.” Mom got home and I told her what happened. When Bobby returned Dad got after him hard but Bobby just rebelled all the more. In September of 1968, when I got back from Vietnam, we moved from that house and took up residence in Washington State, near Dad’s Dad, and Bobby began to become Bob; but oh what a journey we all took till he got there.