The younger version of myself was one lucky kid. With a smile I sit back and think of all the scrapes I barely made it out of alive. On a much more somber note I remember a few funerals I attended for running buddies that left us way too soon. Young Paden must have had a guardian angel can be the only rational explanation.
After I grew to an adult I still had a crazy bone or two that led me into some situations I'd rather have missed. Thankfully that didn't last too long and I was able to reach old age and pay my fair share of the King's taxes. But there were a few close calls.
I spent a few years surveying for a telecommunications company and traveled all over the South. The outfit had offices all over the place and it was a crap-shoot as to where you would be next and with whom you would be working. And the personnel were all as different as the locations. I worked a number of times with a fella named Jimmy Pruitt. Jimmy was an ordained Baptist Minister. Working with Jimmy was tame, but fun. He raised hell with the front desk of a seedy motel in Baton Rouge because there was no Gideon Bible in the room. They found him a bible. Bunking with Jimmy was tame and predictable. It got a little tiresome however being awakened at 4:30 AM every morning to Jimmy's loud and exuberant "devotional hour"...but other than that Jimmy was good people.
But this story isn't about Jimmy. I found myself once in the company of another employee named Bobby Gilbert. After working with Bobby I realized the company apparently did no background checks on employees. Bobby had a fine memory of all the States within which he had felony warrants and owed back child support. Bobby was a firecracker with a short fuse and a little dangerous to be around...but I didn't know that at first.
Harrison County in East Texas had places you could buy liquor and Waskom, Texas, where we were working wasn't one of them. But according to Bobby only a few miles east was the land of milk-and-honey when it came to liquor sales, Caddo Parish, La. One sultry evening Bobby convinced me we needed to explore the liquor commerce in Louisiana. Against my better judgment I went along.
The first town we came to was a place called Greenwood, LA...possibly one of those "geographical oddities" Everett ran into every now and then. Believe it or not here was no liquor sales in Greenwood: sixteen churches in a town with 400 people, but no liquor sales. My heart crept up my throat as we left the blacktop heading toward some juke-joint a gas station attendant told us about. I knew the evening wasn't going to end good.
We finally found this shabby lean-to on some back road with one neon sign in the door window that proudly shined the letters "JA"...the "X" flickered intermittently. Once inside I realized I was underdressed...I was without a gun or a knife. I have seen some bad places and this was the worst. The bartender really had a patch over one eye. Bobby and I found some real estate at a vacant pool table and settled in for some relaxation. The beer was "good" (warm) and the mood was "festive" (the juke box was way too loud) but I endured and soon Bobby and I were no longer low paid surveyors, we were worldly swashbuckling mariners at port. And the swamp cooler that kept the place cool smelled like the bilge.
Bobby was lover of women. After a few drinks he would always produce a small black comb and dress himself up real nice. This was apparently an international sign of "come and get it" to all the fine ladies in the bars because it worked. That guy could collect some of the drunkest and vile female specimens man had ever seen. I bunked with this guy and knew for a fact he had not bathed that month, but it didn't matter to the barflies. Just like the does are attracted to stinky Billy goats I watched Bobby time and time again dazzle the 'ladies' with his charms. I usually quit after a few beers because I was probably going to have to drive.
This particular evening Bobby latched on to a young girl that seemed a cut above the usual bar lizard, a young lady named "Nadine". Nadine seemed out of place (she had all her teeth) but I noticed a hint of untanned skin at the base of her left ring finger. I tried to let Bobby know he might be poaching, but he was too far gone to care. They drank and chatted and hugged all through the night. I could see where this headed and managed to get the truck keys from him.
I'm not sure where we were headed, but I finally got them out of that place and into the truck. I was driving, Bobby was sitting shotgun with Nadine and her half empty bottle of Wild Turkey sitting in the middle. The two couldn't keep their hands off one another and I was getting pretty disgusted. My mood changed a little when a Caddo Parish Deputy lit me up and pulled us all over. I knew this night wasn't going to end on a good note.. I was fumbling with my wallet as the Deputy walked up to the window. Instead of asking me questions he shined his flashlight in the truck cab on the girl in the middle, and with an incredulous tone in his voice said, "Nadine?"
In just a few moments it became apparent the two not only knew each other, but were husband and wife. The Deputy was full of "Nadine, why you always got to be cattin' around, honey?" And Nadine was full of "You ain't never home and now you caught me now what you gonna do?"
I realize now in 1977 I was witness to the first Jerry Springer episode on the side of a Caddo Parish dirt road. The deputy wanted Nadine out of the truck and I wanted his revolver to magically have an empty cylinder. Bobby looked like a schoolboy that had just been caught stealing lunch money from the teacher's desk. That was probably the most uncomfortable I had ever been in my life.
The Deputy opened my driver side door and started to reach over me to grab Nadine. She resisted and I somehow slithered down low and escaped. Bobby was already at the back of the truck. We stood there wondering if we were under arrest or not. All I remember him saying was "I guess I screwed up". Ya think?!
The two continued on their childish spat. The Deputy whined like a twelve year old boy and Nadine acted like a spoiled brat. The Deputy eventually had her back by his patrol car and for some reason I decided to say my farewells. "Uh..we're going to get out of here!" I hollered and hoped he didn't hear. To my surprise he looked back at Bobby and me and waved us on. I nearly fainted. Bobby and I were back in the truck in heartbeat and spun dust as we left. Bobby was mad at me for pitching the half bottle of Wild Turkey out the window. I told him he could jump out and get it if it was that damned important.
I don't think the two us said a thing the ten miles back to the relative safety of a dingy motel room.
B.B. King tells a story about why he named his guitar "Lucille". Apparently a fight broke out over a girl named "Lucille" in a bar he was playing. One of the participants returned with a can of gas and proceeded to burn down the place. King ran back into the burning bar to save his new guitar. He named his guitar Lucille to remind him to never do that again.
I know how he felt....to this day I'm wary of any women named "Nadine".
You need to put all these stories in a book.
In comparison to some lives, my life has been, shall we say, tame. One might even say not exciting. But, at least I can experience some excitement vicariously through these stories......
Your recent tales suggest that the statute of limitations has expired as well as any probationary restrictions. 😉
I grew up on a short leash. I was always afraid of going to hell. At around 15 yrs old, I became disenchanted with religion, because I could see that no matter what you call sin, "Weaknesses, failures, and shortcomings" those are usually just euphemisms for damn, I sinned.
I got paid, about 2x a year. This was not good in that I never learned to manage money. (gotta waste some, to learn that) So, I got some 20 bucks a week, and saved the rest, aka my Frederal account. (My dad is a surveyor, named Fred, thus the "Frederal Savings" account). Well, 20 bucks a week did not buy alot. By this time, I had a 1974 Ford f-100. Straight 6. 240 cubic inches. 4:11 rear end. Three speed on the tree. So, I became a gas thief. Siphon hose was my friend, so I could buy drink, and a bit of fried chicken. I'll not forget the full tank of diesel I got one time. Had to siphon it out, on the ground, and add gas, until it would run.
It seems my highest goal, as a kid, was to get laid. Anyway, I bought a KD 175 motorcycle. It was $1126.00, before taxes. This was way back in 1980. I was still 15, because my birthday was in the fall. Being less than a 250cc allowed me to drive it all over, as I saw fit.
My failure to get laid, led to a proneness to drive it like a testosterone driven idiot. Also, I developed a drinking habit. 1 case of PBR quarts, and a fifth of jack, or a 1/2 gallon of Heaven Hill Vodka. Due to a failure to get laid, I also developed a "hand job" relief habit. Out of this came alot of guilt. So, I made God a vow, that I'd never do that again, and if I did, I'd read the bible every night, before I went to sleep. Well, that led to me coming home very drunk many times, and I could barely bare to open my Bible, but I did it, no matter how drunk, or how late. It got so bad, I could only read Psalm 51. I'd read it and God would speak to me, and tell me he still loved me. I fell asleep at 3:00 am many times, crying, not understanding. I did not want to break my vow, and wake up dead.
I partied like this for a long time. I should be dead. Many times, riding off from a drunken party, on a wheelie. I learned not to drink a large quantity of "Southern Comfort" and then to continue drinking beer.
It seems that the human frame was not meant for such abuse.
God has been good to me. I drink about 2 beers in 3 yrs now. I still read my Bible alot. It seems that all those things I read as a kid, slowly come back to me, and provide direction, when I am lost, or confused.
I credit my parents for trying to get me on the right road. And, the Bible for providing the "Rest of the story" as Paul Harvey used to say.
I can truly say that God took an innocent man, Jesus, and sacrificed him, and GAVE me his holiness, and righteousness, full and free. And, that it's free. To all who come to God, just honestly admitting "I'm guilty". It is ALL his work. He takes your sin, and gives you his holiness. It's the deal of the universe.
I no longer drink, or party. I go to a little Fundamentalist, Chicken eating, Bible Baptist Church. I give the preacher tithes of all.
My life is way better. I still get discouraged. I still sin. But, Jesus stands between me and God.
In the flesh, I am a sinner.
I learned that that which is flesh, is flesh, and that which is spirit. The only part of me that is saved is my spirit. Not my flesh. That still has sin. It will also go to the grave.
But, I digress.
I now look forward to a life, with God, in the next life. And, I experience his gentle voice, day by day, even though I am still an untamed wild man. I cannot comprehend it all, but I can call a spade a spade.
My wife just had our 11th child. We have one in heaven too. Miscarriage.
I have the finest surveying equipment that money can buy, and I get to live beside an "Indoor campfire". That's a wood stove. I like them.
And, I have more work than I can say grace over.
And, my wife is an awesome woman. She is a once-in-a-lifetime woman.
My son, 16 yrs old, spent all day yesterday, sighting in an air rifle. Windage, and types of pellets. He wants to be a farmer. He has a good work ethic, and if one farmer is not picking him up, to work, another is. He is never without work.
I need to go practice my guitar. I am not any good at it, but practicing does something for me.
I hope all of you have a great day. I even picked up some habanero cheese yesterday. Life is good. God is good. It's raining here.
Nate
Oh yeah, Paden
Very early 70s, I had arrived young and dumb in New Orleans at the beginning of summer. I decided to stay for awhile and was just picking up day work here and there. I met two young ladies that were room mates in a mansion on Esplanade Ave. that was broken up into apartments. There were many old beautiful Creole mansions on Esplanade from when cotton was king. Esplanade was the location where many of the French and Creole wealthy built homes. The artist Degas lived for awhile in one of these grand old homes while visiting family in the 19th century. Huge rooms with 16'ceilings, pocket doors, chandeliers, hand carved fireplace mantled etc. Most of these finer homes have now returned to single family homes but some haven't.
One of the ladies was a seamstress at a custom clothing store in the French Quarter and the other was a dancer on Bourbon St. The seamstress was originally from Minneapolis and she traveled back home and to other northern places to escape the New Orleans summer. I think she had just ended a relationship also. She offered sublet the use of her apartment while she was gone. The dancer worked from dark to dawn so our schedules worked out fine.
When I left in the morning, she would be getting home so we each had a sense of place. She was pretty cool about everything and a very positive person. I suspected that she had a sugar daddy that was connected who made her happy.
The apartment was about a mile or so from the Quarter and a pleasant walk. Esplanade Ave. is lined with ancient Live Oaks on each side plus down the center on the neutral ground.
So Paden to get to your question...
After my days activity whatever it was, I would find myself in the Quarter meeting up with someone, having a cold one and a meal. I would start the walk to the apartment and the days were hot. I had not adapted to this kind of heat and humidity. About half way while walking through the edge of the Treme' hood, there was bar near Claiborne Ave called "D'fool". I was totally amused by the name as I walked by
As it got hotter as days passed, I realized the D'fool was a good waypoint to have a cold one since it was
about midway on my walk back to shower and get ready for that evening's adventure or
kicking back . So I ventured in one day and had a cold draft at the end of the bar near the door. I became aware that I was making this establishment a multiracial/multicultural experience by my presence. This was the first time that I created that 'experience' but there would be more through my years in New Orleans but most entailed getting a good meal or hearing some good live music.
So despite a few strange looks, everything seemed cool at the D'fool. It was a small place. It must have been a small storefront business at one time but now had a bar with about 20 stools, half dozen tables, two pool tables and the juke box. It appeared to me to be a place where the patrons were getting an after-work brew but what did I know.
I would stop a few more times and I got the sense that I wasn't born to be a regular customer. Stopped once with a new friend and played a few games of 8 ball.
So Paden, getting to your
question....my last visit to
the D'fool. It was a real hot day. Sauna city. I walked in and took a place at the end of the bar like usual and was sipping my cold draft. There were about a dozen patrons or so seated at the bar. Maybe a table and some pool players too. Listening to chat and some Al Green on the juke box. Thinking of maybe having another when the bartender barks out "pOh-leece". Immediately to my astonishment, everyone at the bar pulled a piece from somewhere on their person and placed it on the bar. The bartender moved along the bar quickly placing each 45, 38, Saturday night special behind the bar tucked away out of sight. This was all done silently and efficiently in
a few seconds. I looked over my shoulder and saw that 2 NOPD cruisers had pulled up and the officers were making fast steps to the door. When they entered, everyone was back to chatting and sipping their brews and I think Marvin Gaye was playing What's Going On? on the box.
They were looking for someone and checked everyone out pretty quickly and did a perplexing double take on me.
They knew who they were looking for and left quickly.
I left and I realized that maybe the D'fool was somewhere I wasn't supposed to be.
I found a new place on the edge of the Quarter on Rampart St called "The Wrong Place" before my stroll to the apartment.
I became a reg there and everyone knew my name as they say. But that's another story....
FL/GA PLS., post: 402135, member: 379 wrote: Your recent tales suggest that the statute of limitations has expired as well as any probationary restrictions. 😉
You know, if people asked me if I was wild and crazy back then I would probably say no. I remember a lot of boring days and nights from those times. But then I'll remember someone like Bobby and all the trouble he caused.
Maybe I was wild and crazy and just didn't know it....;)
Nate The Surveyor, post: 402136, member: 291 wrote: ..It seems my highest goal, as a kid, was to get laid.
With all the kids you've got Nate, there's a joke or a life lesson there somewhere...;)
We've all been places we shouldn't have been. And we can thank the good Lord above we made it here where we're supposed to be.
Robert Hill, post: 402138, member: 378 wrote: ... when the bartender barks out "pOh-leece".....
The thing I remember most about NO was the taxis were black and white (like patrol cars around here) and the patrol cars were blue and yellow (like taxis around here). One dark night my brother Holden and I were staggering along some street in the Quarter trying to get back to our hotel and decided we wanted one of those cast iron horse headed hitching posts that stuck up by the curb (are they still there?). We found one that was loose and began twisting on it to see if we could nab it. Holden thought the only car on the street was a taxi. He was wrong.
I think the only reason the officer didn't arrest us was that he was so amused that we were that stupid. We got a ride back to the hotel from him.
paden cash, post: 402139, member: 20 wrote: But then I'll remember someone like Bobby and all the trouble he caused.
That's because it was a testosterone rush too exciting to let "slide". Then comes the "WTF WAS I THINKING" guilt trip for however long. :scream:
Natester,
In addition to your theological readings, and since you are an inquisitive educated person, and open minded as well, I think, take a peek at this: (It's free, no copyright violations)
Time to cease and desist on that increasing the herd lifestyle.?ÿ In 1632 a dude named Shar Jahan felt terribly because his favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, died during childbirth of her 14th child.?ÿ So he made sure she had the best mausoleum ever.?ÿ The Taj Mahal in Agra, India.?ÿ It was 21 years later before it was completed to his satisfaction.?ÿ The equivalent cost in current dollars was roughly 956 million US dollars.
I'm sure you wouldn't want to look like a cheapskate.
Paden,
?ÿ This one is for you.
