Great story.  See, in the cosmic view of things, you are a boon to your
Old Man, wherever he is!
--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Michael Jackson  wrote:
>
> Every word of what I wrote was true. including most of the
conversations. I appear to have what some would call a partial eidetic
memory. It appears to be verbal rather than spatial. I can remember
conversations people had many years ago, but its not 100%. And it
doesn't hold with visual images. And yes I know some folks say there is
not such thing as eidetic memory. Big deal. Some say that TM will lead
to enlightenment too, so as willytex says go figger!
>
> And I assure you, when we realized our Gatorade was no longer
sacrosanct, the world DID darken before our eyes.
>
> I will tell you another very short tale from my life at that time. My
brother who in his own way was just as off beat as the Old Man would
always sleep naked, and his habit was, no matter how early or late it
was when he decided to go to bed, he would suddenly dsicover, after he
had taken off his clothes, that he was thirsty and needed a drink of
water, or milk or chocolate milk.
>
> He deemed it unnecessary to put on any clothing to get a drink and so
would walk from his bedroom, through the Old Man's bedroom and past the
Old Man who would be in his cups, sitting in the recliner, usually with
an unfiltered Chesterfield King in his hand. When the Old Man would
notice brother walking nonchalantly past him with no clothes on, the Old
Man would go ballistic.
>
> "Git some drawers on!"
>
> "I don't wear drawers!"
>
> "Goddamn it! I mean it! Git some drawers on! Runnin' around bare assed
isn't funny!"
>
> We had a wide kitchen window right over the sink and when brother
stood naked in front of the refrigerator, theoretically at least the
lady Mrs. Carter that lived behind us could see him if she was looking
out her back window.
>
> Brother would take his time getting his milk or whatever he was
drinking while keeping up a running banter with the Old Man, who would
be getting madder and madder and would eventually threaten to "stomp
your ass if you don't get some drawers on."
>
> One night brother's response was to walk back into the den and stand
about 5 feet in front of the Old Man where started doing jumping jacks
with his tackle flapping. The Old Man really went ballistic and came up
out of his recliner like Batman going after the Joker. Brother turned
tail and ran through the house. Whether because the Old Man was tired,
or too drunk he chose not to pursue but followed him only with curse
words and threats.
>
> This began a pattern that would persist until brother moved out a year
or so later. It didn't happen every night or even every week, but at
least a couple times a month the Old Man would go into a rage over
brother "walkin' around bare assed" and would be treated to nekkid
jumpin' jacks before brother would run off laughing.
>
>
>
>
> ________________________________
>  From: seventhray27 steve.sundur@...
> To: FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com
> Sent: Sunday, August 4, 2013 11:59 AM
> Subject: [FairfieldLife] Re: For Seventh Ray
>
>
>
> Â
> Great story MJ.Â
>
> My favorite part:
>
> "The world darkened before our eyes when we heard
> Â him telling one of his friends on the phone he had run out of
soda and discovered
> Â Gatorade made a "pretty fair chaser."Â
>
> Damn, but I can't help but feel that the TM phase of your life was an
enormous plus.
>
> And I also can't help but feel that you've arrived at a pretty good
place with everything that's happened since.
>
> And, I confess, that I do keep thinking that your anti TM tirades are
going to run their course.
>
> At the same time, I sort of hope they don't, cuz I do enjoy your
participation here!
>
>
>
> --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Michael Jackson  wrote:
> >
> > Here is a slightly TM story, and it happens to be true.
> >
> > I have said before here on FFL that my Old Man did not like
> > my doing TM. And in fact when I first told him I was going to learn,
he told me
> > he thought it might be some kind of scam. Turns out he was right!
But I didn't
> > have enough sense to believe him then.
> >
> > At the time this story unfolds, I was TOTALLY into TM and
> > was going off for my second or third residence course. The Old Man
thought he
> > would screw me up by denying me use of the family car, but I asked
my mother
> > and step father if I could borrow one of their vehicles, and they
kindly said
> > yes. I drove to that residence course in a metallic gold 1967
Pontiac GTO. Man,
> > that was a fine ride!
> >
> > I enjoyed the course and was all mellow and rounded out and
> > had a leisurely two and a half hour drive from John's Island (off
the coast of
> > South Carolina) to get back home. I figured the Old Man would give
me a certain
> > ration of crap because I had spent the week-end "dribbling and
> > drooling" on myself, his words for practicing TM, and because it was
> > Sunday, which meant he would be drunk.
> >
> > The Old Man favored bourbon almost exclusively and not just
> > any bourbon, but real sho 'nuff high class bourbon like Ancient Age,
or if he
> > was in a spending mood, Ancient, Ancient Age (that there is ten year
old
> > bourbon). Occasionally he would pick up a bottle of Old Grand Dad (a
high rye
> > bourbon, bottled in bond) or Old Charter.
> >
> > Just to give you an idea of his drinking, after he and my
> > mother divorced, the Old Man started drinking more frequently, and
he never
> > mixed a drink at home. The kitchen was just off the den where our
big color tv
> > sat. From his Lazy Boy recliner, all he had to do was stand up, turn
not quite
> > a hundred eighty degrees as he stepped to the left, walk five or six
steps and
> > he was in the kitchen. Face to the right, and he was looking at the
> > refrigerator.
> >
> >
> > Just to the right of the refrigerator was a cabinet. The lower
> > cabinet had a counter top and a double door cabinet underneath where
he kept
> > his likker supply. If you opened the door, you would see pints,
quarts (or
> > rather fifths) and a few half pints. He never threw the bottles
away, but would
> > drink them down till there was about half an inch in them, then open
a new
> > bottle. Very occasionally he would pull all the nearly empty bottles
out of the
> > cabinet, put them on the counter, get a funnel and pour the dregs of
the nearly
> > empty bottles all into one bottle, then discard the now truly empty
bottles.
> >
> > The Old Man generally got his whiskey from the C. R. Koon
> > Liquor store, known as one of the local proverbial "red dot stores,"
but
> > he was not above obtaining a half pint from time to time from one of
the local
> > bootleggers.
> >
> > For those of you who don't know, a man who makes illegal liquor is
> > a moonshiner, and a guy who buys liquor in bulk and illegally
re-sells it at an
> > exorbitant price is a bootlegger, and my Old Man knew most of the
bootleggers
> > in the area, at least the white ones. I only bought from a
bootlegger once when
> > I was about seventeen, from a black woman that lived way out in the
woods but
> > only because one of my friends, Eddie, knew her and drove a bunch of
us out
> > there. Visiting bootleggers was not a normal activity for me.
> >
> > At any rate, the Old Man drank his likker every day, and I
> > am going to tell you how he drank it. The first hint we had that the
Old Man
> > was going to take his first drink of the night came when you would
hear the
> > sound of that double door cabinet being opened, then closed and the
plunk of a
> > liquor bottle being placed on the counter. Next would come the
shhhook sound of
> > the refrigerator door opening, then closing, closely followed by
another plunk
> > of the quart glass bottle of Coke, Seven Up or whatever soda us kids
had
> > bought. He used any and all of them as a chaser.
> >
> > The next sound would be the removal of the caps on both the
> > liquor bottle and the Coke or Sprite bottle. Assuming both caps were
aluminum,
> > you would think they would sound the same, but in fact the sound of
a metal cap
> > being unscrewed from a bottle of bourbon and a soft drink bottle
were very
> > different and very distinctive.
> >
> > Then the Old Man would take a drink of soda, swallow it,
> > take a swig from the liquor bottle and then real quick he would take
another
> > mouthful of soda. Now evidently he held that bourbon in his mouth
till he was
> > taking the soda as a chaser and often, maybe about twenty five
percent of the
> > time, he would get choked and start to cough while he still had the
soda bottle
> > up to his mouth.
> >
> > One of the most odious experiences my brother and I had in
> > those days was going to the refrigerator suffering from thirst,
selecting a
> > good cold Coke, Sprite or what have you, twisting off the cap and
smelling the
> > odor of bourbon wafting up from within the bottle. It was revolting.
> >
> > When we had such an experience we would generally say
> > "Damn! whiskey Coke!" and put the soda back in the refrigerator
> > without drinking any. We had the idea that the reason there was
liquor odor in
> > the soda was some whiskey backwash had found its way into the soda
bottle while
> > the Old Man was coughing with that soda bottle up to his mouth. The
worst was
> > when that soda was the last one in the house. Then we had to settle
for milk,
> > water or go thirsty.
> >
> > I arrived home from the residence course Sunday afternoon.
> > The Old Man never took a drink in the daytime during the work week,
but on
> > Sundays he started drinking about eleven o'clock. His general modus
operandi
> > was to get up and take a slug of whiskey every time a commercial
came on tv. So
> > by one o'clock in the afternoon he was three sheets into the wind.
> >
> > Since I was driving my step-father's car, I parked out front
> > cause I didn't want the Old Man giving me hell for crapping up the
driveway
> > with my step father's car. I walked in the front door and passed
through the
> > living room, dining room and so into the den.
> >
> > There was the Old Man obviously drunk in his Lazy Boy
> > recliner. Near him on the couch much to my surprise and distaste was
a friend
> > of the Old Man's that we will call Dave. Daddy referred to him as
Lyin' Dave,
> > because he claimed Dave told a passel of lies. The Old Man had a
certain degree
> > of contempt for him, but he worked at the appliance and music store
next to the
> > laundry the Old Man owned with his brother in law and they would
drink together
> > every now and then.
> >
> > Dave was short, skinny and pretty much the same kind of red
> > neck the Old Man was, only Dave talked a lot and did tell a lot of
lies. He had
> > jet black hair he always kept slicked back with Brylcreem or
Vitalis. I think
> > it was Brylcreem because the Old Man used Vitalis and Dave's hair
always had
> > more shine on it than the Old Man's did.
> >
> > I said hello to the two of them. Did I receive a reply?
> > Hello? How are you? How was your week-end? Hell no. The first word
out of their
> > mouths was Dave saying to me "You gotta hep me. I need you to hep
> > me."
> >
> > "Hep you do what?" says I .
> >
> > The Old Man growled "The cable's out. Dave's gone fix
> > it."
> >
> > "And I need you to hep me," Dave chimed in.
> >
> > I thought they were drunk and talking drunk talk. "I
> > don't know how to fix any cable."
> >
> > Dave said "No, you don't have to know anything about
> > fixing it. I'm gone do that."
> >
> > "Then what do you need me for?"
> >
> > "I need you to ketch me if I fall."
> >
> > "What?! Catch you? Whadda you mean catch you?
> >
> > "I got to climb up the telephone pole to git at that
> > cable, I need you to ketch me in case I fall."
> >
> > "Dave, I can't catch you! Look at these scrawny arms of
> > mine. I can't catch you."
> >
> > "I need you to catch me if I fall, otherwise I 'm not
> > gone do it."
> >
> > "You gone do it, goddamn it!" said the Old Man.
> > "The goddamn cable's out and there's a ball game comin' on in a
little
> > while. Now git out there and hep him."
> >
> > "Why don't you call the cable company to come do it?
> > It's their job."
> >
> > "It's Sunday, goddamn it! They won't come on a Sunday. Now
> > shut up and go help Dave fix the goddamn cable!"
> >
> > So I had to go do it. Dave got up off the couch and we
> > walked back the way I had come in to exit the house through the
front door.
> > Dave was unsteady on his feet and as we walked he stressed the
importance of my
> > catching him should he fall off the telephone pole.
> >
> > He also said "Now don't you tell nobody about
> > this."
> >
> > "About what?"
> >
> > "About me climbing up this damn telephone pole."
> >
> > "Why do you care if anybody knows?"
> >
> > "Cause when they hired me down at Werts, I told 'em I
> > was skeered of heights, and if Ms. Werts finds out I was up on that
pole,
> > they'll make me work up on them damn roofs from now on."
> >
> > "All right, I won't say nothin'."
> >
> > "You better not, cause I don't wanna work on them damn
> > rooves."
> >
> > By this time we were standing in front of the pole in
> > question. Lyin' Dave was swaying slightly on his feet as we looked
up at the
> > pole. It was a typical pole of its time, with sturdy steel spikes
that bent at
> > a forty five degree angle to provide a climbing foot hold for the
linesmen who worked
> > on the telephone and power lines. To prevent kids and stupid people
from
> > climbing them the power company started the spikes about six feet
above ground.
> >
> > Dave said "I can't pull myself up from that high."
> >
> > I said "Well I don't think we have any ladders around
> > here." We were not much of a fix it family.
> >
> > "We don't need no ladders. I just need for you to get
> > down so I can climb up on your back."
> >
> > The idea of getting on the ground and having Lyin' Dave use
> > me like a stepladder did not appeal to me in the least, so I said
with some
> > heat, "I ain't lettin' you climb on my back!"
> >
> > "I got to, otherwise I won't be able to get up
> > there."
> >
> > "Look, just grab onto the bottom spikes and I'll boost
> > you up."
> >
> > Complaining and protesting Dave stepped up to the pole,
> > reached up and grabbed the bottom spikes. I had to push him up from
behind,
> > putting one hand on his bony ass (which was an odious experience in
itself) and
> > he wound up putting one foot in my left hand to get himself far
enough up the
> > pole to plant his feet on the bottom spikes. Dave ascended the pole
while I
> > stepped back to watch. As he climbed he talked the entire time about
how I best
> > be ready to catch him should he fall.
> >
> > I stood there thinking "I am about to see someone get
> > electrocuted. He is drunk and he's gonna screw something up and he's
gonna get
> > fried and I'm gone have to watch it." I was not very happy.
> >
> > Much to my surprise Dave while complaining and fretting
> > about falling did actually manage to reconnect the cable without
getting
> > electrocuted. After he finished, he sat up on the pole for a little
bit,
> > talking about how he was fixing to come down now. Then he began his
descent.
> >
> > "Alright, I'm coming down now. You be ready to ketch me
> > if I fall now. I mean it."
> >
> > "Dave you ain't gone fall, you're doing just fine."
> >
> > I guarantee I was not standing close enough to get fallen on,
> > much less try to "ketch" him if he fell. Dave did alright until he
> > got his feet on the bottom set of spikes, and then he got nervous
since he had
> > no place to put his feet.
> >
> > He stood on the spikes with one foot, holding on to the
> > spikes that were about level with his neck and feeling around with
his other
> > foot as if another foothold were going to magically appear for him
to climb
> > down on. Had either of us had any sense we would have brought a
chair or something
> > from the house for him to both climb up on and climb down on, but I
hadn't
> > thought of it and what little sense Dave possessed had been washed
away by
> > liquor drinking.
> >
> > "I ain't got no place to put my feet!"
> >
> > "Dave, you ain't but six feet off the ground, just let
> > yourself down with your hands another rung or two and then just drop
off."
> >
> > "Hell no, I ain't gone jump off this pole, I might git
> > hurt. You got to hep me git down."
> >
> > "Just drop off, it ain't far."
> >
> > At some point Dave did drop off, but he didn't do it
> > intentionally. His fears became manifest. He fell off trying to
climb down the
> > pole with his hands on the spikes while attempting to brace his feet
on the
> > sides of the telephone pole. It just so happened there was a big ass
holly bush
> > right by the pole, and Dave fell smack in the middle of that bush.
Holly is an
> > evergreen with shiny, waxy leaves that have spiny ridges ending in
stiff sharp
> > points that will stick the shit out of you if you rub up against
them. And it
> > was a big bush, about maybe six feet tall and probably equally big
around.
> >
> > Dave lay in the bush cussing me like there was no tomorrow.
> >
> >
> > "I fell, I told you I was gone fall. Goddamn you, why didn't you
catch me?
> > Goddamn it, goddamn you."
> >
> > "Dave, are you alright?"
> >
> > "Hell no I'm not alright! These damn holly leaves are
> > stickin' me. Goddamn it, why didn't you ketch me? You was supposed
to ketch me.
> > Goddamn you, wait till I tell your daddy."
> >
> > I could see that Dave was unhurt in terms of broken bones or
> > even bruises and as getting the crap stuck out of him all over his
body with
> > holly leaves was not life threatening and as he was cussing me to a
fare-thee-well,
> > I was not inclined to hep him out of the bush, but I did wait till
he got
> > himself out before I went back in the house.
> >
> >
> > Dave cussed me the whole way and
> > as we walked through the living and dining rooms we could hear the
televison was
> > on and the pre-game show was already running.
> >
> > I got another cussing from the Old Man when he learned I had
> > not caught Dave. I turned away and went back to my room. I don't
remember what
> > I did, but it was a nice end to my residence course weekend.
> >
> > A foot note to my description of the Old Man's drinking
> > habits is the one beverage that was mine and my brother's
exclusively was
> > Gatorade. The Old Man never touched that, until one day he ran out
of chaser
> > when my brother and I were not home. All we had was a quart of
Gatorade so the Old Man tried it
> > as a chaser â€" and liked it!
> >
> >
> > The world darkened before our eyes when we heard
> > him telling one of his friends on the phone he had run out of soda
and discovered
> > Gatorade made a "pretty fair chaser."
> >
> > We complained bitterly about it, but he continued to use our
> > Gatorade whenever it suited him. And from time to time we would have
the horrid
> > experience of whiskey Gatorade. No wonder I felt led to do something
like TM. In
> > hindsight I should have skipped the meditation and drunk bourbon and
Gatorade.
> > I would-a been better off in the long run.
> >
>

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