Uncle John
We finally reached Phoenix, Arizona and I got to meet the man I had heard so many stories about: my Uncle John. He took us in and we were treated like family. I didn't know it at the time but my uncle had lost a son during an accident with a gasoline fire. His son would have been my age if he had lived. To me that's how Uncle John treated me...as a son. Someone to be looked after, supported, educated, cared about and disciplined when discipline was warranted. He was also everything that I had imagined based on the many stories I had been told. I remember one day sitting out front with him while he cleaned his ivory handled single action 44's. He wasn't big on long talking so when he spoke, I listened. He never talked about his personal history but he did talk about life. When he was done with his cleaning and reloading, I asked him if he was any good with those guns. I couldn't quite read his expression. I didn't know if I had upset or insulted him or was he thinking to himself : "What a stupid question from a relative of his." He sat there for a few moments with that unreadable expression and in the blink of an eye, the guns came up, there were two explosions and a water bucket about 30 feet away went flying. I went over, picked up the bucket and found two holes in the center about two inches apart. I sat the bucket down and all excited like I walked back to my uncle. He was sitting there with the barrells pointed down with a new expression on his face. This one I could read. Without words, he was asking if there were anymore silly questions. Well, being the astute, intelligent individual I thought I was, I didn't disappoint him because I blurted out, "Can you do that all the time?" The words were barely out of my mouth when the guns came up in a blur and there were two more explosions. When I got to the bucket, I found two more holes just above and closer together than the first two. When I looked back at my uncle, he already had the guns broken down and he was recleaning them. This time, I wasn't feeling excited, I was feeling respect. Here sat a man to be respected and if he were your enemy, a man to be feared. Here was a man who taught me at that moment that actions were stronger than words. I would meet many fools in my life that taught me words were cheap. This was a lesson that I taught my sons and all who would listen: "Actions speak louder than words. Talk is cheap. Pay no mind to the braggard but watch the quiet one with the hard eyes." Another thing that I took note about my uncle was his temper. He sure had one and when it flared up it seemed the prudent thing to do was to blend into the surroundings. His temper wasn't like blind anger though. It was more like a controlled rage and he always seemed to leave a message with it.
His harvest when I was there was onions. When he made a deal with the buyers, they wanted the onions stored on flats. My uncle wasn't happy about that because he had to make the flats but seeing that they were the only buyers he agreed to the deal.It took us awhile to gather the harvest and make the flats but we finally finished up. My uncle told the buyers to make sure they returned his flats. As I recall he told them they cost 15 cents a piece to build....and they agreed. Some fella's showed up to load the harvest and my uncle told them as well to bring back his flats. I was going somewhere with Uncle John and he told his wife, "Make sure them boys bring back my flats." When we got home, sure enough...no flats. His wife said she told them but hadn't seen them since. Uncle John was mad. You could see it in his eyes. You could tell that every muscle in his body was tense. He looked like a coiled snake. After a short spell, he grabbed his rifle and started walking into town. I gave him his space but I did follow him. When he got into town, he found what he was looking for; the buyers truck. Just as calm as could be, he shot out the left front tire on the truck and walked home. The next morning all of Uncle John's flats were back, neatly stacked. I thought it was kinda funny but I sure kept it to myself. My thoughts were that he had made it pretty clear from the beginning that he wanted his flats back and the "tires"......well, that was sort of a final notice, I guess.
It was around this time when my travelling mate got homesick and decided to head back to Iowa. I hated to see him go but I felt my path was ahead of me and not behind so we parted sadly but on good terms. Our paths would cross again although I didn't know it at the time. But for now, I was truly on my own. A little later on, Uncle John got me a job with International Harvester. On my first day, I was taken to a large open field. My instructions were to use the tractor and plow up the field. They left and I went to work. While working I got to watching the plow and noticed that it wasn't plowing deep enough. I studied the situation for awhile and determined that more weight on the plow was needed. So, I gathered some heavy stones and weighed her down. It worked. Now the plow was doing the job it was suppose to be doing. I worked hard all day in the hot sun and was quite pleased with myself. The field looked good. However, when I was picked up at the end of the day, everybody was mad at me and I was fired. It turns out that the plow I was using was one of several being tested in various fields. They were testing the plows for various plowing depths and I had ruined their tests. Even though I felt I'd done nothing wrong because I wasn't told about the test, I felt I had let my Uncle down and he would be upset with me. I was wrong again. He wasn't upset at all. He even saw the humor in the whole situation. I was totally surprised. Sitting here now, I realize that this period in my life was educating me daily in ways that no school or set of books ever could. Life was making me wise. Reality was teaching me about life.
I was never able to learn if all the stories about my Uncle John were true but from what I saw personally, I found no reason not to believe them. He was a man with many character traits. Not all good, mind you, but most were. For instance: His temper. He had one no doubt but even when he lost it, he stayed in control. There was a point to everything he did. When he sent a message whether implied or open, it was always clear. He had an air about him which said Don't tread on me unless you're willing to pay the price. He stayed true to himself and his beliefs. He never started or looked for trouble but he wouldn't back off if confronted. In the same breath, he would go out of his way to help anyone and as far as I could tell, he was well respected. He was somewhat of a paradox to me but I learned quite alot from him about what it takes to be a real man.
Before I end this chapter, I have to speak a bit about Uncle John's wife; my Aunt Opal. When I think of her, I think how lucky Uncle John was because she was just a great gal. Though they lived as equals, I believe she was the only person Uncle John would back down from. She was a beautiful person. Not in looks, mind you, but she was truly beautiful. When I sit and try to find the words to descrbe her, I find that I can't. The best I can do is have you imagine the classic western woman and you will see Aunt Opal. The one example that I can keenly recall was her ability with firearms. They didn't have a chicken coup sp their chickens were kinda wild and spent most if their time roosting in trees. When Aunt Opal decided on chicken for dinner, she would grab her rifle, step out on the porch, fire one shot and we had a chicken dinner. My stay with Uncle John was a high point in my life but after close to three months, I started to feel the itch to be moving along. I was also a little concerned that I might be wearing out my welcome. I felt as if I was a welcome part of a real family but I had been thinking about California and what an ocean looked like. It was a sad farewell and I vowed to return but I was off again. Back to the rails I went with the same feeling of excitement.
I rode them all the way to Los Angeles, California. When I got my first look at Los Angeles it scared me. It was so massive and compacted. There were more people in one small area than I had ever seen in my whole life. I didn't like it. It made me uncomfortable, so my stay lasted long enough fior me to catch a rail on the fly away from there. I didn't care about direction, I just wanted to vacate the area.
I soon found out that I was on a train loaded with harvesting equipment and it's crew. The train had been rerouted to drop this crew in northern Texas. The crew treated me real good, kinda like a mascot. When I met the crew foreman, he asked me if I wanted to work. I was always willing to work, so, now, I was a member of a harvest crew. And get this...I was going to get paid in "CASH." What a novel concept and another first for me; money for labor, WOW!
Now I did tell you at the beginning of my story that I am by no means a braggart. But I have to stray just this once because my job was second only to the crew boss in importance and I was just closing in on 16 years old. You have to understand that these harvest crews were finely tuned machines and team work was an absolute must. We started work at sun up and worked until sundown. There were no breaks for any reason allowed except for mechanical failure and in that case only one combine stopped.
The combines would start out one at a time in a staggard line abreast, each driving in a straight line. Some of the fields were so large that one trip up and one back would take an entire day. My job was to move, a foot, from one combine to the next, all day, bringing fresh water and removing the bowel movements (feces in a paperbag and urine in a bottle). No combine operator liked to have to sit and smell his own mess in the hot sun...and not one of the operators ever complained when ol Donahoo was on the job. I got real good, real quick on how to pick out which operator required my assistance. I also got to spend alot of time riding in the combines and inside a couple of weeks, I had learned to operate one quite efficiently. It seemed the wise thing to do because I wanted to be prepared for promotion should one arise. Afterall, even though I understood the importance of my job, I didn't see much of a career in ( Pardon my language) carrying someone else's shit.
After about a month, fortune shined on me when one of the operators had an accident and broke his leg pretty bad. The men in the crew stood up for me and the crew boss gave in and gave me a shot at operating a combine solo. I proved to him my capability and kept the job for the remainer of the harvest time. I also reached another milestone in my life. I was treated as a man. I was treated as an equal and I was treated with respect. A respect that as I learned later was earned and not given. This, I carried with me throughout my life. I've never given my trust or respect to anyone. They had to earn it. On the opposite side of the coin, I've never expected anyone to trust or respect me until I earned it. Trust and respect given is not worth having. Trust or respect earned is cherished for life. Another lesson in life that my sons learned. The easy way or the hard way, no matter to me, but a lesson they all learned.
The harvest season lasted four or five months until late fall. We boys worked hard and played hard. We were as one. During the nights, there were good times, partying and drinking and such, but God help the man who would dare give me a drink for he would have to answet to the rest of the crew. This wasn't my rule or the crew boss's rule but it was an unwritten rule amongst the crew. They sort of adopted me and attempted to round out my education without corrupting my character. It was like having 20 or so big brothers who truly cared about me. I was on top if the world and they were there to catch me...if I fell off.
One of the areas that they decided I needed some work was that of being a pugalist. They knew I had the speed, strength and determination but I was lacking in the ability, so they decided to teach me how to defend myself. So, for Lord knows how long, I was fighting someone virtually every night. They would never punch me. Instead they slapped me while I was allowed to throw punches. I can honestly say that during this period of time I never suffered a sinus infection. Basically, that was because I was getting the snot slapped out of me on a regular basis. But, I did learn to defend myself. These guys taught me several important lessons about self-defense. First, never start the fight, even avoid if possible. Second, if forced into a fight, end it quickly and decisively, if it can't be avoided, then finish it. A fight lasting more than 15 or 20 seconds was a long fight. And third beat 'em but avoid humiliating them. No sense in pouring salt into an open wound.
When the harvest season began to wind down so did my life on the rails as, after nearly three years I decided to return to Council Bluffs to see what, if anything had changed there. I returned with a new set of clothes, a pocket full of money and a lifetime of living crammed into three. I returned my own man.
THE HOBO YEARS Part 1
THE BEGINNING
THE EARLY YEARS
HOMEPAGE...so you can sign the "GuestBook"
� 1997 [email protected]
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