Introduction

Having three children and us being heavily involved while eight grandchildren were being raised, I think I know what a typical sixteen-year-old should be doing and their general state of mind.

Tethered to their home and family, ours were interested in the mobility of a driver’s license and activities of their sophomore year in high school. Nearly all were involved in sports and by then, their value systems had long been established. Family traditions played an important role in each of their lives.

Each was responsible, an excellent student, surrounded and involved with friends and school activities. Certainly not like their father or grandfather, they were each good citizens and a blessing. They were, thankfully, being raised as Linda had been raised.

This was the family I could only dream about in 1964 and beyond.

After the holidays of 1964, Linda and I continued to be inseparable. We’d meet before school in the main alcove with many of our friends. We had a couple of classes together, and would always have lunch together in the cafeteria. After school, we’d walk to her house, and weather permitting, sit on her porch swing together. Sometimes in the evening, I’d drive back to see her.

On the weekends, we’d go to a movie, either as part of a double date or alone. It didn’t matter the time or day; we were always together.

School, even with the advanced classes, was never a problem for me, except for Chemistry where I was expected to memorize stuff that made no sense at all.

We were both in our “literary societies” and enjoyed our time with friends as we readied for the Spring Lit Night.

In short, we were always together.

Chapter I – Death in the Family

I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the old song about a “hot rod Lincoln”? The lyrics describe a guy racing at incredible speeds. I think it refers to the telephone poles looking like a picket fence. My experience with my Uncle from Columbia MO going to Rock Island IL, brought the song to my mind several times.

In 1965 while at the spring debate tournament in Columbia MO, I learned that my Great-Grandpa Schaeve had died in Rock Island. My Aunt Shirley lived in Columbia and immediately left for Rock Island. Since I was in Columbia, I got a ride with my Uncle Glen who was going later. He had to attend to their milk cows.

The drive from Columbia to Rock Island was an eye-opener and would put my idea of my grandparents in question.

The interstate highway system had just begun, so we took a route that was mostly two-lane country roads for the journey. Being a country boy, my Uncle Glen didn’t recognize speed limits. He ignored the signs and there were several times I wondered if we were going to make it alive.

As we passed the many fields and hills between Columbia and Rock Island, I was remembering my time with Grandpa Schaeve. He was always a fixture at the dining room table and was a favorite of my Uncle Butch. About an hour into the journey, Uncle Glen started a conversation.

“Billy, do you know how your Grandpa treated your Mother and Aunt before they got married?” My Uncle Glen was not only making conversation but had a message he wanted to deliver.

“Not really. I’ve never had any conversations about that with anyone.”

“Well, you know he made living pretty miserable for Grandpa Schaeve didn’t you?”

I had witnessed some bad exchanges between the two men, but never thought anything about it before he brought it up. My memories were limited to a quiet, smiling old man that wore glasses and had a big nose. He was what I would have expected Ben Franklin to look like in his later years. I responded,

“I can remember a couple of times when Butch would insert himself into a conversation to get Grandpa off Grandpa Schaeve’s back. I didn’t know what was going on and didn’t stick my nose in it.”

“Well, he beat on the man without mercy for years and years. Verbally, I mean. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I guess. So, he didn’t like him?”

“He couldn’t stand the fact that he was in their house. He was brutal to him.”

After a couple of wild turns and losing the gravel road when we topped a hill, I answered.

“No. I didn’t know that and it’s too bad. I always like Grandpa Schaeve. I thought he was kind, at least to me. The only time I can remember him was sitting around the dining room table. Most of the time when I was there, I’d be talking to Grandma.

“That’s too bad.”

Thirty minutes later, he picked it up again.

“You know your Grandpa was always verbally abusive to Shirl and your Mom too, right?”

This process was beginning to remind me of my riding a couple of years earlier, except for the topic. Most of the time with Uncle Glen, I sat quietly, praying we’d make it alive, until I felt compelled to answer.

“I know my Mom is scared to death of Grandpa. I never knew why, and I didn’t ask. I just thought it was something between a father and his daughter.”

“When Bill (my Dad) was dating Donna (my Mom), I was dating Shirl (Shirley, Mom’s younger sister). The men in that family really had it out for your dad. He used to always wear a big cowboy hat. They’d make fun of him behind his back. When Donna would come home, I guess they talked him down pretty bad.”

“Uncle Glen, I don’t know anything about that, but it’s not that hard for me to believe.”

“One time, they poured some Pepsi into his hat and he didn’t see it until he put it on his head. I’m surprised the man ever came back into the house. I sure wouldn’t have.”

It did make sense at that time. Years later, after Grandma died, I spent a couple of days with Grandpa alone. He had mellowed considerably (I guessed), but he confirmed the Pepsi-in-the-hat incident. He thought of it as a joke. I’m sure my dad didn’t share his feelings at that time.

Another thirty minutes went by as we were driving the back roads of Missouri and Iowa toward Rock Island.

“You know he really did a number on your mother and Shirl.”

I was beginning to become curious.

“What do you mean?”

“He called them some of the worst names you could ever think of; bitches, whores, anything, and everything that would come into his mind.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Billy, that man is evil.”

I didn’t respond. I concentrated on the hills and fields that we were going by at a very rapid pace. There was a short period before he continued.

“I’m sorry, Billy, but I think you need to know this. Your grandfather has a mean streak and he verbally beat his girls up all the time.”

“Why would he do that?”

“They were women. I don’t think he had any respect for women, even his own daughters.”

There was a long pause as I searched my memory. I couldn’t find any reason to argue with my Uncle, but I was confused.

“Why would Grandma put up with that?”

“That’s a great question. I’ve always liked Irene. She was always good to me. Didn’t you say Butch had to stick up for Grandpa Schaeve?”

“Yeah, but I never saw or heard a lot. Most of the time when I was there, I was the center of attention. (I laughed a little laugh) I liked it that way. He’s never said anything out of line with me.”

“Are you a woman?”

“I hope not. I may be a lot of things, but a woman isn’t one of them.” I tried to chuckle again, but it didn’t come out too well.

“I don’t know. Shirl has had a lot of issues with self-confidence and dealing with all the stuff he laid on her constantly. Hell, I imagine you’ve seen it in your Mom too. How does she treat your Dad?”

“Pretty bad, but I don’t want to go there.”

“All I’m saying is, you’re a young man now. You ought to know these things. Rock Island is a wonderful place at Christmas and such, but it’s not heaven.”

Several minutes went by without either of us saying anything.

“Do you know how old your Mother was when she was married?”

“Actually, I’ve never given it any thought at all.”

“She was seventeen. Shirl was fifteen. The old man told Shirl that she could have a double wedding or cut me loose. Can you imagine that? I’ve got three good girls. I can’t imagine that at all. He just wanted them out of the house. That’s all. Get those girls out of my house.”

There were several additional, brief one-sided discussions during our trip, but his point had been made. I took it to heart and watched Grandpa more carefully from then on. He was certainly biased toward Bud, even over Butch I thought. I couldn’t remember any interactions with my Aunt Dorothy, but she was already out of the house before I had any memories of her.

It began to make a lot more sense to me having watched my Mom and wondering what was wrong with her. I thought of Linda and couldn’t in my wildest dreams think anything like that could happen to her or in her family. I filed it away for future reference as an adult and as the father of two daughters and six granddaughters.

And I gave thanks for arriving alive after a wild ride.

Chapter II – Junior Year

It was during my Junior year that we left Stonewall Courts. I can’t remember the reason for the move, but Dad found a small house on Spruce a short distance south of the Avenue.

I didn’t have as much privacy as I had at Stonewall Courts, so I didn’t like it as well. Dad said I wasn’t spending much time at home, so I shouldn’t care. He had a point I couldn’t argue with.

Spruce Street was roughly half the distance between the Community Center and Northeast High, so I guess there was a benefit. I could get to school faster and it wasn’t such a journey walking home from Linda’s every afternoon.

While on Spruce, Dad got a phone. I was thankful because there weren’t any phone booths closed and Linda still required a nightly phone call on most nights.

During the spring of our junior year, the junior class selected officers and student council for our senior year. The student council required some “campaigning”. Mr. Lyle encouraged me to run and gave me some tips on my “speech” to the student body. There were five or six others and I remember a couple being pretty nervous before they were called to talk. Amazingly, I guess because of my debate experience, I felt fine and delivered my speech without any hiccups.

Later Mr. Lyle said he was privy to the voting results. The staff didn’t give me much of a chance before the speech. When the results were counted, I came in second to George who I couldn’t have beaten in a hundred years. I was Student Council – Vice President. Thanks in part, to Mr. Lyle.

~ * ~

During the year, Linda and I attended all the dances at school. For each dance, Linda had a different (new) dress. She was beautiful.

I was always surprised when I’d pick her up, because she was just gorgeous, and her figure was a knockout. I had a couple of sports coats and tried to dress well, but I always looked like a mannequin when pictures were taken. She lit up the room. Linda was always one of the best-looking girls at the dance, but then I might have been just a little prejudiced.

~ * ~

Near the end of our junior year, I was thinking about a job for the summer. At seventeen, they were still pretty hard to find, and I thought I had Macy’s at $1.25/hour to fall back on if nothing else developed.

A friend had suggested that I might want to look into being an “ice cream man”. At that time there were several types with several different companies. I ended up with one where I drove a Jeep with a canopy top and a large freezer behind the two front seats. It had a bell that I’d ring while proceeding street by street on my route. My friend said he was sure I’d make $2.00 per hour which was attractive to me because it was over a fifty percent increase.

This was also my first introduction to entrepreneurship. Everything depended on me and how hard I worked at it.

Each morning, I’d turn in an order sheet detailing the type and quantity of ice cream I’d carry for that day. Most had the same amount of profit, but there were a few items that were different. It required that I pay for the ice cream when I picked it up each morning. The company “let me use” their Jeep. I was responsible for the gas ($0.25/gallon), ice cream, and the dry ice that went on top to keep everything frozen while on my route. At night, the freezer was plugged into electricity at the back of our house on Spruce.

I was assigned a route just south of downtown Kansas City, KS. The neighborhood was relatively poor with a mix of all races. Every morning (in my case 7 days a week), I’d drive the Jeep down to the warehouse in the North End, purchase my ice cream, and wait until a little before noon to start my route.

I learned, if I went too early, I didn’t have any customers, so I adjusted my schedule to begin on my route around the lunch hour. I ended my day just before it got dark. That neighborhood was not someplace I wanted to be after dark. I’m sure I could have made more money if I stayed later, but I didn’t want to risk it.

Many summer mornings I’d drive the Jeep over to see her either before or after loading up. Going to pick up the ice cream, I’d frequently take a route that went around “Cliff Drive”. Cliff Drive, as its name suggested, was a narrow road that was cut into the side of the bluffs (cliff) that Indians once ran buffalo over. It weaved around for about three or four miles before dumping me out on a road that led north to the ice cream company.

When I say “weave”, I really mean weave. There wasn’t even a quarter mile straightaway anywhere on Cliff Drive.

Why was this important? The Jeep was a 3-speed on the floor. It was built with a low center of gravity. And it had the heavy freezer sitting over the back wheels. The challenge was to go fast enough, around the curves to get a little thrill. It was pretty stupid, looking back on it, but I was seventeen now and it was a challenge.

As it turned out, the Jeep cornered really well. If I had enough speed, however, I could almost make two wheels leave the ground. That was the thrill part. I’d have to maintain my position on the road and see if I could tip it onto just two wheels. It still sounds like fun today. Dangerous, but fun.

I learned another lesson in my Jeep one morning visiting Linda. Linda’s house had a very narrow driveway running the length of her house to a metal garage at the back of the property line. One of the rooms adjacent to the driveway was their dining room.

In the window of their dining room, they had a huge air conditioning unit that cooled the entire first floor. The unit stuck out into the driveway by maybe a foot. Cars were short enough to go under the A/C unit. The top of my canopy was not!

I’m not sure why I pulled back beyond the A/C unit one Sunday morning, but I did. Going forward I could see it and maneuver around it. When I went to leave, I backed out looking over my left shoulder. The A/C unit was on my right.

As soon as I heard the sound, I hit my brakes. “Oh, crap!” I’d hit Linda’s dad’s A/C unit. This was definitely not good. Luckily, I wasn’t going too fast, so I didn’t knock it completely out of the window. I pulled forward and quickly fixed the A/C unit, making sure I hadn’t done any damage to it. For the rest of the summer, I parked only on the street in front of her house.

Another time, also on a Sunday morning we sat on her swing enjoying the early morning breeze and one another’s company. I knew I needed gas, so I invited her to come along.

“I’ve got to get some gas. You want to come with me to gas it up?”

“Ah, sure.”

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, neither of us would have thought anything about what we were doing. Linda had often ridden in the Jeep when we needed to go anywhere, and I didn’t have my dad’s car. She had a robe on and of course, her underwear. Off we went. The gas station I went to also had a canopy over the pumps to protect them from rain. I don’t know how it happened, but I caught the canopy of the Jeep on the gas station canopy bending it up a little.

“What was that?” Linda heard the scrape.

“Crap! I’ve done it again.” I knew as soon as I heard what I had done.

“What do we do now?”

“Well, I think they’ve got insurance on me and the vehicle, so I guess I’ll have to go into the station, tell them what happened, and call the company.”

I fessed up and called the company. They said not to drive it and that they would send somebody out to assess the damage. I went back out to the Jeep to tell Linda.

“Billy, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be here when someone from your company comes out.”

“Yeah, that might not be such a good idea.”

“It’s too far to walk home and besides, I’m in my robe. I don’t want to be walking the streets in my robe.”

“Of course not.”

After assessing the situation for a few minutes, I had a thought. “Doesn’t Bill Haynes live just up the street, about a half a block?” Bill was a Debater brother and generally a good-ole-boy. He also had a little “wild” reputation.

“Let me go see if Bill’s got a phone you can use. Do you know who you can call?”

After a few minutes, she decided one of her best friends that drove a lot would be the one to call, Mary Jo. We arrived at Bill’s house and I knocked on the door. I think I woke him up as he staggered to the door. He was the only one home. I explained the situation to him, and he said sure, come on in. Linda made the call.

“Mary Jo. I know this is going to sound crazy, but can you pick me up at Bill Haynes’ house and take me home? I’m in my robe and don’t want to walk home like this.”

After a long pause, Mary Jo responded. “You said Bill Haynes’ house, right? And you’re in your robe, right? I’m not going to ask anything else, but I’ll be by in about ten minutes. Bill Haynes? Oh my God!”

Linda explained the situation more fully and I waited with her on Bill’s porch before going back to the gas station. The Jeep was creating excitement in many different ways.

~ * ~

After each day’s run, I’d go to Linda’s to count the cash and fill out a new order sheet. I’d usually save a couple of treats for her and me as well. One of her favorites was the “candy crown”. It had a red hard outside and vanilla inside.

We’d sit in her kitchen, stack bills, and change to see how much I’d made for the day. It did turn out to be right around $2.00 per hour, and I was getting a good eight hours per day, so it was a good decision with some exciting times and interesting experiences.

Each night during that summer, I’d be all sweaty and have my pockets full of damp folding money. We’d set at the kitchen table counting and stacking money, getting ready for the next day’s run. Looking back, we had a lot of laughs as I told Linda stories, plus it kept us together.

Many times, we’d enjoy the evening breeze on her front porch on the wonderful swing, holding hands, and making small talk. There were occasions when I’d stop by our house to shower before heading to Linda’s. It was great fun.

The ice cream experience taught me a lot. As you can imagine, there were several “interesting” experiences that came up over the summer. Some were funny, some were sad, and some could have been a problem.

In the summer of 1965, I didn’t think much about the situations that I might be getting myself into, particularly in the “poorer” neighborhood that was my route. I thought I knew poor pretty well, which I did. Desperate was another matter altogether. Today, I wouldn’t want any part of that neighborhood.

Over the summer, I learned to recognize when there was a situation developing that might turn bad. I’d try to defuse it with laughter, free ice cream, or being calm and witty. A couple of times I’d have to drive off and remember the street so as not to return.

Whenever I wanted a day off, to spend with Linda, I would plan a partial run, not go in for fresh ice cream or call my best friend Mike. He came with me a couple of times and we really had fun together, laughing, singing, and just acting foolish. He was my emergency backup. In a pinch, he could run my route.

By that time in my life, it wasn’t about being responsible. I’d had plenty of responsibility before. It was dealing with people and situations that would pop up quickly. I had to recognize them and know what had to be done to defuse any situation I might find myself in. Thank God, I never had any problems with the drug scene. That neighborhood today, well let’s just say, I’d have to find another job.

~ * ~

Several things were new and interesting during our junior year together. It goes without saying I learned more about Linda, her family, and women in general. Linda was incredible. I kept waiting to see “the other side”, but it never surfaced. She was the same person with the same likes, dislikes, and values that I had come to know and admire. She was totally transparent, with nothing to hide. She could change her mind, but not what was important to her. I was lucky. I was important to her.

I’d observe how other guys were treated while “going with someone” and it seemed to me that it was more of a competition than developing a relationship. Both guys and girls kept score of the dates they had and how each rated. There was a lot of note-taking which I thought was natural and before social media, there was a lot of “friending” and “unfriending” between people. It was interesting for me to observe.

I know this is natural (I guessed it was, anyway) as part of growing up. It’s natural to want to try many flavors before you have to choose the one you want to spend your life with. That’s perfectly fine. I just couldn’t tell when there was a taste contest and when someone was looking for a partner.

I acknowledge that I didn’t have a resume of many ladies and perhaps I was the odd man out, but I was looking for commitment. I was willing to return commitment while some of the guys were more interested in the conquest, the chase, or just the fun of multiple encounters. I think that was common among many of the girls too. Maybe I missed some things. Then again, maybe I didn’t. My friendships with both sexes always ran deep and my experiences, even the bad ones, have always been satisfying to me.