Writing for Sanity's Sake

To my Favorite Teacher.

I lay here and wonder how it has come about that I find myself quickly approaching the mid sixties. Sixty four just HAS to be the “new” forty. But, its unfortunately not.

I think back a half a century ago. Yes, dang it…that’s fifty years. Back to the Beatle’s first album. Back to early Vietnam. “Looking for more in 64′” by Jim Nesbitt. Landslide win for LBJ. Arnie wins the Masters and Nicklaus the British Open. I had started playing golf that summer and loved it, and lived it.

Gilligans Island and Mary Tyler Moore premiered on TV, and LBJ premiered the “Great Society” Mickey Mantle tore up the cowhide that Summer.

The Fall of 64 rolled around and thoughts of going back to school surfaced. I had not enjoyed my 8th grade year and wasn’t looking forward to my Freshman year. I had signed up for Journalism for that year. Mrs Wingfield was the teacher, and advisor for the “Bulldog Barker” She had been my 8th grade English teacher, and it was my best class that year. I had developed a rapport with her because I liked to write poetry, which was sort of kiss of death for a teenage boy back then, but I had received some encouragement from Mrs. Wingfield, and I had penned a lot of poems that Summer.

Mrs. Wingfield would read them, and offer advice and praise…which was a badly needed commodity for me at that time of my life. Somehow, the idea was hatched to start a literary publication that year for students interested in writing and art. The Sampler was born.

As it turned out, there was a LOT of interest and a lot of contributions. Wayne Greene, who was talented at everything, had a lot of illustrations in the Sampler, and had offered up one of his paintings as the prize for best poem in the Sampler. Mrs. Wingfield and Mrs. Royals would be the judges.

I knew I didn’t have a chance, but I turned in a lot of poems that year. I was working hard on an article for the “Barker” in May of that year, and Mrs. Wingfield brought in a copy of the “Sampler” hot of the presses and handed to me. I opened the front page to find that one of my poems had won first place! I got my picture in the Barker that week holding Wayne Greene’s abstract surrealist painting I had won. I kept that painting up until just this past year when it got water damaged.

Most of all, I have kept the memory of that moment. I read over all the poems in that very first Sampler many times, and there were some good ones in there. I am not sure how my simple four paragraph poem was the best, but the fact that Mrs. Jesse Wingfield had thought it was, bolstered my confidence in my abilities to a point which has stayed with me all my life….all my life. How many people could say they had been that crucial in the life of another person? But that was the effect that the gracious and dignified lady had in people.

Even for many years after, when I would visit the school and see her, Mrs Wingfield always had a smile and a “Hello Larry” which was just for me, her “favorite” student…one among hundreds of other favorites. She knew how much she meant to me, because I told her so in no uncertain terms. I’m glad I did.

I used to lay in bed when we lived on eighth street in Trion and listen for the freight trains to roll into the rail yard at the mill. We lived just up that steep hill from Riegel textile. Back then, I had a rocket arm and I could stand in my front yard and throw a rock almost to that railroad track.

I listened for the train because the movement of it as it came in and out with loads of cotton and coal, was comforting. Strange isn’t it, what we become used to? I could tell when the cars were being coupled and uncoupled, and whether the engineer was new or experienced by how loud the “clang” was when the cars hit together or pulled apart. A lot of times I would fall asleep dreaming of riding one of those trains out of town and right across America.

I dreamed of the things I would do: cross the Mississippi River, or maybe jump off at Memphis and get a job on a boat heading towards New Orleans. I’d take my guitar with me, and make some money singing in clubs. But then, maybe I’d ride those trains all the way to California, and go into acting….become a star. I loved music so maybe I should go to New York City and try out for Broadway. I knew all the old Broadway songs because I was able to afford those types of .33 rpm records at Redford’s five and dime. They were the cheapest ones. The new popular records were usually 3.99, while “My Fair Lady” and “Broadways Greatest Hits” were .99 cents. More music for the money, and besides, I could hear the hit songs on the radio.

I dreamed and schemed the world of a twelve year old boy, laying in my bed underneath that wide rollout window. The one I could crane my head back, and look up out of at the night sky and get a glimpse of the moon, and some stars, and the occasional plane flying overhead.

Those years on eighth street went by quickly. Looking back now, way too fast. From age twelve to seventeen I lay there and listened and dreamed.

I am reminded many mornings lately of those days because as I walk around the neighborhood in the early morning, the sound of the CSX going down the tracks parallel to highway 41, drifts up from downtown Ringgold. I can easily discern it off in the distance, and having walked the paths right next to where it runs, and having taken pictures of it, I know it’s the same type of train that I remember from my childhood.

My hope is, that somewhere downtown close to the tracks, there’s a twelve year old boy laying in his bed and listening as the train passes by, and dreaming of where it could take him. He may not get there. He may follow a totally different path from what he dreams, and be as happy as I am with where he ends up. But the dreaming will do him good, and give him some happy memories. And sometimes memories are worth more than gold.

Today is Friday. I think at least I know that much. I look at the date: November 8, 2019. I wonder sometimes how I got here.

Through hook and crook. Through sheer luck. Through determination. Through despair and sorrow. Through love and tenderness. Through letting myself be carried along in the center of the river of life. Never taking too many chances.

So here it is, this day.

I wonder about life. Have I done it the right way? Could I have done it better? I certainly could have done some things better. I was born with a certain set of genes, I grew up and lived in a certain environment. Both of these things have shaped me a certain way.

I wish they had shaped me into a kinder person. I’m lacking so much in that area. I wish I’d been shaped with a better temperament, instead of having one of those “fly off the handle” types. I wish I had learned to be less self centered, and more confident in myself. I have a tendency to get on people’s nerves.

Actually, I get on my own at times! Maybe it’s a little bit paranoia, and a little bit trying too hard to please. Hopefully the ability for self examination is a positive…,

I look at other people who seem to have gotten it “all together” and I wonder what that would be like. I wonder if they really DO have it all together, or if it is simply one of their talents to seem that way to other people? I’ve often said, that we cannot really tell about the reality of other people without being them. There’s a whole lot of people I know I wouldn’t want to be, even with all my shortcomings I’d feel better just staying me instead.

As I get older, I’m more at peace with what I am most days, although the past week hasn’t been my finest hour. I’m taking a deep breath this weekend, and I’m going to try and get back on track. As the rest of my time passes here, I’m sure I’ll have to do more and more “resets” in order to stay focused on what I need to do: live the balance of my time helping more than I hurt, and keeping my words and actions good. That’s a tall order for me.

When I’m gone from here, Id like to have left more good memories than not. I guess that’s really the only legacy I’ll have to offer.

Have a great weekend my friends.

I remember back to 1963. That was a great year. I started off at 12 years old, and stayed that way for 10 2/3 months. I had played baseball all that summer and it was great. I hit 5 Home runs, three of them grand slams. I made the all stars. I walked all over town, fished in the Chattooga, gone to the movies. The summer of 1963 was idyllic, and I loved it.

Then, suddenly I became a teenager.

Oh God, how awkward I was. What terrible luck I had too.

I go a bad case of Athletes foot late that summer, and it just ate my feet up something awful. I had to start school that fall wearing sandals with white socks. Nobody can imagine how embarrassing an ordeal that was. My old protagonist J. Suits kidded me mercilessly about it. It took a month or so to finally get healed up….just as the weather started to cool off.

I had fairly greasy hair, so the pimples came along shortly after the feet healed up. I washed my hair regularly, but it didn’t matter. I had one or two fairly bad eruptions a week. Another embarrassing issue, and so I kind of walked around with my head down and avoided direct eye contact, especially with girls…

I remember as Christmas approached, the glee club started rehearsing a Special program. One of the songs was “White Christmas” one of my favorites. I lined up in the back of the boys section and was belting it out, Bing Crosby style. My voice had already changed, and my tenor was clear and on key. I didn’t think I’d be noticed, I just loved the music, the song and the time of year. Mr. Carruth stoped in the middle of the song one day and said: “You…Bowers C’mere”.

I went up front. He proceeded to inform me that I was going to sing solo for the song, with the rest of the singers backing me up. I was floored, and scared crapless.

We rehearsed the song over and over the next few weeks, and when the day came for the program, I was ready. I started a little tentatively but forgot anyone else was in the assembly that morning, and did my best Bing. “Good job” said Mr. Carruth.

The year changed after that. I walked with my head up. I continued to sing every opportunity I got, and I still thank John Carruth to this day for believing in me, and helping to make my life better.

We had several good teachers, who were also decent people at our school that year, and in the ensuing four years. I was lucky to be there with a good group of teachers and some great classmates. It was a wonderful time.

The worst possible thing for someone who likes to sing is to lose their voice.

Since having vocal cord surgery in 1999, I face a “season” of hoarseness and loss of my voice on a regular basis, especially this time of year. You would think I would be used to it by now, but the inability to be able to even hum along with a song on the radio is frustrating. But yet…

I can see the beauty all around me. The huge moon…the glorious fall leaves.

I can touch my grandchildren gently. and pick them up and hug them.

I can smell the wonderful Brunswick stew I picked up last week when I warm it up.

I can hear amazing music at the touch of a button, and enjoy its depth and meaning.

I can walk, and move without pain.

Even with so many things which are wrong in this world, the ability to sift out enjoyment from the chaffe which is constantly being thrown at us is essential to maintaining our humanity. We can choose to give in to the frustration, or we can choose to turn in another direction towards the joys still available to us.

So I’m going to listen to some good music now and sleep. It doesn’t really matter if I can hum along or not. I will still cherish it.

I wished for peace on Earth, but I was naive and didn’t know it could never happen. I was 8 years old, and I wished for peace on Earth in 1958. A kids dream. I didn’t know then that because of the nature of man and men, it cannot happen. But still I wished.

I wished when I graduated from High School in 1968, that I could do something to change the world for the good.

I wished for health and happiness for my children when they were born.

I wished several times to win the lottery.

I wished and wished.

Some things happened, not simply because I wished, but because I cared enough to become involved in the things I wished for in order to make them happen.

“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride….”

Finally, “Be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it”.

A long time ago, I think it was 1961….yes I’m pretty sure that was it. 1961. It wasn’t the greatest year for my Dad. The mill where he worked was on short time. You see, for quite some time…ever since World War II, the cotton mill had been working on government contracts.

They’d made thousands of yards of twill for uniforms. Uniforms for the army, navy, and marines. Maybe for the Air Force too. I’m not sure. All I remember is that the contracts ran out, and my Dad was on three and four day weeks. We’d already been forced to move from the house that my Dad had built on Simmons street back in 1954. He couldn’t make the 112 dollar a month payments. So we moved to ninth street into a lower priced home with 55 dollar a month payments.

But, things were still hard. Money was in short supply. Beans and taters with cornbread was a staple, along with salmon patties made with canned salmon….the kind out of the red can.

My Dad was a determined man. He couldn’t stand not being able to pay his bills. A man came around the house one day selling World Book encyclopedias. The book of knowledge. My Dad told this man, who was the “district manager” that he couldn’t afford to buy a set of those books, although he’d have liked to in order to help my brother and me in school. But….did the district manager need a salesman. “I’ve got experience in sales” said my Dad who’d never sold anything to anybody in his life. As a matter of fact, said the district manager, they were looking for somebody. “When can you start training”? said the manager. “How about right now”? said my Dad.

So began my Daddy’s career as an encyclopedia salesman. A career that ended up lasting a couple of years, and keeping a struggling family afloat.  I believe he made 50 dollars commission off of every set he sold, and he sold a lot of them in two years in Chattooga and Walker counties.

He received a “salesman’s” copy of the World Books, to take along as demos to potential customers.  That set had all kinds of special “stuff” with it  There were extra “ pullouts” with tons of colorful illustrations.  There were extra graphs, and lots of those cool pages with the acetate layovers, like the “human body” which had a base photo of a skeleton, with each subsequent clear acetate page that laid on top, being composed of the rest of the body. Lay the first page down, and there’s the muscles, then the circulatory system, then the internal organs, and so on…until the last page you laid on top was the skin, and the body was complete.  Those things were so neat!

After a couple of years, the work at the mill picked back up.  It was running 5 and 6 days a week and kept on running…wide open to the 7 day weeks of the denim years.

We got to keep that set of World Books, and being as how I couldn’t buy enough new Marvel comics to read constantly, I started using those encyclopedias as my reading material.  I was a voracious reader, and started with the A volume and worked my way forward.  I read in those books for the next 6 years, until I went to college.  They were one of the most helpful and educational “teachers” I ever had.

My Dad kept that set of encyclopedias around until they moved out in 2009 to the assisted living place.  I kept them after that for several years.  Daddy always told me “don’t get rid of these, there’s a lot of good information in here”  I knew there was, but I don’t think he ever cracked a volume open at all.  He actually hated selling encyclopedias, and was glad when he could stop.  Selling just wasn’t in his blood like it is in mine.  He just did it because he needed the money, and wanted a free set of encyclopedias for his boys

After the onslaught of the internet, and years of hauling that set of books around, I ended up giving them to a family with a little girl who liked to read.  I felt a tear running down my eye as they drove away with them.  Part of my childhood went with them, part of my Dad’s hard work and love.  I thought he mighta’ been pissed that I gave them away, but then I thought he would probably would have told me that I’d gotten all the good out of them I was gonna get.  He would have understood.

 

I believe we need change in this country. I don’t think it’s political or religious change which is needed necessarily, but an actual change in the philosophy of our lives.
Perhaps instead of College degrees our young ones should go in a different direction in the future. I think we need courses or degrees in self reliance, self sufficiency, and how to live off the land? That used to called making a living, or gaining experience.
I believe we need more carpenters, plumbers, electricians, beekeepers, farmers, midwifes, loggers, lumberworkers, animal husbandry experts, surveyers, builders, masons, etc., etc., and fewer people in all aspects of technology. That used to be called being an apprentice.
I believe we are at a crossroads in our country…perhaps in our world. Seven+ billion human beings are a LOT of people for this world to support. Nature tends to notice when things are terribly out of balance and acts to correct the imbalance.
Nature could accomplish this in any manner you could dream up. Whatever way things happen, our world will one day….perhaps sooner than later, be a vastly different place than it is presently.

Love

1If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a ringing gong or a clanging cymbal. 2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have absolute faith so as to move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3If I give all I possess to the poor and exult in the surrender of my body,a but have not love, I gain nothing.

4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no account of wrongs.6Love takes no pleasure in evil, but rejoices in the truth. 7It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

8Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be restrained; where there is knowledge, it will be dismissed. 9For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10but when the perfect comes, the partial passes away.

11When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I set aside childish ways. 12Now we see but a dim reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love; but the greatest of these is love.

An Excerpt from a Larger Writing…..

When it comes to jobs, I have run the gambit. I have worked as an hourly worker doing hard manual labor.

I made mattresses.

And when I say I made them, I mean just that. I threw the naked heavyweight springs onto a wooden table and added the “innards” of the mattress, the foam, the cotton batting and then thicker foam and the quilted cover. (Which I had already also made on the quilting machine…I was a one man department)

I took a “hog ringer” which is an air gun which bends large metal staples through the cover and attaches them to the spring. I got my thumb in the way several times and ended up with one of those things through my thumb. Most of the time, if I just shot them through the corner of my thumb I would just have someone else take a pair of plyers and unbend the ring. Once when I shot one straight through the middle of my thumbnail I had to let a Doctor get it out. He used a pair of plyers too.

The only difference was the tetanus shot.

After hog ringing the cover onto the spring and filling up a huge buggy with mattresses, I would take them to “tape edge machine” and sew the cover to the “boxing” which is the narrow strip which runs around the circumference of the mattress. You would pick the mattress up off the buggy, throw it on the sewing table and pull it up under the tape edge machine. You would then sew completely around the mattress, flip it over and while putting pressure on the mattress with your right arm to hold it down, you would use the knee lever which moved the machine to sew the second side. The king size mattresses were about 90 pounds each. If the “boxing” was a little narrow then it required a lot of pressure to sew the second side. It was like holding down a horse to give it a dose of castor oil.

I once did nearly 100 mattresses in one day, since we were on “incentive” meaning the more I did, the more it paid.

This company worked ten hours a day four days a week, with two ten minute breaks and a half hour for lunch. During the half hour lunch I usually slept.

For the first two weeks before my body got used to it, I would come home at night and just fall onto the bed and lay there. I didn’t even feel like eating, although I ended up finally doing so because I needed energy for the next day.

There were many weeks when our orders were not very good and they started cutting our work down to three days instead of four. I was in a lazy “funk” at that time, and I did this for two years,1980-82, before moving on to the world of medical supply sales, at my wife’s highly motivating suggestion that we needed more money to raise our growing family. We did, and I got out of my doldrums and got my butt to work.