Childhood Chapter 1

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The water is a little murky in this part of my life but what the hell...

I was conceived in the old country. After World War II, Germany was left in bad shape. Needless to say, my mother, Maria, was German by birth. My father, Earl, was an American from Arkansas and a corporal with the occupation forces. Their romance was fruitful and the couple made plans. The marriage was performed in a chapel in Frankfurt, mother's hometown. This was the start of the cold war with Russia. Father was a communications expert and he typed secret code. Dad could type one hundred and forty words a minute on a manual typewriter. He spoke German fluently. 

Dad's tour was over with the US Air Force. We all returned on a ship to New York, that summer of 1948. I had gotten my sea legs early and since I wasn't born yet, that was good.

East Coast to West Coast by train, I still hate trains; no leg room. Their arrival in Stockton, California was met by the Alley family to mixed feelings. "War Brides" had gotten a bad reputation in these years after the war.  Dad's family of three brothers, five sisters and Grandma were no exception. That said, my parents struggled like young couples do with career and life. Dad was offered a job with his oldest sister's husband, a contractor working on a dam project on the "Feather River Canyon in Northern California.     

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Life was tough the winter of 1949, living in a "line cabin." Mom was about to deliver a son. The snow was deep in the meadow, around the work camp. Dad had been shooting squirrels for dinner on that day. The trees surrounding the clearing were dark that late afternoon. Disturbed by the cracking of dead wood along the path. Maria not far up the hill behind the cabin was startled. Hearing this noise and thinking that this wasn't her husband, she froze. The truth was a mountain lion sent my mother scrambling down the path toward home. The screams and hollering got my dad's attention. Earl ran down the hill after her.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         This excitement put them both on the road to town. The drive got them to the Orville hospital in time. This being my grand entrance to the clan, it took place very early on a Wednesday morning. I arrived hungry and pissed, Jan. 26, 1949. This was bitter sweet, no pampers and the ward was cold as hell, but, the good news was my parents looked happy to see me.. "A big wildcat got me here", and that seemed only right.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                The next few years were foggy because my sisters showed up. They got more attention, of course, but I would punish them on a regular basis. The family had moved to the San Joaquin Valley where Dad had found employment. Life in Stockton improved our family situation. Mom did some work in the carnival for a while...they would put her in a box and saw her in half.  At four years old, this would freak me out a little. Dad drove a taxi. Dad's second job was selling stuffed animals door to door.  Squirrels holding a rose were a "top seller."      Like I said, Mom, being European was always doing some strange things to us. The problem for me was that on a certain Christmas, a special outfit was presented to me. I was so excited thinking it was a brand new Cub Scout uniform. That wasn't it.  Opening the present, in front of the whole family, to my horror appeared this forest green pair of German leather shorts with all the trimmings (Bavarian hat and knee socks). Dad just smiled, he wasn't going to wear it. I was "show and tell" at school for days. Classroom to classroom, they would march me around. Church on Sunday was real special. At least I got to take off the Robin Hood hat with the feather sticking out of it.  I would drag my butt, on the sidewalk, on the way home just to wear a hole in the shorts, but I just managed to give the leather a good shine.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Dad and mom got into the insurance business and the family prospered.  Childhood was challenging. Roy Rogers and a Masked Bandit were my heroes. My sisters always had to play the Indians. We had some strange pets. I wanted a dog so, we got a monkey. Suzy, the spider monkey, was even more cunning than my sisters.  This old circus performer could steal your cookies with her tail using her hands or teeth to distract you. Life was a little scary at our house. Mom would dress Suzy in a pink tutu and walk into Safeway. That was funny except I looked like the organ grinder next to her in my outfit.  I'm changing the names of my sisters to protect myself. They were angry little women with pigtails. I love them still. They were younger and made my life interesting.  I continued to change from wanting to be cowboy to being a pirate. That would move me into my next phase. Sinbad the Sailor; much better than Popeye, the weirdo. I like spinach, but I still have no tattoos.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Growing up Catholic kept my "pirate" subdued and my guilt front and center. The nuns at school had my “curiosity” under control for awhile. My best friend in those days, a German/Italian kid, had the same taste for the female gender. Our problem was they keep you in the dark about that subject way too long. Archie and Jug Head comics were as close as fifth graders had a license to go. The girls in these stories looked "Hot", but the guys always lost interest in the end. I, with this German/Arkansas background was a real skinny kid who wasn't a smooth talker. I relied on "Bean" another name change to keep me safe; he really had the gift of speech.

                                                                                                                                                                                    He and I did everything together. Our biggest problem was that he was much better at sports and everything else.  His Italian shenanigans and my off-center tempo kept life more challenging. The two of us were all about enterprise, we had figured out how to make a buck. Starting a shoeshine business sounded good. We got a red wagon and pulled it around the block offering to shoe shines for fifty cents a pair. Door to door, just like my old man. Bean and I filled the wagon after three blocks. "Wow," now the problem was we didn't want to shine all those shoes. We were bored after the first pair. The wagon was full. Things didn't go too well. We had no names or addresses to match up the shoes. This lack of ambition meant there was no follow through, a stumbling block for sure. Shoes got lost and more Catholic guilt surfaced.  Mom had said my first word was "shoe". This was very sad. Someday, I've got to get those old shoes back to their owners. I told you, I was a pirate.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                School was tough for a “day dreamer.” It never was my strong suit. Summer school really sucked. After classes, the two of us went down to the river. The Bean and I planned our first Sea voyage that summer of 1961. Took us three days to build the wooden raft and launch it. The damn thing broke apart before she hit the water and not for lack of nails.  That summer's dream turned out bad.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Our friend, Willie, invited us over. His dad's hobby was gun powder and small canon shot, “Pirate Stuff”. Willie's dad was a chemist and would make his own black powder. They, having their own whale harpoon canon, were real cool stuff. They would fire cans of wet sand at the rock on the other side of the water. They lived in a big house on the riverbank. Willie had invited us to come over and watch a new movie with The Three Stooges. His parents were gone, of course. Bean and I showed up that afternoon; our friend was building a serious bomb in his garage using his dad's special stuff. I think we were about thirteen years old. We were pouring black powder into a thread capped pipe and closing one end with a vise. The real dynamite fuse was water proof and a foot long. He wrapped the pipe with electrical tape. Willie said, "Well here you go guys, have fun.... " Years later, the same kid was the head guy of the fireworks display for the city.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        We headed to the lake in the middle of town, lit the fuse and tossed it into the park lake. Bean and I grabbed onto a tree and waited. You could see the bubbles and smoke as they busted on top of the water. The lake was shallow, maybe ten feet deep. The explosion took a minute or two. The geyser that shot straight up was amazing. The ground shook and a dead carp came floating up to the surface. The whole neighborhood came alive and the cops and the fire trucks showed up. Nobody figured out what had happened. The pirates were long gone.  That ended my bomb building days. Junior High had to be better, I had the gangster hairdo down by the ninth grade and was getting girls attention by pouring hot buttered popcorn over their heads at the movies. Well, that sure didn't work out good either.

Captain Benito