Others will never taste Grandma’s great cooking.

I’ve had the total misfortune to witness a G.I.D. (governmental intrusion disaster) unfold for months on end now in the commercial space next door to my shop.

A very nice woman decided to try and achieve her dream of opening a great little pizza parlor there. Not just another of the hundreds of standard franchise models but a home made, brick fired oven variety. The kind of oven I’ve seen while watching a travel channel in some far away island community. A place the locals hang out drinking exotic drinks while watching the suns rays slowly sink into the abyss of the Ocean.

I’m guessing now but I can imagine she will use a secret sauce that was proudly passed down for generations in her family. My admittedly overindulgent imagination would also include the dough. Not a dough from a box with an ingredient list in some foreign language as long as the Constitution, thrown together with water but something her Grandmother taught her to make with the main ingredients being love and patience for perfection.

Now that’s one hell of a wonderful dream the lady has, wouldn’t you agree? What could it possibly take to throw together a nice little pizza parlor to serve the locals a great tasting pizza?

Admittedly the building we’re talking about is old. Very old. Probably pushing 100 years old in fact. Still, some wall, floor and ceiling treatments, a little paint, some kitchen appliances, the oven of course and some tables and chairs for the patrons and BAM! “Welcome folks. Come on in. Your nice hot, bubbling pizza straight from the brick fired oven will be ready in a moment. Have a glass of wine or a beer while you wait.”

Approximately 17 years ago, when I rented my commercial space next door, in the same 100 year old building, it was already painted so all I had to do to create a Barbershop was put up some mirrors, install a sink and slide the old fashioned Barber Chair in place. Then some nice rocking chairs for the clientele and “Welcome folks. Have a seat. I’ll be with you shortly.”

If I remember correctly, it took all of a week to open for business.

Now back to the nice lady trying her best to open a little pizza business next door.

The first activity I saw and of course heard, being right next door was a whole lot of demolition. They obviously had to tear out a lot of the old wood, wiring and what little plumbing there in order to upgrade the whole thing to modern standards.

It all seemed to be going well until everything stopped one day. Which turned into not days but weeks, then months.

When I asked, they told me they ran into the dreaded building department monster.

Now my life experience admittedly does not include all the modern requirements in this day and age to create a space to handle food but the things I was hearing from the contractor and workers’ trying to do their jobs was horrifying at the least.

First of all, instead of hiring some draftsman to pencil in some general drawings for the place, they had to hire an architectural engineer for god’s sake. Now his work extended the timeline another month or more. He for reasons unknown did not work out in the end, so they had to hire a new and improved architectural engineer. Of course his work only added another few months to the now ridiculously long drawn out process.

Again I have no idea what’s involved in achieving this little project but was constantly amazed at how long this was taking.

Finally one day, when I came to work it was a beehive of activity with grins on everyone’s faces as they told me everything was in place and it was a go! Then the bangs, crashes, air guns blasting and shaking enough to knock things off my walls commenced in earnest once again.

With every apology offered, I always responded with “No problem. Just happy you’re on your way now.”

Once more silence prevailed.

This new bureaucratic brick wall had something to do with a “Grease Trap doohickey”, which costs thousands of dollars by the way and has to be reviewed and approved by several arms of the permit department, as more weeks flow by.

Using her California bureaucratic travesty as a lead in, as the title of this piece infers, because of these insane food processing rules, our free choices of what, where and how we enjoy food is only going to get more and more mind numbingly generic and tasteless. Because Grandma is flat out not allowed to cook in her own kitchen and serve to the public from her front porch swinging bench, the general public will never get the chance to enjoy the delicious food she regularly prepares for her family. Food by the way she’s prepared and served most of her life with no one turning green and keeling over with some exotic disease never heard of before or since.

No sir. The only food available to the masses (that’s us folks) will be served from the confines of the mass marketed franchise verity. With meat products from boxes labeled “Eatable Meat”, as I observed in the loading zone of a McDonalds on my very LAST visit there.

So no folks. You will NOT be allowed to taste the wonders passed down through the generations from folk’s family recipes, straight from their regular kitchens. You’ll have to settle for the tasteless garbage offered at the McPlastic establishments only.

So at the least, treasure every chance you get to set down in Grandma’s kitchen and savor every morsel of heaven offered therein……..

Lastly, all I can say to the nice lady next door is “Hang in there. Hopefully in the end, we’ll all get a chance to enjoy your offering from the heart.”

A little bit of nothing

The dreaded alarm woke me this morning with a sudden start. After slitting my reluctant eyes open to the just brightening sky, I did the only thing I could then.

I rolled over, grabbed the down filled heavenly cloud and covered my head with an almost whimpering, begging hope I could make the world fall back into the softness I’d been so rudely dragged from.

You know what? It worked. I could feel my being drifting downward, getting smaller and losing it’s substance once more.

Aaah. What heavenly pleasure sleep’s embrace hath on our souls

Oh soft embalmer of the still midnight, shutting, with careful benign fingers

Upon my pillow, breathing away the days woes

Save me from curious conscience, that still lords

And seal the hushed casket of my soul.

Then…..Whumf! What the hell? As my mind once more dragged itself from the billowy softness below, reality twisted with the beginnings of what had plopped onto my side. As was his usual morning ritual, it was the great ball of fur that considered all else to be beneath his greatness. If I don’t immediately and obediently rise after the Zen like brass bell announces another breaking dawn, he assumes it’s his royal purpose to rouse the troubled masses.

His self-proclaimed duty is to get the show moving toward giving him the substance he demands. No matter he’s over weight enough to bounce the bed into a rock and roll shimmy of resonance landing there.

Still pretending to slumber, hoping against hope he’ll go away, he soon takes the next step. Crawling onto my side, he reaches out, to first lightly tap my face. Within seconds, if that doesn’t get the proper response, he extends the tip of his claw onto the skin of the only little exposed spot available. Then as all furred monsters do, he mixes bread, with little flexes of his hand, just short of breaking the skin.

Now having experienced this many times before, I still pretend he doesn’t exist, even as his nails digs slightly deeper and his bodies weight increasingly makes my breathing labored.

Soon it becomes a contest between the slowly increasing stinging of his claw and the weight of his formidable body pressing down.

During this ever-mounting torture, I kept slipping in and out of my soul’s hushed casket, with the lid becoming heavier and harder to reopen, now with the creepy hinge screeching upon my mind, as if from some horror movie.

There’s only so much even I can take and still pretend to slumber, so with an angry rude grunt along with a resounding whoosh, I threw the down cloud aside leaving in it’s wake a blessed moment of silence as the furred monster flew through the air to once again bounce the bed with refrains of shimmied resonance straight from one of Jimmy Hendrix’s most powerful feedback events. If it’s true that music is what your emotions sound like, the symphony pounding my just awaking mind can go to hell!

After throwing my legs over the side of the bed that’s lost its blessed moment, they hang there. With eyes closed to avoid dawn’s reality a bit longer, I consider for several seconds slipping back under my down filled cloud to deny my curious conscience, that’s just starting to rear it’s lord like dominance once again.

But that’s not to be.

Having been raised with the ridiculous premises of responsibility, honor and duty, the supremely fabulous idea of flaking off life starts losing its luster by the moment. So I force my body to slip off the edge of all that’s wonderful to again stand upon wobbly legs with full body weight bearing down upon the cold hard floor. A weight I imagined I’d lost back upon the beds grace tantalizingly just above me, now gone from my grasp in my need to achieve something with this new day.

Next comes the torturous walk with all its little painful creaks, pops and groans, half bent over, wondering if I might ever walk upright again, much less sans pain. Having finally crippled over to the bathroom’s quiet entrance, I stand eyes closed tight before the dreaded mirror, not yet daring to turn on the stark blinding lights that cold bloodedly allow no falseness.

The most amazing thing happens when one stands before the bathroom mirror first thing in the morn. All ones egotistical notions of who we are and what we look like in our mostly fantasized, idealized worlds stands in stasis at that moment in time, there in the blessedly muted light of dawn.

At that moment, we still hold fast to the lies of our fantasies. Fantasies that include young, hard, smooth skin, stretched over a handsome youthful face. On top of that carved from marble marvel, a head with rich, dark, thick hair cascading down over the ears and falling with abandon down the thin muscularly veined neck. The kind of hair one would imagine crowning a Roman Gladiator’s head.

Then as we revel in our combination of complete denial and robust imagination, we reach toward the light switch, which allows no falsehoods and pause there, finger almost touching, allowing ourselves just one more moment of wishful mind adultery.

Unfortunately, with the growing dawn light slowly beginning to make the whole exercise a sadly mute point, reality finally pushes it’s way through the madness we call early morn life and our finger pushes downward, as we automatically shut our eyes one last time, using the unspoken excuse to not cause them harm.

Then after allowing ourselves one more moment of seeing life through our closed eyelids, now lit from without like a living lightning strike, we finally open the one door we’ll not be allowed to close for another full day.

And who stands there before us? Who indeed? What the hell happened to the Roman Gladiator we knew we were just moments ago?

There is no explanation, excuse nor definition for what we see there in that damn morning mirror straight from the depths of hell. The shock is indiscernible.

We immediately avert our eyes, busying ourselves with the rest of the morning’s standard rituals.

After finishing, we cripple off toward the goddesses greatest discovery. Coffee, a cup of coffee that will hopefully dry the tiny tear still moist below our eyes. Eyes again in full slit mode against this God-awful morning’s realities.

We ain’t got it so bad, now do we? Part 15

Part 15.

In those days having cash in hand made for an easy purchase. So in no time at all, they bought the 9-acre property and Guy was hard at work building their future home, along with all the outbuildings needed on a working farm, along with milking and storage sheds, fencing all around and finally a large metal building he would soon utilize as a welding and fabrication shop along with a farm machinery repair establishment.

When all that was accomplished, it was a proud day. On that day, he climbed a tall wooden ladder he’d made to the front peak of the shop with Viola standing below shading her moist eyes; he hung a sign he’d hand painted that read “Guys Welding and Repair”.

Next in the natural order of things was having a family but in those still fairly crude and backward times even that was not to be so smooth.

The first time Viola became pregnant, it was truly a time of great joy for them. Viola was the picture of health and happiness throughout the pregnancy.
Everything went pretty trouble free until the actual birth. Then something went terribly wrong and the baby died at birth, as so often happened in those days of sketchy healthcare.

That put both of them in a slump for a while but like all things on a farm, there was little time to morn over deaths. Experiencing all the varied problems with births and deaths with the farm animals soon taught them to just pull themselves up by the bootstraps and move on, so move on they did.
The next pregnancy went well again, including this time birthing a healthy girl they named Yvonne.

Next came preparing the fields for whatever crops they might be able to make some coin with. With the irrigation canal bordering their piece of land, it was a relatively easy chore to breach it, using wooden gates to control the flow into smaller main ditches onto the property. From those ditches, Guy used special bent pipes he created to use a siphoning method to get water into the lower planting channels running the length of the property.

So after planting potatoes, all he had to do daily was pick up the pipes leading to the filled channels between the plantings to the next section until the whole field was well watered.

Before long, the farm had Chickens for eggs and meat, a couple of cows for milk and beef, a drove of pigs for pork and a small barn filled to the ceiling with alfalfa hay to feed the cows.
Having both been raised on farms back in Okalahoma, they had all the skills necessary to handle everything it took to raise, slaughter, medicate, skin out and handle every aspect of dealing with farm animals.

As with most real farms, the chickens roamed freely, doing their job of keeping the bugs, flies and grass seeds controlled, which also fed them nicely.  Each dusk they would all head back into the chicken coop, where Viola would arrive to shut the door to protect them from nightfall’s predators.

Farming then and now was actually a pretty hard life. The cows had to be milked twice daily, morning and night. That gave the family not only milk but also butter, Viola churned from the cream floating on top of the milk after it set for a bit. Often if Yvonne was there during the milking, they would play a game where Yvonne would kneel down close by and Viola would squirt the milk straight into her mouth, often time missing on purpose, causing the milking shed to light up with laughter and joy. Being so far out in the quiet country, those sounds drifting through the dusk air reached Guys ears, causing him to stop what he was doing for a moment and smile with joy also.

In the meantime, with the addition of a welding and repair shop out in the country surrounded by farms of every description, Guys business was growing almost daily. Being able to repair, fabricate and build most anything the farmers needed made his success inevitable. He not only had all the skills necessary to do most anything they wanted but also had the fair price attitude he’d brought with him from Okalahoma.

During the next 8 years, Yvonne grew up learning all the ways of farming, while roaming the acreage until she had every square inch of the place firmly in her heart and soul.

During those years, Guy and Viola tried to add to the family but fate laid it’s cruel hand on their plans with another stillbirth and one more who died soon after birth.

After three children not meant to be, they pretty much decided they would be a one child family but truth was, birth control was not something people thought much about in those days.

So they put the idea of adding to the family out of their minds with all the work and toil involved in the running of the farm and shop. Then that same fate decided to change their plans once again with the birth of a brand new child.

This time it was a boy, which pleased them both immensely, giving them someone to keep the family name marching into the future. They named this boy Paul and from day one he was almost the opposite of Yvonne. Where she was the typical girl, a little quiet and reserved, he started out on day one loud, awake all night and demanding the world revolve around his every whim. In other words a boy!

Since I started this little writing project to relate, along with embellish a few stories my Parents told me about their early days coming from the Okalahoma Dust Bowl, Great Depression days, I feel compelled to end it with my birth on the little farm they developed in Mid Valley California so long ego.

As I hope I conveyed, I’m nothing but proud of my heritage. These folks started with misery unimaginable. They learned to pull themselves up by their proverbial tattered bootstraps and with incredibly hard work, perseverance and toil, make a meaningful life in the Earths womb and soil of California.

I hope you enjoyed their adventures along the way, as much as I enjoyed relating them…..

We ain’t got it so bad, now do we? Part 14

Part 14.

With government money pouring in for the war effort, the pay at the shipyard was pretty dang good and being the spendthrift masters they were, between what Guy had already saved on top of this job; they had a nice little nest egg by the end of the war.

With that safely put away, they started to think about settling down in California. The only thing they knew was farming, so they started dreaming of where they might buy a piece of land, settle down and start working the soil.

It seems once a farmer, always a farmer. They couldn’t wait to feel the soft loamy earth in their hands once more.

Some women liked fingernail polish on their long nails to feel womanly; Viola loved the feel of fresh dirt under hers to feel human and in touch with life, which only added to Guy’s love and admiration for her. Being half Choctaw Indian, only added to her natural beauty and affinity for the Earth and it’s many bounties.

During those years traveling from farm to farm, following the crops, once in a while they’d get wind from someone who’d seen or talked to one of Guy’s brothers or sisters. Since the whole family had migrated out to California at about the same time, it wasn’t unusual to hear about or come across someone they’d known from Oklahoma. Also because most of the farming was done in the mid-state valleys, it placed most of them in a smaller area than the whole state.

Quite a while after leaving the Bakersfield area, they even heard tell that Viola’s full blooded Choctaw Indian Grandmother possibly had ended up there. They figured once they settled, they’d look into finding her.

They came across no word from Lester since they last seen him but they did hear about one of his other brothers Lloyd. They heard he’d married a lady named Vera and that they’d bought a small farm close to Castle Air force base outside of a small town called Atwater.

Before long with the war effort slowly but surely winding down, they at last said their goodbyes to all the great people they’d worked beside at the shipyards and with nothing but great pride in their accomplishments, finally set out to travel to Atwater.

They were hoping to stay on Lloyd and Vera’s farm while they looked around for a piece of land to buy with their hard earned money they’d so diligently saved.

With highway 99 running right down Main Street in most of the small towns of California, it was easy enough to find Atwater. Like most small San Joaquin Valley towns at that time, there wasn’t much there. A few gas stations, a couple coffee shops and a very small school, serving Kindergarten through High School for the locals born there and now including the growing population who were still almost daily migrating from points east.

With Castle Air Force base playing such an important role in the war effort, they had no problem finding it once they entered Atwater.
Castle AFB was named in honor of Brigadier General Frederick W. Castle (1908–1944) on 17 January 1946. When on Christmas Eve 1944 near Liege, Belgium, seven Messerschmitts set General Castle's B-17 Flying Fortress afire, he remained at the controls while his crew bailed out. He bravely refused to release his bombs over territory occupied by friendly forces, and died with the pilot when the aircraft exploded. General Castle received the Medal of Honor posthumously.

The facility was officially renamed Castle Air Force Base on 13 January 1948 as part of the establishment of the United States Air Force as a separate military service.
The airfield was opened on 20 September 1941 as the Army Air Corps Basic Flying School, one of the fields utilized to meet the needs of the 30,000 Pilot Training Program. As the original name indicated, it provided basic air training for beginning pilots and crewmen. Many pilots and crews were trained here during the war including a number of Women's Air Service Pilots (WASP)

Turned out Lloyd and Vera’s farm was just on the other side of a roadway running along side the railroad tracks from the Base. One of the benefits of that fact was they could stand on the tracks and watch the giant bombers take off and land. Having never seen such a miraculous sight as these metal monsters lifting into the sky , they couldn’t get enough of it.

Each day, Guy and Viola would get in the truck and drive out in the country from Atwater looking for the right piece of property, they figured they could turn into their dream farm.
One day, there it was. A fine looking piece of land, bordered on two sides by roads and a third by a substantial water canal, they would easily draw water from for their future crops.

To be continued:

We ain’t got it so bad, now do we? Part 13.

Part 13.

When Viola, the one who’d become the girl of his dreams said she’d go to the dance with Guy, nothing else mattered. The rest of the week flew by with them both grabbing every chance they could to develop their own hidden language with secret smiles ruffling the leaves of the Artichoke plants as they traveled back and forth across the fields.

After that night at the dance, they became inseparable every chance they could. Many more dances, along with long walks and picnics on the nearby ocean beaches followed.

Before long a year and a half had passed, with Lester growing impatient to move on. That was when Guy decided to ask Viola to marry him.

So soon after, they were married by a Justice of the Peace in Salinas California, with Lester, along with Guys sister Eunice and her husband Noel Hooks, who had moved to that area earlier as official witnesses.

No longer able to live with Lester in the camper he’d called home so long, Guy and Viola bought a new tent. That way, they could follow the crops northward as the seasons changed.

Guy, being the industrial, handy man he was, also bought a nice thick rug for the floor, where most tents in those days didn’t have that luxury. He also made some furniture out of lug boxes and pieces of used lumber he scrounged from around the various farms they found themselves in as a few more years flew by.

One of those was a carrot farm. This turned out to be one of the hardest jobs he’d ever done up to that point. Having neither heavy machinery nor need for any drivers or welders, he was assigned to the carrot washing barn. He’d stand there with his arms up to his elbows in very cold water washing the dirt from the carrots. In those days, the workday was from sun up to sun down. No breaks. The only day off was for church on Sundays and everybody was expected to attend.

During that period, Guy and Viola came to be known as the rich Couple. Other folks would come by on a Sunday to gaze into their tent with its rug floor and handmade furniture. They even had some pictures and knickknacks they’d picked up on the way, which only added to the opulence the others only dreamed of.

That job ended only when Guys hands and arms started literally rotting from constantly being immersed in the water. When he showed the foreman what was happening to his arms, the Forman simply said. “You’re fired.” Then he turned to the first guy waiting in line for a chance at a job and said. “You’re hired.” Never once looking back at Guy.

So Guy and Viola moved on…….

Next they heard about a shipyard opening in Richmond California, which was advertising for welders.

They heard Henry Kaiser had been building cargo ships for the Maritime Commission in the 1930s. When orders for ships from the British government, already at war with Germany, allowed for growth, Kaiser established his first Richmond shipyard in December 1940.
While the British ships were being constructed, the US Maritime Commission examined the design and made alterations to lessen cost and speed construction. This revised design featured oil-fired boilers. The most significant change was to replace much of the riveting with welded seams. A new practice, the use of welding decreased labor costs and required fewer skilled workers. Due to their plain looks, the Liberty Ships initially had a poor public image. To combat this, the Maritime Commission dubbed September 27, 1941, as "Liberty Fleet Day" and launched the first 14 vessels. In his speech at the launch ceremony, Pres. Franklin Roosevelt cited Patrick Henry's famed speech and stated that the ships would bring liberty to Europe.

So Guy and Viola headed on up there to see if he could get a job using his considerable skills as a welder at the new shipyards.

With the war effort growing daily now, Guy assumed he would join up soon to play his part but all that changed when they arrived at the Shipyards. He was told at the main office that anyone with the skills necessary for building warships, were being excused from the Military. Turned out America needed what were then called Liberty Ships just as bad as soldiers, so were putting folks like Guy to work welding inside the giant metal hulls of the great warships. This put his welding skills in high gear. He’d just thought he had done a bunch of welding at the Farm Machinery repair facility but nothing compared to what he was now asked to do.

Operating four yards in Richmond, CA and three in the Northwest, Kaiser developed methods for prefabricating and mass-producing Liberty Ships. Components were built all across the US and transported to shipyards where the vessels could be assembled in record time. During the war, a Liberty Ship could be built in about two weeks at a Kaiser yard. In November 1942, one of Kaiser's Richmond yards built a Liberty Ship (Robert E. Peary) in 4 days, 15 hours, and 29 minutes as a publicity stunt. Nationally, the average construction time was 42 days and by 1943, three Liberty Ships were being completed each day.

So working 12 hour shifts, 7 days a week for almost three years was by far the most taxing job Guy did then or since. Bending over inside those vast metal monsters, laying red-hot beads of welding rod for literally miles upon miles with the sweltering temperatures sometimes reaching well past a hundred degrees was brutal. Then the burning smoke from hundreds of other welding torches damn near did him in.

In spite of all that torture, he and everyone else there had nothing but pride in helping the Great War effort. In fact every red-blooded American did everything they could to help.

By the way, on that day in November 1942, Viola proudly stood beside Guy below the Robert E. Peary to receive the heartfelt applause of those there, on top of America’s joyous thanks.

To be continued:

We ain’t got it so bad, now do we? Part 12.

Part 12.

After a year repairing Farm Machinery in Shafter, working their way to the top of the pay scale, Guy and Lester both were feeling boredom creep slowly but surely up their now powerful frames. With folks often telling stories about better opportunities up north, they were starting to get that familiar itch between their shoulder blades to move on.

One day Lester found a fixer upper cab over camper shell for their pickup, so in their spare time, they fixed it up right nice, so if they had too, they could make that their temporary home, wherever they ended up next. Plus it gave them a place to keep what little they owned out of the sun and rain.

A lot of the talk centered on a coastal area in a place called Monterey County. Having never seen an Ocean, the boys were excited about that prospect. Everyone kept mentioning the Farms up there in a town called Salinas.

After talking it over, they made the decision to move on, so they gave their boss their two-week notice. At the end of the two weeks, they packed everything in their new camper and said goodbye to the few folks they’d met at the trailer park and their co-workers. So on a Friday after work ended, they picked up their last paycheck, which included a nice little bonus the owner gave them in appreciation for their continued good work there, and drove off with light hearts and anticipation toward their next adventure.

After a three-hour drive first west on Highway 46 to Highway 101, then north toward Salinas, they once again found themselves traveling within the large green farms there. Being close to the sea, everything seemed lush, richer and greener than the valley areas. Plus the smells and moister in the air slowly grew a little strange with a slight tang of salt in it’s essence they’d never smelled nor felt before.

It was in their blood and souls to not waste a moment setting on their Loral’s, so after asking some of the other oakies they came across about jobs around there, they headed straight over to one of the larger recommended farms.

This turned out to be an Artichoke farm and what an operation it was. There were Artichoke plants in perfect rows as far as the eye could see in every direction. Raised in the hot climates of the Southwest, they’d only heard of these strange vegetables. They’d never even seen one until now. When they first tried one, after learning how to cook and eat them, it seemed such an awful lot of trouble for such a small taste but they ended up liking them in the end.

With their special skills and experience from the Orange farm down south, getting on with the Artichoke farm turned out to be a snap. They were both hired right on the spot and were told to show up first thing in the morning.

As usual, Guy was hired to drive farm machinery and Lester was put on as a mechanic. With their considerable expericance, they were promised both raises and a step up the ladder of employment, soon as a management position opened.

Then one day, everything changed. As guy drove the tractor-trailer out to gather up another load of Artichokes, there she was. There were hundreds of laborers in the field but for some reason, she caught his eye. First with just a backward glance, then a coy, almost embarrassed smile that made everything else of a sudden shadowy.

He was far too shy to attempt to meet her that day but couldn’t keep her out of his mind.

Within a few weeks of seeing her out in the fields and wondering how he might meet her, he got a break. Word got around there was going to be a dance at the local Grange Hall in town this next weekend.

So the next time the laborers lined up with their full baskets, when his dream girl reached the trailer, with her shy downward cast eyes shining, he decided it was now or never.

So he straightened his shoulders and stood up tall and walked right up as if he were doing nothing but inspecting the artichokes. That’s when she looked up and once again bedazzled him with her radiant smile, which almost left him speechless, and week kneed. Luckily he reacquired his faltering backbone in time to smile back and say. “ Howdy Ma’am. I don’t mean to bother you while you busy here but…..” He almost faltered again but saved himself just as she was showing signs of walking off. “My name is Guy.”

“Why hello Guy.“ She said with far more boldness than he was showing so far. “My name is Viola. Nice to meet ya.”

Then came the dreaded moment of silence where guy wasn’t sure what to do or say next. Again just as the moment stretched a tad too far and she again showed signs of turning and walking away, he found his voice again. “I was awondering….” He mumbled as he kicked at a dirt clod at his feet.

“Yes?” she asked into another awkward growing silence.

“Did you hear about the dance this weekend at the Grange hall?” He finally almost blurted out.

“Why yes. Yes I have.” She answered then again stood looking at this strange creature that couldn’t seem to string his words together into real sentences.

“I was awondering…..ifen you would like to go to that dance with me?” He finished in a rush before he lost his nerve.

Now it was her turn to blush and look down at her feet, which made Guys heart almost skip a beat.

“Why yes Guy. I would like to go to the dance with you.” She said, which sent a thrill starting at Guy’s toes, then clear up to the top of his head.

To be continued:

We ain’t got it so bad, now do we? Part 11.

Part 11.

After hearing about some jobs in Shafter, the boys headed over there. They found a trailer park where they could set up their tent out back of the few rundown trailers lined up in ragged rows. Then after going into town for some grub, they started a fire and settled in for the night. By the time they got back to their camp, there was no one milling around, so they figured they’d look for the repair place tomorrow and see what they could find out.

As was their custom, they showed up at the farm machinery repair facility in time to follow the workers walking through the just opened gates. What they saw was 4 very large metal buildings with farm equipment and machinery of every description, in every conceivable stage of repair. Some in pieces, some out front looking to be completed.

After looking around, they headed straight over to what looked to be the office shack.

Entering, they saw a man behind the counter with his back to them, pouring himself a cup of coffee. When he turned around he said. “Howdy boys. How can I help you?”

“We was wondering if you might have any jobs to be had?” Guy asked.

After a short glance at Guy and Lester, he asked. “Do either of you have any special skills other than a laborer or picking crops?”
”Why yes we do sir.” Lester answered. “Guy here is right handy at handling machinery and I knows plenty about repairing engines.”

His eyes seemed to light up at that, and then he asked. “How about welding?”

“On the farm, there’s always a need for some welding.” Guy answered. “I recon I could handle that fine sir.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what. You fellow’s fill out these.” He said with a small smile, as he reached under the cabinet and slid some papers toward them. “ And we’ll see what we might find for you to do around here.”

That day started a yearlong employment at the facility where Guy and Lester with their work ethic and ability to catch on fast aptitude again worked their way up the ladder in no time.

Having some rudimentary knowledge of welding served Guy well, for in just a few months, he was the lead welder. Lester gained the head mechanic position in even less time, so they both again were putting together a right nice little nest egg at the Shafter Bank. Being thrifty but needing a place to live, they ended up renting one of the trailers with two bedrooms at the park, so settled in nicely in their new jobs.

The pickup that had served them so well coming out west, was breathing its last ragged breath and drinking oil like a drunken sailor. So before it gave up the ghost, Lester found another newer one that needed a little work from one of his co-workers, so they were back in business with a dependable pickup again.

Speaking of Lester, one hot summer day, when guy was running a red-hot bead of welding rod, repairing a broken front loader blade, he thought he kept hearing something out of the ordinary through the sizzling noise of the contact arc and the welding machines loud hum. Being right in the middle of a long run, he just gave his head a slight shake and it seemed to go away, so he continued on.

The now growing noise grabbed his attention again, this time sounding a bit like men’s raised shouts, so he stopped welding, flipped his helmet up, then stood up to look around. With the welder off, it became clear. It was the sound of men shouting. Lots of men. From inside the building, he couldn’t see anything, so he followed the sound outside and there is was.

It was a circle of men all facing inward, yelling encouragements and cuss words toward what was beginning to resolve into two men fist fighting in the center.

It had been ages since Guy had seen a good old fist fight, so he dropped his equipment, gloves and helmet on the ground and hurried over to see what was going on.

Truth be told, the last fistfight he’d been involved in was between him and one brother or another, which on the old farm was a somewhat regular thing.

As soon as he pushed between two of the now screaming spectators, it hit him. It was Lester and another fella punching it out. By the blood trails, it was a pretty even fight, with neither backing down. Then the other fella apparently lost his concentration, for Lester gave him a straight-armed slam right on the jaw and down he went. Then Lester jumped on top and started plummeting him over and over until the guy screamed out “I give damnit!”

As was the custom then, the second one of the combatants said “Uncle”.  It was over. Lester stood up with blood mixed snot slinging in every direction, with hands on hips, looking like a knight of old having just slain a tiger in the arena.

Then the others came over with glad handling and slaps on his back in congratulations for a fight well done. Then they all simply started back toward wherever they were working before it all started.

As Guy and Lester headed back toward their own metal buildings, Guy asked. “What the hell was that all about?”

“He called me White Trash! No one calls me that Guy! Ever again!”

To be continued: