Virginia

To be or not to be...

On the road. Again. I was 20 years old and had recently come back from my trip out west. I fell back in with the same people doing all the same things. My friend Wally was in town on a visit home from the navy, and he seemed to be getting his act together. He mentioned to me that Zee (Mike) had moved to Newport News Virginia, so I gave him a call. I knew I couldn’t keep doing the same old thing or it wasn’t gonna end well. I had to get out of this place. I wasn’t back home from the west for long.

Zee was in a band my friend Kenny had joined in 1976 or 77’. We had some great times with the band. I wasn’t in it, but I sat in and jammed with them occasionally, and I took care of the sound and lights. Zee, Mark, and Dave were two years older than me and Kenny and came from different lives than me. They went to good schools and graduated. We went off the deep end with that band partying like crazy. It looked odd to me because they all came from good families, and other than Zee they would all do well in life. We all became good friends, and when I called Zee, who I hadn’t seen in a couple of years, it was great to hear his voice. He had moved to Newport News because his sister’s boyfriend found work down there. Mike had gotten an apartment there with his sister’s boyfriend’s younger brother Willie. I didn’t know Willie well, but he seemed like a good guy. Mike told me I should come down, that I could stay with them, they had the room, and he thought he could get me a job at the place where he was working. Say no more!

Here is a picture of me in the late 70’s in the band room playing Zee’s bass.

So, I asked Wally if I could catch a ride with him when he went back to his ship in Norfolk Virginia, not far from where Zee was in Newport News, and he said sure. Wally had started reading books, and he encouraged me to read and described his life on the ship to me. Guys like us that came from the place we grew up in didn’t read books. At least I know I didn’t. I graduated from the 8th grade and spent very little time in high school, but somehow, I was a strong reader. In the 5th grade Sister Sheila was my teacher and she was tough, but she showed me she cared, and she encouraged me to do better, imploring me to do so. People like her in the life of a kid like me can have an outsized effect. For years I credited her with my strong reading skills. I am not sure if that’s true or not, but I would like to believe that. Books were for sober people and just wasn’t what people like me did. Wally recommended that I read a book he had read called “The Stand” by Stephen King. I never forgot that conversation.

Zee and Wille were living at 438 Tara Ct in Newport News, in a typical apartment complex of its time. The utilities were included in the price, and I got one of the three bedrooms down the hall, which had a double mattress on the floor that I slept in. When we left for work in the morning, we would turn the AC up to full blast because we didn’t care, we weren’t paying for the utilities, and when we got home from work it would be like an ice box! It got hot in Virginia, and this was one way to beat the heat! On the wall the “art” was what you would expect from three young guys, a picture of dogs playing poker!

That is me at the apartment on Tara Ct. Notice the dog’s playing poker on the wall. The NASTY looking couch! I have never been a vain person and don’t look at mirrors often, but it sure looked like I was posing here, trust me, I wasn’t. I am surprised that plant in the background of this picture looks to be healthy when we could barely keep ourselves alive! Those cut-off shorts were once long jeans that I wore that had developed holes in the knees of the jeans. Back then you would cut the legs off the jeans and then through washing them, they would get shorter and shorter! Geez!

When I arrived there, I was hopeful. I was able to get that job where Mike worked at Waco Insulation, first starting in the warehouse but quickly moving to driving a truck. I had work and this was a fresh start! A new beginning! But it went downhill from there over the two years I was in Newport News. It was a party every night, non-stop. The girls from Guinea Land would come by and keep the cat alive that Mike had (and maybe even the plant?) and introduce us to moonshine. The moonshine was nasty, and those girls were crazy! The partying was outta hand.

I liked the work I was doing at Waco. After a couple of months in the warehouse the manager, who was an old, retired master sergeant named Sam, asked me if I was interested in driving a truck for them and I jumped at the chance. It’s what I had done since I was sixteen years old, finding myself as a helper on a furniture delivery truck and then on moving trucks. The only problem was I didn’t have a license! I know what you’re thinking, how could that be! I found myself on my first truck at 16 and drove moving trucks for a living, shared the driving out west and back, and had my own car, but never got a license. I am going to explain that more in a later post about driving for a living without a license, for a while, but suffice it to say it’s true. I did have a permit, however. I explained to Sam about how I had extensive driving experience, and that I could easily drive that 26-foot straight truck that he wanted me to, and had done so for many miles already, but that I only had a permit. Sam told me to get my license, and he would give me the job. So, I went to the Newport News DMV and signed up for a driving test with my New York permit. The guy got in the car I had borrowed and said, “you know how to drive right?” I said, “Yes, I drove a truck for moving companies in New York and drove across the country and back.” He said OK. Make a right out of here, make another right here, make another right here, and pull it in on the right. We had gone around the block! He said OK, you know how to drive, congratulations, signed the paperwork and left. After all those miles I had already put on the road I finally had a license, and it was legal for me to drive! lol.

Driving a truck for Waco insulation was a cool job, getting to deliver insulation to all the shipyards in the area in Norfolk, and Portsmouth and various other businesses was a good gig. I liked loading up in the morning and then having the independence to go out and get the job done. I could stop where I wanted to for lunch and smoke cigarettes throughout the day, all the while listening to music and NPR, my lifelong education, on the radio. I NEVER did drugs or drank while I drove professionally, but I did have friends who would do that. One of my stops was going to Colonial Williamsburg, which was a cool vibe, and occasionally I would take the ride up I-64 where our company headquarters were in Richmond Virginia. The only downside was the Portsmouth tunnel where my claustrophobia came out, and the fumes from the crawling traffic became acutely obvious on hot days.

At that time, the dangers of asbestos were just becoming known and were on the news all the time down there. There were many lawsuits and people dying from asbestos. What I learned from that is you had to practically eat the stuff, in the belly of a ship, that was being built over a prolonged period of time to become sick. I do not know if the asbestos was in the insulation I was delivering or if it had changed by then. Through the years it always seemed remarkable to me to watch what I would consider an overreaction to the removal of small amounts of asbestos, knowing what I knew from back then.

About a year or so after arriving in Newport News I was laid off from my job driving the truck due to lack of work. I do not remember why but me and Zee got into a big argument not long after that. I told him to go fuck himself, grabbed what little I had and left. The problem was I had no clue where I was going. I was just angry, out of control, and a stubborn bastard. So, I started walking down the main road called Warwick Blvd, and I came upon a small motel and went to the front desk. I told them I needed a place to stay, and asked them if they had a small room that I could rent from them? They said they did and that it was $80 a week. They took me to the room; I had a little money from my last check at Waco and paid the first week’s rent. It was a depressing little room, just big enough to fit a double bed with a two-foot path to one side, and a small bathroom off to the right. That room was depressing. I guessed it must have been a maid’s room or something like that at one time, and the energy in there was not good. But I was not going back to Zee and kissing his ass or anyone else’s for that matter. I was to dam stubborn and independent and resilient for that. I would figure this out somehow. But it sure felt like I had hit rock bottom. Turns out it wasn’t.

I knew I had to find work, or I was gonna wind up homeless again like I was in Florida. So, I set out to do that. I was going to take the first thing that came along and I did. I found a job installing rubber roofs on the barracks at Fort Eustice. I didn’t have a car, but Fort Eustice was a straight shot a few miles down Warwick Blvd., and my new boss said he could pick me up on the way to work every day. He was a good guy, and we got along well, I think he saw that I was trying and was willing to give me a chance. He gave me an opportunity that I didn’t take advantage of which looked like this. On the job there were twenty-five people, about half black and half white. The Black guys were doing the hard labor work, and the mechanics were all white guys. This is Virginia in the early eighties where a lot of them were and still are fighting the war. To do that mechanics job, you had to be a quick learner, know how to swing a hammer well, and have common sense. I was a quick learner and had plenty of common sense, but at that point had not learned how to use tools, other than the ones I used on trucks through the years. There was no father in my life to show me how to do something like swing a hammer. The mechanics job paid a little more, but I didn’t last long because I didn’t know how to swing a hammer consistently, (nailing nails into metal flashing is not easy) which professionals make look easier than it is.

At one point after picking me up for work one morning I could tell my boss was uncomfortable about what he wanted to say to me, but he told me that he was putting me on the laborer crew. I understood why but it meant my life just got a lot harder, and that my paycheck would be a little shorter. The thing is I fit in with the laborer crew more than the mechanics lol. I wasn’t the only white guy but was definitely in the minority. It was my opinion that the laborers were good guys, and the mechanics for the most part were assholes. We were installing rubber roofs, which was a brand-new thing back then, on soldier’s barracks with flat roofs that were four stories high. The roofs were about three hundred feet long by about sixty feet wide. We would first lay down some sheets of insulation over the old roof, and then roll out the rubber roof, and then glue the seams. The mechanics would come and add the flashing and do any detail work, and then the laborers would cover those roofs with stone. You would go to the conveyor belt, turn it on and fill up your wheelbarrow, then walk it to where it was needed, and do that over and over again in that hot southern sun.

A guy named Phil, and his brother were on the laborer’s crew, and they were white too. Phil told me about a trailer that was for rent next to his in Yorktown not too far away and said they could give me a ride to work, so I jumped on the chance to move out of that maid’s room. I got to know Phil and his brother whose name escapes me at this point. Phil was a good guy, but his brother was an asshole. They were from Ohio and were escaping some kind of trouble from back there. Phils brother had served time for murder, at least that was the story, and he seemed like the type for it to be true.

If I thought the maid’s room was depressing that trailer was another new low in my life. But I learned how to use a skillet skillfully there! I even cooked cake in that thing! My goal was to have no dishes, so when I did my weekly shopping, I would buy one hundred paper plates. I had one spoon, one fork, and one knife, and one or two other utensils. I had three glasses, and one was strictly for my Jack Daniels. I cooked everything in that skillet! Even soup! The trailer backed up to a forest line and the mosquitoes were as big as small birds! I would wake up with huge bumps on my skin from the mosquitoes! The trailers must have been thirty or forty years old already. There I was in a nasty, dingy, dirty trailer, and I was drinking way too much Jack Daniels, alone. But I had remembered what Wally said to me about how he was reading books now, and that he recommended Stephen Kings book “The Stand.” So, I picked that up and read all 1,000 pages of it! That was the first book I had ever read. It was amazing reading about the battle of good and evil which is the theme of many of Stephen Kings books, and I was able to escape the world I was in when I was inside those pages. It would be the first of a couple hundred books I would read in my life to date. (and still going)

I had always wanted to get my high school diploma and dreamed of getting a college education someday, so I went to Newport Community College and metaphorically knocked on their door. The admissions guy was a nice guy who told me to come back on a particular day and take an aptitude test, so I did. He liked the results he saw from that test and told me to get my GED, and if I did, he would admit me to the college. I was thrilled! I found out when the next GED test was scheduled and signed up. I am not sure how, because I did not study for it and only had an 8th grade education, but I scored high on every test section but math. I had my GED, and I was going to college! This would be the first of several attempts to get a formal education in my life. But it wasn’t meant to be this time.

One day not long after attaining my GED, I was at work on the roof, and something happened between me and Phil. I don’t remember what it was, but I told him to go fuck himself. His brother got pissed about that and got in my face and invited me down off the roof to settle it. I said sure motherfucker let’s go! There we were now on the ground standing toe to toe, fist balled up and ready to go, with everyone around us like a scene out of a movie, and I was ready. I needed the job too much to throw the first punch, but I was gonna take him out if he did. He never threw a punch, he just stood there and talked a lot of bullshit, and our boss came upon the scene and sent everybody back to work. Afterwards half the people told me they thought I was gonna kill him, and the other half thought I was gonna get killed lol. In the end what happened was my boss fired me, and I don’t know if Phils brother was fired too. I made my way back to my trailer that day, I don’t remember how and never saw Phil or his brother again. They left me alone and I left them alone. Here I was in a shitty depressing trailer, in Yorktown Virginia, and I knew I would run out of money soon. Was this rock bottom? It sure seemed like it. But no, not yet and not now.

I called my brother who joined the navy all those years ago and was living in Virginia Beach with his wife and newborn son. In almost two years that I was down there, and just 45 minutes away from him, he never reached out to me, and I never reached out to him, until now. John was my oldest brother by five years. We always had a connection through music but not much else. When he left for the navy, he left for good and never looked back. I was happy for him that he was able to escape the madness and violence of our childhood home. I had not seen him in years. On that call I asked John if I could come stay with him for a little bit until I was able to work things out. He said he would get me that night, I packed my things which didn’t take long and didn’t look back. I was filled with hope. Again. I gotta stop doing that I told myself. It was a Friday night when he picked me up, it was good to see him, and we spent a nice weekend together. On Sunday I could tell he had to tell me something that he was uncomfortable about. Here we go again I thought. He said that I could not stay with them and that he had found a boarding house for me with a room back in Newport News. Gee thanks for that John. I didn’t want to make it any more difficult on him so off we went. I found out some years later his wife didn’t want me there. When he dropped me off, he was trying to make it a positive experience but we both knew it wasn’t. He insisted on paying the $45 for my first week rent there so I didn’t argue with him. In the boarding house there were four or five bedrooms with a communal kitchen and bathroom area, but no one ever came out of their rooms. It was darkly lit and creepy as hell. I had bought a cheap guitar along the way, and I would sit in my room playing depressing songs, and it occurred to me at this point that THIS was rock bottom. Life can be hard, and cruel. Either it ends here, in this room, or I decide to go on and live. To be or not to be.

After a month or so in that boarding house and not being able to find work, I once again found myself on a long bus ride back to Buffalo of which I have no memory. I reached out to a good friend of mine Jeff, and we found an apartment to rent. It was above a garage, and it only cost $149 a month! Utilities included! The landlord was the crossing guard at a grammar school I went to, and this was the neighborhood I had delivered newspapers and shoveled snow for money in. Eckels garden center was right there down the street on the corner. It felt like I was back to square one. The apartment was a two bedroom, and we both threw mattresses on the floor. Geez the more things change the more they stay the same! We found furniture at the curb that was put out for the garbage and carried it back to the apartment. The couch had a quart sized paint can for a leg. That apartment was located half a block away from the street I had grown up on. Neither one of us owned a car but I was able to find work as a mover again and get rides to work, while Jeff worked as a bartender at a biker bar on the city line not far away, where I would spend many a night at the end of the bar drinking for free, and watching the circus go round. I began to drive a truck for a company called Movers World where I would move truckloads of furniture around the country. I was making .25c a mile and could make some good money by keeping two logbooks and driving all day and all night. This was a clean start. It was a pathetic clean start, in a shitty little apartment with broken furniture, but it was a new start, nonetheless. This felt different. And it would be.

This was my garage apartment, and I was here about two years and that is hard to believe! From humble beginnings…

One-night Jeffs brother was throwing a party at his parent’s garage apartment and there were a lot of people there. A girl showed up, and I was immediately intrigued. She had beautiful eyes and a great laugh and smile. At some point she went to the house to go to the bathroom, and I saw my chance! I went downstairs just outside the garage and was having a smoke when she was walking back to the party and I said, “It’s a beautiful night out tonight, isn’t it?” She had not seen me standing there and it was clear that I had startled her. She simply said “yes” and went back up to the party, probably thinking that was weird lol. Little did I know, I had just unintentionally scared the hell out of the women who would change my life, my angel, Lisa.

“Every adversity, every failure, every heartache carries with it the seed of an equal or greater benefit.” — Napoleon Hill

“Adversity introduces a man to himself.” — Albert Einstein

“Every new beginning comes from another beginning’s end” - Roman philosopher Seneca