My Oldest Son

JT had returned to his Father's house for his senior year of school. I missed the day to day activities of his teen years. And I still don't know the details of that senior year, so I can only write about the results I'm aware of.

I was told an Army Recruiter visited his school, and JT quit school to join the army. I was furious with his Father for allowing it. I was told the army would see that he got a G.E.D. and their discipline would be good for him. I was never told why he needed the discipline. I did fear that the shooting of his step-father and the turmoil of being sent back to Toledo in the middle of the mess might have had something to do with his problems.

Then I got a phone call from JT while he was in an army hospital. He was still in basic training. He said there was some horseplay on a 20 mile hike and his knee was busted up when he'd gone over an embankment. They gave him papers to sign relieving them of responsibility and ending his service. He told me he'd be home when he got out of the hospital.

No G.E.D. and no compensation for his injury and I couldn't do anything about it. Legally that was his Fathers responsibility. I guess when you're a young kid in the army, you do what you are ordered. But, he never should have signed those papers and his Father should have gotten him a lawyer. Or done something.

JT was just set adrift. He was too young to know what he wanted, and his Father did nothing to further his education. Without any goals, he drifted. Eventually he ended up back in Knox County. There were several jobs. I did insist he get his G.E.D. (Bear even went with him to classes for his own G.E.D.) None of the jobs worked out any better then the army had. He had a string of bad luck, just some of it his own doing. This went on for a few years.

Then I made a desperate attempt at "tough love." I gave him all the cash I could scrape together and bought him a bus ticket to Florida. I told him he couldn't keep expecting his family to support him. He had to sink or swim on his own.

It scared me to death. "Tough Love" was the catch word of the day. I had no idea if this was the right thing or not. All of his family, including all of his grandparents and even his Fathers second ex-wife, had already tried helping in every way we could. He'd even gotten some help from W while living with TK and W and taking a job where W worked. That went wrong too. It wasn't all JT's fault. He really did have a string of bad luck working against him. It only started with the knee injury in the service.

We chose Florida because at he time it was offering the best chance for jobs. He seemed excited about a new start and I was just praying it would all be ok. I put him on the bus. And, he disappeared. He was suppose to call me collect when he got to Florida. I was able to discover that he had used his ticket all the way to Florida, then the trail ended. I thought I'd killed my son. I'm still not proud of any part I had in anything he suffered while becoming a man. He's never told me much about that time, and I'm pretty much afraid to ask. Whatever it was, I'm responsible.

Tennessee on the GoldWing

We were lucky with our years of riding. There was never an accident. Though we did "lay it down" at least twice that I remember. The worst was while we were on vacation in Tennessee and wanted to stop to shop. The entrance to the store was on a steep incline with a sharp right turn at the bottom. The bike slid over on it's right side. I don't know just what happened to cause it. I do know your instinct is to put your leg out to catch yourself and I had enough sense to resist. Even though it was my first experience, and it happened unexpectedly, I realized I'd probably break my leg if I didn't just sit tight and count on the foot rest and my arm rest to keep me protected. I just tucked myself in tight and rode it out. It wasn't what you could really call a crash, just a slow motion over on it's side. All the way down. We were both fine. Even the GoldWing survived without a scratch. But, it was a struggle to get that vacation loaded GoldWing back upright.

The only other time I remember it going over, I was all alone on the bike. Bear had backed out of the shed and got back off to shut the door. He set the kickstand, but it sank into the ground, and over I went. After that, I never got on till he was ready to leave.

On that trip to Tennessee, I got the worst soaking I ever rode in. We'd been at Opryland all day, and it was getting dark when we left. Our motel room was in another town, and we were on a four lane highway when it started to rain. We were stuck in stop and go road construction with one lane and concrete barriers restricting anyway to pull over for our wetsuits, which were in the saddlebags. It was bumper to bumper traffic and we had no choice but to ride in a night time, cold soaking rain that never let up. I've never been so miserable. I remember wondering if the vehicle behind us was laughing or felt sympathy. They followed us for almost an hour through that construction area. That storm must have been going the same way we were.

When we finally reached our motel, I discovered it had even soaked through our water proof bags and we didn't even have any dry clothes to change into. We spread out our wet packed clothes in the room, turned up the heat and went back out in the rain to find something to eat.

The nearest restaurant was just down the street. When we walked in, they stopped us. Suddenly we were the center of attention. Standing in our puddles of water and dripping like saturated sponges, they didn't want to give us a table. But, they didn't want to send us back out in the weather either. They made us wait in the entrance till they brought towells and patted us down. It took a whole lot of towells and a lot of laughter on the part of the waitresses, but they finally decided we were fit to be allowed to sit in one of their booths. Still wrapped up with a towell around my shoulders for warmth, they gave me hot tea and Bear hot coffee right away. And, they served us with a lot of attention and laughter at the steam still rising from our drowned bodies.

Then they sent us back out into a storm that was still raging. That was also my last long trip on the GoldWing.

Aerodynamic Danger

"Aerodynamics: a branch of dynamics that deals with the motion of air and other gaseous fluids and with the forces acting on bodies in motion relative to such fluids."

That's a quote from my dictionary, and explains exactly what the passenger deals with when riding on the back of a motor cycle. You see, the driver is usually protected quite well by airflow deflected by the height and shape of the front windshield. Everything is aerodynamically deflected around the driver and then it all comes together to slam into the passenger. (Proof of the Boob-bee)


And when the areodynamics, and the airflow are combined with an airhead of a driver, and Murphy's Law sticks his nose in too......well, you end up with this story. So very typical of my life.

Bear was always alert to danger, if he perceived it as danger. But while enjoying his ride he wasn't always alert to the unexpected little Murphy's Laws

We were sailing along on a two lane highway with some steady traffic. It was a beautiful warm day without a cloud in the sky. Then I felt a steady mist of wet that seemed to airflow all over me. It just kept coming. Puzzled, I touched Bear's shoulder and found he wasn't getting wet. Just me. The bike was moving at a pretty good clip. It was time to lean out around my Bear and see if I would find a source for this drenching wet mist.

"OH, My Sweet Lord In Heaven." My oblivious airhead was following at a perfect distance behind a horse trailor with one tail raised high in the air and the biggest horse bladder still unloading and all the laws of aerodynamics made me the target.

I started to thunk and pound and shout for Bear to back off or pass or anything. By the time he finally realized what I was so angry about, it was all over anyway and much to late to save my dignity. (It was the first time I could see some merit in wearing a helmet.)

He had to take me the straightest route home where I spent the rest of the day in the shower. This one still makes me angry. (Yeah, ok, I admit it's funny now, but....) Am I suppose to believe he was totally oblivious to what was happening? Do you?

Note: Murphy's Law. If you stay behind a pissing horse, someone has to get wet. (Why does everything always happen to me?)

The Goldwing

The GoldWing wasn't new, but the previous owners (one owner, we met them) had decked it out nicely. It was two tone beige and a medium brown. My favorite was the extra wide, deeply cushioned seats. It also had armrests that lowered to each side of the passenger. With them down I could have fallen asleep (if I could sleep sitting up, which I can't) and not been able to fall off that bike. It was actually more comfortable on long trips then a car seat.

I should mention that we had helmets. Nice ones that plugged into the sound system and also allowed us to voice activate to each other and with a push of a buton we could talk to others on the CB. But, we only used them when we were riding with others and needed communication with the group or couple we were riding with. Besides it would have been rude to shut ourselves off from them. When the two of us rode alone, we left the helmets in the side saddles. People often asked us why. It wasn't mandatory in Ohio. The extra weight on my head made my pain worse and spoiled my pleasure in the ride. And you hear and feel and smell more of the wind and nature around you without the helmet. (Which wasn't always good.) Whenever anyone told me it was stupid to put my life on the line like that, I had an answer for that too. I've lived my life in pain. I am more afraid of living with more pain then I am of dying. If I was in an accident, I wanted to die suddenly. Have it over all at once. I don't expect anyone to understand that who hasn't lived years in pain. The first time we arrived at my parents on the GoldWind, bareheaded, the subject came up. Dad just shook his head, but Mom gave me a hug and it was never mentioned again. (I still feel the same way. You can argue about more damage without death, but the odds were for a quick death.)

The passenger seat is set a bit above the drivers seat. I should have had a view over Bears head. But Bear is 6' 2" and I'm just 5' 5". All I could see was the back of his head. It never bothered me, he only blocked the road in front. With my armrests for support it was easy to lean out if there was something he wanted me to see up ahead. Riding out in the open, there is always plenty to look at and I loved those rides. Most of them anyway. There were a few memorable ones, like the one I've already mentioned. (I'll get back to them.)

There was one couple we rode with the most. And we went on a few Poker Runs. Later we got re-aquainted with one of Bears older half brothers by riding with them. (After Bears Mother went into a nursing home and couldn't be hurt by what she would have considered a betrayal.) But, we never joined the local GoldWing Chapter. It was too demanding of our time. Too structered. Telling us when to ride and where to ride. Wanting us on committees. For us, a motor cycle ride was better if you just left home and could end up anywhere.

Oh, let me pass on a little tip I learned by riding without a helmet. When men get on a motorcycle, they are more aware of the road and what's around them. Alertness is absolutely necessary to safty. (He's gonna yell at me, but Bear was a better driver on a bike then in a car. OK, that's my opinion.) But men still tend to drive to fast. Speed creeps up on them. When Bear would reach a cetain speed, I'd give him a thunk on the head. How did I know just when to thunk him? I couldn't see around him to the gages and he couldn't figure out how I knew and always at the same speed. It was easy. When his earlobes would start flapping in the wind.....I knew! My secret was out when he overheard me tell Mom.

A GoldWing and a Bee

Bear introduced me to motorcycles. When I met him he owned a Honda 750, but he dreamed of having a GoldWing. His first bike was a Cushman Motor Scooter, before he was old enough to drive. It was followed by four progressively larger cycles before the 750. His first wife had a 400 Kawasaki. But, he never got me to even try to ride alone. I'd learned my lesson way back when my brother, S., had a Vespa Scooter. My equilibrium is effected by the A.V.M. At least that's my excuse. I knew if I couldn't handle a scooter when I was young, I'd better not try anything more powerful. I'm not a coward, but I'm not stupid either.

Why is it that the things we remember the longest and that get talked about the most are always embarrassing? (I seem to be typing that word a lot.)

Shortly after Bear finally realized his dream of owning his GoldWing, we were out for a Sunday ride. Just the two of us. He didn't have any goal in mind and several hours and many miles later, we found ourselves closer to my parents house then home. So we were going to stop there before returning home.

Now I need to describe my wardrobe, because this whole thing was the fault of what I was wearing. (It was also the last time I wore anything like that on the GoldWing.) I was in my mid thirties and still had that figure my sons said attracted their friends. It was a very hot day and I was wearing what I liked to wear best. One of those stretchy elastic tube tops, no bra, WITH a short sleeved cotton blouse over the top. I'd just button those lower buttons and let the top hang. It was cool and comfortable, but I still felt covered.

So we were on the way to Marion, going north on Rt. 23, which is a four lane highway. There was very little traffic till I got in trouble. Suddenly I felt a sting on my most forward parts. A bee had blown into my tube top and it was stuck in that stretchy material. And, it wasn't the kind that can only sting once. It got me again and this thing hurt. Desperate to find it and get it away from my tender hide, I was fumbling with my top when it stung me a third time. When you're in pain, modesty takes a hike. I jerked that top down exposing myself to the wide open country. And guess what. That's when Bear caught up with a convoy. He was passing truckers and the first one hit his air horn. He must have been on the CB, because when Bear caught up with the second truck, that guy was hanging out his window waiting for me. With all the commotion, Bear slowed down and asked what was going on. I shouted at him to just hurry up and get us away from there. Two more truckers got a free show before we were clear and I'd pulled pieces of a big shiny black hornet like bee out of my clothes and got myself covered.

When we got to Moms, I had three red welts and they still stung like crazy. Mom mixed a paste of baking soda and water and she had my top down again in her kitchen trying to ease my agony. While Bear was laughing and telling her his new favorite story. I made a comment to Bear to please just tell me we didn't know any of those truckers. Mom, who'd been trying to hide her chuckles, burst out laughing and told me, "Oh, I think they know you pretty well."

Bear still refers to this as the boob-bee story. (Why does everything always happen to me? Or, Mom always said I should write a book.)

Lavender Larry

Bears first two initials are both L. One of my early gifts to him were two shirts with all three of his initials embroidered along the top of a pocket. He wore one the first time to a dance at the Lodge.

Bear is one of those men who like to embarrass the men at the bar in the Moose Lodge by stepping up behind them and surprising them with a kiss. Of course everyone at the lodge knows him. Still, I tell him it's a wonder someone hasn't killed him. Some will joke back in the same way, and others are furious. He likes the angry ones the best. Especially when they are drunk.

The evening he was wearing the new shirt, someone asked him what the initials stood for. He teased them with some outright silly names. So this man turned to me and asked me what his real name was. I answered with all seriousness, "Lavender Larry." Everyone he had been tormenting loved it. For awhile, that was all anyone called him. It still comes back into play, and I still hear guys greet him with it on the street.

Shortly after that, Bear was off work for awhile, probably a lay-off at the factory. Remember my trucker friend PNT? The one who helped me so much through my roughest times. The one I had to stop seeing because LTR was uncomfortable with our friendship. PNT is also a Moose member and he and Bear had become friends. (PNT and LTR didn't go to dances, and I was seldom at the lodge any other time. I don't get to see my old friend very often. ) While Bear was off work, PNT asked him if he wanted to ride along in the semi truck on a run to Cleveland. I had stopped riding with anyone when I moved in with Bear. (Bear asked me to stop. Gee, here was someone who cared.) (I missed the rides a long time though. If you've never ridden in a big truck, you can't imagine what it's like. And talking to a friend makes the trip go fast, so I use to get asked along a lot.)

So Bear went with PNT to Cleveland. Now PNT made this same run often enough to know there was an old gay man who sat in a truck stop and tried to pick up men on the CB radio. When they got close, PNT shouted for this guy and told him he had a "good buddy" with him who wanted to talk to the guy. Then PNT introduced Lavender Larry, and handed Bear the mic. Bear proceeded in his idea of a male/female voice to flirt over the radio. I guess the rest of that ride was a regular circus for Bear and PNT. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have wanted to hear it. There are truckers who are not amused by that kind of thing. And I'm sure these two pushed it to the limit.

When I was riding with PNT, he would occasionally change his handle and call himself Peter Dragon. Or more accurately, make it sound like Peter Dragging. Then he would brag about the "pretty seatcover" sitting beside him. The responses to that bit of hourseplay would always make him laugh. I can just imagine what Lavender Larry and Peter Dragging were up to that day. Men are such boys. And, I still find it hard to believe someone hasn't shot my manboy.

A Teddy Bear Frame

This is the story that amused my Mother the most.

On one of my trips to Marion to take Mom shopping, after she was wheelchair bound with Multiple Sclerosis, she found a small picture frame shaped like a teddy bear. It was only about 3-4 inches high and the picture went in the fat belly. I bought it and after taking several snapshots, I had one of Bears head that fit in the frame. He was still just my boyfriend at the time. I put my teddy bear frame with Bears picture on the dashboard of my car with a bit rubber cement to hold it down. (That makes cleaning easier. It comes off and can be re-appplied.) It was near the drivers window, out of the way, but easy to see.

At that time I was still going to the Diner before going on to work. (I did this till our Diner closed it's doors when our friend the owner had to settle his own divorce.) Bear had his own long drive to work, and it was always dark when we left the house. (TK had already gone to live with his Father.)

Leaving the house in the dark about 5 a.m., you don't encounter much traffic. So I was guilty of what is commonly called "a rolling stop." at our neighborhood stop signs. On this particular morning, there was a sneaky cop sitting half way down the block and hidden at the edge of the alley with his lights off. And, of course, he stopped me. I rolled down my window and waited for him. He came up to my car with a flashlight and started his spiel about my transgression. I knew a lot of our cops. (They often joined us at the Diner.) But I didn't know this young man and I was sure I'd end up with a ticket. While he talked and questioned me me, he was aiming his flashlight around inside my car. When it swung past Bear's picture, it suddenly swung back and he studied the picture while his voice trailed off. Then while shaking his head he asked if that was my husband. I said it was my boyfriend. He stood just a second, shook his head again and told me, "You have enough problems. Consider this a warning and don't let me catch you again." And, HE WALKED AWAY. Bears reputation in our area was even wider than I knew.

I told everybody. It was my first chance to get back at Bear. I got away without a ticket, and he took the teasing.

Warning.....X-Rated!

Let me see if I can get through this with some semblence of dignity.

Imagine (without picturing it to graphically, please) that Bear and I are enjoying what couples enjoy. He is on his back and I'm on top, in that on my knees position. And we are enjoying. Now Bear is a very into it kind of enjoyer. Neither one of us was realizing that as he arched his back, he was also scooting up toward the headboard. After all the enjoying, he relaxed and found that his head was under the old brass headboard. Go ahead and picture this part graphically. His nose was stuck under and behind the brass rail across the bottom of the headboard.....and it hurt when he stopped pushing down on the top of the matress. He panicked and started yelling. I'm sorry. I know I'm horrid, but it was funny. He yelled. I laughed. Then he started yelling for me to call for help. WHAT!! I worked with the folks on the squad. He went to school with most of our city police. Did he really think I wanted any of them to find us like that? I did try to help. As much as possible in the situation and in spite of my laughter. He wasn't making it easy with all that commotion and thrashing around. Finally he got his wits about him enough to use both hands to lift at the headboard while he pushed down and slid back out.

Crisis over. It should have remained our own private merriment. But, this man told on us the very next morning on the C.B. Radio! When people started coming up to me, laughing with tears in their eyes, I felt like I would release my own tears. In embarrassment. And, he wasn't even done. That weekend we were at the Moose Lodge Dance. Bear was dancing with one of my new friends. A couple he'd known since school. I was dancing with her husband (a city cop by the way) when I saw her stop dancing with Bear and just roar with laughter. Her husband danced us over to them to see what the joke was. And, Bear told him, with other couples stopping to listen. Before he was finished, the whole Moose assembly was in on the story. And I discovered that it is possible for someone else to do something that can embarrass you. (Would you believe that later he even told my Father?)

This all happened over 20 years ago, but "Bear with his nose caught under the headboard" still shows up in conversations occassionally. It doesn't bother me as much as it did the first time. Which is good, because he has been able to add other stories since then. And, I've learned to follow that old saying about "can't beat them, join them."

By the way. When Bear walks into the Moose Lodge, there are still folks who greet him with, "Hey Headboard Larry." (And some who call him "Lavendar Larry." But, that is another story.)

A Very Different Life

I was still working the same job. Vending at the Hospital. But everything else changed. I'd lost the people I thought were my friends. Eventually some of them did treat me better, but only B.G. ever apologized and became a trusted friend again. (She's the one who took W in after he got out of the Hospital. Remember, walked a mile in my moccasins.)

When I moved into Bears house, I realized I had moved into his life. I realize now I was naive not to realize it would be like that. But at the time of the move, it hadn't sunk in that my friends were gone from my life. Of course, it was moving in with him that was the final straw.

This man was totally different. This became very clear when the stress and turmoil made my headaches unbearable. Always before I'd gone off to the bedroom to suffer in silence and alone. Bear wouldn't allow it. This man would follow me, sit beside me, and hold my hand. He wanted to do something. Once I'd taken a pain pill, there was nothing anyone could do. I'd never been treated like this before. My Mother was right about Bear. Now I was with a man who had priorities that included me. It took some getting use to.

I met his friends. One of them was married to the daughter of a man who called square dances. We started going to square dances with them. I'd loved these dances since childhood when the Jr. Leadership Club had them. But no one would go with me since I'd danced with my Father. We had a Gym teacher in High School who had us square dancing in gym Class. And, he came to study hall to fill out his squares. For one glorious semester I was dancing 2 or 3 times a day. When Bear started taking me square dancing again, I was thrilled. I usually paid when we got home with another king size headache. It may have been a stupid thing to do, but I really think it was worth it. I had so much fun. We were also going to the Moose dances. I liked his friends and I enjoyed my new life. It would have been perfect if TK hadn't moved away.

I did talk Bear into bowling with me. We joined a league in a different bowling alley from the one I'd always gone to with W. Even that was a whole different experience. Surely you've seen the funny video's where the ball sticks to the bowlers thumb. That was what bowling with Bear was like. This man is a clown, and he's only happy when he can make everyone around him happy. It was a party everywhere I went with him.

My sons will tell you I've always said no one else can embarrass you. You aren't responsible for their actions and shouldn't feel embarrassed by what they do. Welllll.....that isn't always true. There are no limits to what my husband will do to make others laugh. Including telling about private moments he's shared with me. I have long since learned to accept that anything goes when Bear wants to make others laugh. And, I've learned to hold my own with him.

With this in mind, I am now warning my sons that the next x-rated story may be more information then they want to know. I can tell it because Bear already told everyone we knew at the time. So, with time, I am past being embarrassed by a funny, no longer private, moment. This was my first lesson in survival with Bear, and I've learned it well.

More About Bear

Bear's Father didn't leave a will when he died. His 3 oldest sons wanted "their" share. Bear's Mother was forced to sell her home and all the rentals, so that debts could be paid and the rest divided. But before it could be settled, cash in the house, most of Doc's carpenter tools, and other things went missing. Bear's Mother blamed the older sons and didn't want Bear or his Sister to have any relationship with their half-brothers. His sister was already married, but Bear and his Mother had to find a small house to live in and get jobs. Bear had to quit school. Since Bear was underage, his Mother took his share of the inheritance to buy him this house. It was the old house that had originally sat where they built the house they lived in while they ran the coal yard and after. It was moved to this corner lot in 1947. The coal yard was between this house and the house they lived in, where this house use to be. There are only two houses on this block. Bear owns two lots and there are three lots with the other house. That house sits right next to our lots, and the huge old barn that housed the coal trucks (and his grandfathers horses before that) takes up the back of the other two lots over there.

Except for a few years before his Father died at the new ranch home, and a couple of years living with his Mother right after the death, Bear has spent his life on this street. It's a short street , only four blocks long. It's confined by the curve of the river on one end and a small woods on the other end. The woods itself is outside the city limits, and our street is just inside the city limits. Across the street, the river marks the city limits. The park between us and the river use to be the "circus grounds." Bear has memories of elephants being unloaded onto the bank in his front yard, and watching them set up the circus each year. The coal yard, the park across the street and the river were his playground. There were no gangs back then, but for years when I'd meet one of the neighborhood kids he grew up with, they laughingly called themselves, "the west end river rats."

Bear moved into this house when he married the first time. That marriage lasted about 10 years. She left him just about the same time FLF and I started talking to them on the CB. Then TK and I came to live with him........and I'm still here. Bear never had any children of his own. He was so excited when we came to live with him. He phoned his sister right away and told her he had a son. A 12 year old son. I can only imagine her confusion. But, I certainly remember Bear's confusion when the reality of having a young boy around the house began to set in. TK wasn't what Bear expected. TK wasn't the baseball, football, sports fan that Bear seemed to think all boys should be. TK would rather read a book. The kind of child who slid right into computers as soon as they came out. We all had a big adjustment ahead of us. Then TK's Father started his pity parade, and TK left us before everything had settled down.

A Bit About Bear

Bears childhood memories are not as happy as mine. Everyone called his Father, Doc. Bear was told he got the name because he saved one of Bears Grandfathers work horses from being shot after breaking a leg. Doc had been married before and there were three half brothers who were almost grown before he married Bears Mother. Bear has a sister who is two years older.

Their Mother was still alive when I met Bear, (she just died a few years ago) but Doc died when Bear was 17. Doc was a successful businessman, but he was an alcoholic and not a successful parent.

Doc continued the success of his Fathers coal yard, back when everyone needed coal to heat their homes. He owned all but one corner lot in a two block stretch of the street we live on now. (Just this side, a half of two blocks I should say.) Gradually he built 5 small homes on the other block to rent out and then sold the coal business that was needed less in a modern world. He moved his family a few miles out of town where he built a ranch home with a shop in back. He used the shop to build furniture. We still have a cedar cabinet he built. Bear had a single bed set too, (TK usded it for awhile) but we let his sister have that. He still had the rentals and his furniture business was growing when he died suddenly.

As a parent, he didn't do very well. He was a violent alcoholic. Bear's earliest memories include his Mom taking Bear and his sister outside to hide under a coal wagon. They were told to stay there till a light went off to signal their Father had passed out and it was safe to go in. Doc often took his small son (before he was old enough for school) to bars with him, and slap the boy around when Bear got bored and wanted to go home. Bear learned to sit very still and quiet till he could hardly hold himself on the stool. He believes he was about 12 or 13 one winter day when he told his Father he wanted to walk home. Doc was drunk and mumbled what Bear took to be an ok. Bear got home and was reaching for the door when he heard his Fathers truck. Before he could get in the house, his Father spun him around and hit him in the jaw. The blow sent the boy sliding across his Mothers polished hard wood floors all the way to the other wall. It also broke his jaw.

There are still stories among the old timers about Doc. Most of them not very good. Doc was known to take the coal trucks to southern Ohio and into West Virginia where he would pick up more than coal. It's common knowledge that he was running moonshine in a false bed under the coal. There are even rumors that he shot an agent who tried to stop him. (But, doesn't that come with the territory?)

This was Bears childhood, raised in violence. But, Bear also heard, from his earliest memories, that he was too stupid to ever amount to anything. His Father never taught him to do anything. He didn't even want him to watch when he made furniture and Bear wasn't allowed to touch the tools. Even when he was in high school. He grew up believing he was only good enough to sweep floors in his Fathers shop. Or shovel mud out of the rentals after the Flood of 1959. Or mow lawns. Physical and mental abuse back when anything a parent did was accepted.

Violence does not always breed violence. There can be an opposite reaction. Bear is the gentlest man I've ever met. He is totally in control of his temper. I yell. He does nothing. Push him too far and he will clench his fists and tremble. Then he quickly relaxes and walks away. It would be very stupid to push him past that.

I've been with him since 1982, and only once have I ever been witness, and thought he might lose it. It was one of our wedding anniversaries, maybe 10 years ago or so, and we had gone out to our favorite Chinese Restaurant. When we got back to the parking lot after our meal and climbed in the car, he turned in his seat to back out. A car full of teenage boys had pulled right behind us and were talking to two more boys standing by their car. Bear waited a moment, then asked the boys to please move over a bit so he could leave. They got "gang cocky" and told him they weren't ready yet. He asked again nicely and they said no. Then one of the boys taunted him with, "What you gonna do about it old man?" WHOA! I thought my anniversary was going to end up with me bailing my husband out of jail. Bear shot out of our car. All 6' 2" over 225 lbs. of him. And he was madder then I've ever seen him. Those boys eyes got big and I've never seen a car in gear and moving faster then they wisely decided to move. Hooray for the reflexes of youth. 7 teenage boys were gone before Bear could get to the back of our car. It's a good thing. He was still shaking when he finally climbed back in the car. I was laughing and he calmed down. But, I strongly advise anyone against pushing my Bear too far. No matter how gentle, my "old man" can only take so much.

After the Wedding

I still had distant family in that area. But only one who was well known to me. Dads Aunt Marie. She was his fathers sister. She was living at the old farm by herself . A widow who's daughter was my age. So I'd spent time there when we were girls. It was Marie who tried to teach me to sew, and decided I was her only failure. She taught Home Economics. (My thread still ties itself in knots.) I took my new husband out to meet Marie and she was tickled pink to be the first family member to know about the marriage.

After that we really didn't have any plans or reservations. We had a few days before we had to be back to work and we planned to drift where the wind took us.

We ended up in a city across the Ohio border in Indiana. You don't need details and I'm not giving them. But, I do want to tell you about a Bar my new husband took me to the first evening. We weren't familiar with the area, but found a nice enough location with a club that looked nice on the outside. It had an Irish name. Still, I was nervous. I asked Bear to go in and look around first while I waited in the locked car. He didn't leave me alone long and came back saying it was clean and it was nice inside. So we went in.

It was clean and very nice inside......till the girls came out dancing across the bar. He took me into a high class strip club. And the only thing that bothered him about it was the bill when he paid for my wine cooler and his beer. He wouldn't leave till we had finished every drop. When I tell anyone to this day that he took me to a strip club after our wedding, he still complains about the price.