tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81544312836808116542024-03-14T08:27:51.532-07:00The Music of Leo BowersThe Music of Leo Bowers contains "original music/remakes" for review for lovers of original music, information about the artist and the song library.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-31480787415099255172017-08-10T16:20:00.001-07:002017-08-10T16:20:18.320-07:00The Music Of Leo Bowers<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xXejrThq2lQ" width="480"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-33733373751094602942017-06-26T10:43:00.001-07:002017-06-26T10:43:03.670-07:00I Believe In You<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YG4y9h-ow2M" width="480"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-2375155495281820782017-06-26T10:36:00.001-07:002017-06-26T10:36:51.156-07:00Before Me<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vHZgDHUOsxM" width="480"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-91834456394267473522016-10-12T03:55:00.000-07:002016-10-12T03:55:05.737-07:0011. Leaving the U.S.M.C.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><u>Leaving the U.S.M.C</u>.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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There was one
particular evening I remember as if it were just yesterday. It was at the end
of the day around 5:00 P.M. at San Ornofre at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">camp</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Pendleton</st1:placename></st1:place>
and most of us had gotten the roll off of new South American marijuana that had
come across the boarder. We were smoking and blowing shotguns through real
shotguns! Then came the acid (LSD) brought in from <st1:place w:st="on">Berkley</st1:place> and it came in Window pane form.
Everyone was running around tripping on acid and smoking pot while the sound of
mortar fire was blasting from the night training area. It sounded like bombs
going off all over the place! In fact they were bombs of sorts and rapid rifle
and machine gun fire echoed through the mountains into the San Ornofre valley.
The ground would literally shake from the concussion of the blast and we were
all pretty much used to it except for the fact that this particular evening
everyone was under the influence of major psychotropic drugs namely LSD. I
remember sitting on the side of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Mount</st1:placetype>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Smokey</st1:placename></st1:place> with a few partners
and we were hiding in the brush looking down at the grinder (parade deck) and
smoking pot while tripping our brains out on LSD. There were a company of
grunts out playing war games (maneuvers) with other companies all around the
area out on maneuvers, and it looked like a virtual war zone. There was this
kid I was talking to who was saying to me that this is not what he had signed
on for and how disillusioned he was. He went on to tell me how he missed his
home and wished he had listened to his parents and he would not have gotten
himself into this mess.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Mt. Smokey</b> Courtesy of Google</span></div>
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I gave him what I
thought was the best advise for the time and as I did I kind of gave it to
myself as well. I told him that whatever happened we only live the life we love
until it’s done and that he should follow his mind and heart and do what he
thought he needed to do to move in the direction he felt best. I on the other
hand already knew what I was about to do. I was waiting to come down off of the
acid trip so I could pack a few things and get the hell out of dodge! I was
going back to Columbus Ohio where I was better known and get with my friends
and band members to do what it was that made me know who I was and for me that
meant playing music, having a girl, and trying to have a life that fit what I
thought life should be like, or maybe I should say what I was used to!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>I.T.S.</b> huts San Ornofre Campen Calif</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Google</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
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At around 6:00 P.M.
the next day I did exactly that. I left with what little money I had and caught
a greyhound to <st1:city w:st="on">San Francisco</st1:city> and made my way to <st1:place w:st="on">Berkeley</st1:place> for the second
time. I stayed awhile and then met a pimp who lost his money, cars and girls
gambling in <st1:place w:st="on">Las Vegas</st1:place>.
We kind of teamed up because he spoke the east coast language and he was
alright with the exception of his over inflated ego. We caught a ride with a
group of heads as for as <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Cheyenne</st1:city>
<st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state></st1:place> and I met a girl who was
willing to take us in for the night. We stayed with her at her trailer out on a
farm. She fed us and we watched a little T.V. and she left us there while she
went to work. There was a big jug of money and there were guns in the house.
Mind you at this time I was only about 19 years old and far from home stuck
with a guy who fancied himself a pimp/player from <st1:state w:st="on">New York</st1:state> and truthfully I was a little cocky
myself but the fear factor never left me. I took some of the money, and I did
take a pistol that was in a holster and put them in my sea bag. My plan was to
ditch the pimp because he was starting to talk crazy, then make my way to <st1:place w:st="on">St. Louis</st1:place> were I had
family members. I would sell the pistol for a bus ticket and vwala, I’d be
home! <o:p></o:p></div>
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We left the trailer
and hitched a ride into downtown <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Denver</st1:city>
<st1:state w:st="on">Colorado</st1:state></st1:place> and walked to a park.
Now this guy was really starting to talk like a maniac and I saw a filling
station so I told him I had to use the restroom. I went into the filling
station restroom and climbed out of the back window and made my way back
downtown out of his sight. Some kids stopped in a blue van and picked me up.
They were college kids around my same age and they were getting ready to party
and asked if I’d like to join them, I said sure! We made our way from <st1:city w:st="on">Denver</st1:city> all the way to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Wichita</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">Kansas</st1:state></st1:place>
and pulled into the driveway of a house that belonged to a friend of theirs
where the party was to commence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Downtown Wichita Google</span></div>
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Wouldn’t you know!
More window pane acid! I made the mistake of taking some and I met a girl who’s
name was Mary. She was really nice and we became intimate, then the acid kicked
in and I got super paranoid! All of a sudden she didn’t look so nice anymore
and all the kids there seemed to be part of a conspiracy or something. We went
to a club and watched a live band perform a few songs and I did the restroom
move on them as well. I headed out to the freeway ramp and caught a ride with a
trucker that took me to a rest stop further up north. While I was there I went
into the rest room and there was a young black guy camped out on the restroom
floor when in walks this guy that looked to be early 50’s or so smoking a pipe and he stands in from of me
looking me up and down. He removes his pipe from his mouth and asked me; “Need
a ride”? I said yeah I’m headed to <st1:place w:st="on">St
Louis</st1:place>, then he says to me; “What kinda pipe you
packin”? Well at that point I told him I didn’t need the ride and I could make
my own way, so he says; “You sure”? Just about then the kid lying on the floor
says, “I’ll go, I’ll go”! He went!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Public Domain Google</span></div>
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I ended up getting a
ride with another trucker all the way into <st1:city w:st="on">St. Louis</st1:city>
over the bridge from <st1:state w:st="on">Kansas</st1:state> into KC Missouri
then on up into <st1:place w:st="on">St. Louis</st1:place>.
I looked in the phone book for my people there and found them on a street
called Penrose off of a main street called Delmar. I made my way to the house
and breathed a big sigh of relief, it was good to be around family and I could
finally take a full shower. We talked and caught up on times past. My cousins
there were the children of my father’s oldest brother Harold who was named
after my grand father. Their mom’s name was Mary, my Aunt Mary, she seemed so
sad just the way I remembered her from 1963 when my uncle died of a heart
attack. It was now the summer of 1973 over 10 years since I’d seen her and she
was still depressed and just lying about the house mostly in her bedroom. I
stayed for a couple of days and one morning I sold the pistol I had stolen in
Cheyenne to a neighbor of theirs for 20.00 to get a bus ticket back to Columbus
Ohio to my home where I was better known!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgut2FaCeM16L_LomRJvnYY0kXUTO1orOW2nW-IgrmzEx1z4uuULqZfUfAWipr4UJ78JOcTEObtTcPPYzKVl_VuknpBdKcolo7Y9BakKWrCERDgABIceVM3t54RGTE5oAP-SF2pxLBeBqM/s1600/35.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgut2FaCeM16L_LomRJvnYY0kXUTO1orOW2nW-IgrmzEx1z4uuULqZfUfAWipr4UJ78JOcTEObtTcPPYzKVl_VuknpBdKcolo7Y9BakKWrCERDgABIceVM3t54RGTE5oAP-SF2pxLBeBqM/s320/35.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Delmar Blvd. St. Louis MO "Google"</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I got back to
Columbus I had made up my mind that I was not going back to the U.S.M.C. for
anything other than to be released so I lived as if I was free when in fact I
knew the day was coming I’d have to pay the piper. That day came about 9 months later in March
of 1974. I was Visiting my mom’s house and eating a bowl of cereal when in
walks two FBI agents. They introduce themselves, let me finish breakfast and
then deliver me to the workhouse to await the cross country chasers for my
final return to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Camp</st1:placetype>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Pendleton</st1:placename></st1:place>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Great Lakes Brig</span></div>
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I Spent about2 weeks
at Great Lakes and 90 days in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Camp</st1:placetype>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Pendleton</st1:placename></st1:place> brig and was
returned to duty. I went through yet another company and disobeyed a lawful
order purposely to get them to vacate sentence on a Bad Conduct Discharge. I
just wanted out of this mess anyway I could get out and it didn’t matter to me
at the time about what kind of discharge they gave me as long as I did not have
to be there anymore! I just wanted a normal life so I thought! But what’s
really normal? </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuybYheGw_lKk0XSN74SqLfl4DiTtPVdQvEyGm7PyxImTZl0a7iyJDu8JrVcmh5OMx5MH5DsAFQRW_Haio2WBKbFKO8SvrNSSZJE-waEovU3yX72SFP-PQOGBdTyp4NCGO0UK9ExwM4w/s1600/38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuybYheGw_lKk0XSN74SqLfl4DiTtPVdQvEyGm7PyxImTZl0a7iyJDu8JrVcmh5OMx5MH5DsAFQRW_Haio2WBKbFKO8SvrNSSZJE-waEovU3yX72SFP-PQOGBdTyp4NCGO0UK9ExwM4w/s320/38.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Camp Pendleton Brig</div>
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Anyway, I made it back home on December 20<sup>th</sup> 1974. I
was now 20 years of age. On the way home as I boarded the plane <span lang="EN">Aristotelis
“Telly” Savalas</span>, his brother and
friends were sitting up from in first class giggling and laughing about what I
don’t know except they looked like they were tripping on some sort of drug
themselves. When I got home there were two young ladies that had their sights
on me and came to see if I was relationship worthy. One was an old school friend
named Gail and the other was a girl named Angie from the north side who was
getting ready to graduate from <st1:placename w:st="on">Ohio</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype> in <st1:city w:st="on">Athens</st1:city>.
Needless to say I was not feeling like I was worthy of a serious relationship
with either of these young women, I felt they deserved much better and besides
all the things I had been through, how would I ever explain, how could I
justify my decisions, the choices I made or the things I did?</div>
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Home.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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Next time: <b><u>More
growing up</u></b><b><u><o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-51319550142365891572016-10-12T03:53:00.002-07:002016-10-12T03:54:33.992-07:0010. Traveling with hippies and soul searching with drugs and sex.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<u><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Traveling
with hippies and soul searching with drugs and sex.<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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As I said, I had
many UA’s and if I count them all up including the ones where I was a few hours
late getting back to the base I’d probably had about ten or so. One particular
AWOL that kept me out for about 6 months started when a Sgt and his crony
chaser decided to make a personal example of me for disobeying a lawful order.
I felt that going in circles over issues was a waste of my time and completely
stupid to say the least. They would have us (the admin platoon), clean an
entire area of rocks, boulders, cigarette butts, paper etc… and later go back
and trash everything showing no respect or appreciation for our efforts and
improvements. So one morning came when I was ordered to repeat the same
grueling routine and I simply said no!<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I.T.S. Camp Pendleton "Google"</span></div>
</div>
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That “no” landed me
in front of a drunken Staff Sergeant and his pet chaser who’s last name I still
remember to this day and I’ll explain why a little later on. This chasers’ name
was lance corporal “Crooks” I quote Crooks because that’s exactly what was
going on. They where under investigation for drug smuggling across the boarder
and Cocaine was the real issue, they didn’t care so much about the Mexican pot
or even the pot that was making it’s way up from South America, but the Cocaine
was an issue that the big brass felt needed dealing with for one reason or
another. You can probably guess the other!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I disobeyed
the order to make like an ant and do the repetitive toil thingy, I was called
into the Sergeants office and escorted by Crooks. When they got me in the hut
they handcuffed my wrist to my ankles and began questioning with every nasty
slur imaginable and I felt like this was the last straw. Punishment is one
thing but this was just plain sickness and I made the mistake of letting them
know that. Night sticks inserted through cuffs from wrist to ankle pulled with
just a little effort have a way of putting you head first on a concrete pad!
The stick itself has uses in corporal punishment and brutality yet to be shown
on TV or in movies!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was given 60 days
restriction and fined ¾ of my monthly income which was nothing new. My pay
grade as an E-1 was 283.00 per month and ¼ of that came to a whopping $70.75
paid out every two weeks for a bi- monthly sum of $35.37. It was just enough to
get a motel room, a hamburger or two and a cheap hooker, and for the most part
they had thousands of guys like me that they kept in legal platoons largely for
the purposes of taking the money to invest in other not so legal enterprises.
This too was under investigation! Sound familiar?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I waited until 4:00
when every one shut down and prepared to make my move. I caught a base shuttle
truck which was just a green tractor pulling a rig with benches in it and made
my way to the front gate, showed my I.D. and made my way into <st1:city w:st="on">San Clemente</st1:city>. From there I caught a bus to
L.A and made my way into the Bay area and felt my way around. In 1973 there
were still plenty of hippies and heads gallivanting around the Bay area
especially <st1:city w:st="on">San Francisco</st1:city> and <st1:place w:st="on">Berkeley</st1:place>. After being propositioned by gays
to the tune of 5 or 6 times in <st1:city w:st="on">San Francisco</st1:city> I
made my way over to <st1:city w:st="on">Berkeley</st1:city>
by way of <st1:street w:st="on">Telegraph Ave.</st1:street> When I got near the heart of the University I
couldn’t believe my eyes, ears, or nose and the excitement was off the scale.
Music on every street corner, guys and girls just playing for change tossed
into hats or cases, the aroma of good weed filled the air with the smell of
jasmine and all sorts of incense. Chocolate mescaline (my favorite), was at
every other corner and in the park, acid was just a basic deal and friendly was
a way of breathing!<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEcbP7Z2jZ-_trRNqwh7v5TmH0d1rRdzssqP2T49Nq_YknwWTItnMuZdL7mqw32hO0yZhXb91MU0UM_P4vFx6P2zp42zFsuJ8jX-kyc-r30kudFbmvjr4Kqb_GJypGp8iYeNqShql948/s1600/207832464_8aaad57507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEcbP7Z2jZ-_trRNqwh7v5TmH0d1rRdzssqP2T49Nq_YknwWTItnMuZdL7mqw32hO0yZhXb91MU0UM_P4vFx6P2zp42zFsuJ8jX-kyc-r30kudFbmvjr4Kqb_GJypGp8iYeNqShql948/s320/207832464_8aaad57507.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Telegraph Ave. Berkeley "Google"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The girls were hot
and loose! Bras in those days were only for squares and panties, well what are
panties? They had crash pads that would feed you a bedtime snack and People’s Park
had spools of clothes the church fed breakfast and lunch and the only thing
missing was maybe a private tent in case it rained during the day which rarely
ever happened so a blanket in the grass was just fine. And if you were going to
do the sex thing you just roll up in the blanket. Although there were a couple
of scenes where the couple got so into it they kicked the blanket off and did
an exhibition for all to see and marvel at! what a rush!<o:p></o:p><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYMzRSUZPxUaBbGEqePYHSetXCOusXk4t-hfM8VTzgV5wvdN5IGf0sDjBX6xL4Lefk2Tp98MpJobdlDPWVZmJNZX87J5qoQCGFgJHAr9D6nFr0p78HDxZztvHKYs5ZIdDodQQrjKn7NQU/s1600/DSC_0114-1024x680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYMzRSUZPxUaBbGEqePYHSetXCOusXk4t-hfM8VTzgV5wvdN5IGf0sDjBX6xL4Lefk2Tp98MpJobdlDPWVZmJNZX87J5qoQCGFgJHAr9D6nFr0p78HDxZztvHKYs5ZIdDodQQrjKn7NQU/s320/DSC_0114-1024x680.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">People's Park Berkeley "Google"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I hung out for about
3 weeks and got homesick so I brainstormed a way to make it back to good old <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Columbus</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">Ohio</st1:state></st1:place>
as conveniently as possible. I was totally broke money-wise but I had a few
drugs I had saved and I soled them to get a ride back to <st1:state w:st="on">Ohio</st1:state>
with a group of hippies that were bound for <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Athens</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">Ohio</st1:state></st1:place>.
All they asked me for was $20.00 to help with gas and they fed me along the
way. Mind you in those days food took second place to a good buzz or acid trip
so we didn’t eat that much anyway. The guy driving was husband, father and
friend to everyone else on board and his name was Bo! It was a good trip and
along the way we spotted a Marijuana patch in a cornfield just before we got to
<st1:state w:st="on">Indiana</st1:state> off
route 80. We filled countless trash bags and boogied on down the road to home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When they let me out
at my front door I had 6 large trash bags of pot to introduce to the hilltop
community. I hid them in my dad’s shed and in the crawl space under the first floor of our house. Nobody ever checked that
or even thought about its existence so I was good to go. The very first of
friends to show up was always Daniel Ragland my friend and bassist buddy. We’d
get together and go out to play our music in coffee houses, recreation centers
and jam sessions, and smoke plenty of grass along the way. We developed another
name for pot, we called it SEEDS! My girlfriend and mother of my first child was
seeing someone else, and living with them so I was free to meet someone if I
wanted to and believe me after 2 cheap hookers over a 6 month period of time at
18 years of age my hormones said, “meet someone”! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5YzQ_eacBdY9Dls9rmZ684Wy_GBb2rXoGtMW-pNtmx1_qKEtmfbNjLTh4s7KcDjpc0IiaVsKOGzOrzAnqveJUw_BD6r4w6RYJ037415ulU39K5vTVijEGLxPVEnTeTMtgXPM-sNgmUcA/s1600/33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5YzQ_eacBdY9Dls9rmZ684Wy_GBb2rXoGtMW-pNtmx1_qKEtmfbNjLTh4s7KcDjpc0IiaVsKOGzOrzAnqveJUw_BD6r4w6RYJ037415ulU39K5vTVijEGLxPVEnTeTMtgXPM-sNgmUcA/s320/33.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">Me and my 1 year old son 1973 during a U.A.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I met a new girl on
the block names Iris. She was light skinned and looked Cuban or Puerto Rican
and she was stacked and cute as a button. We had sex like mad dogs every chance
we got which was almost every day for the first two months of my return when I
wasn’t out with Dan and Bobby playing. Her dad really didn’t like me a bit when
he first met me and for quite some time after that. But years later he turned
out to be a very good friend. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One day I was out
with Daniel and we ran out of pot so we drove back to the west side (my house)
to stock up. As I was parking I noticed there were a lot of people hanging
around in the back yard around the fence and a lot of smoke that had that all
too familiar smell, then I spotted my mom dumping a large trash bag onto the
BBQ grill and I knew then I was at a loss-loss! It wasn’t long before my
mom talked me into returning to the Marine Corps. I really tried to live up to
her expectations of me, but I always seemed to make the wrong choices. I wanted
to do what my parents considered to be the right thing, but something inside
took me somewhere else. I finally turned myself into authorities and they
shipped me back to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Camp</st1:placetype>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Pendleton</st1:placename></st1:place>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-10135445904188408052016-09-19T07:30:00.003-07:002016-09-19T07:31:58.719-07:009. From Paris Island to MCB Camp Pendelton<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>The graduation from Paris Island and arrival at Camp Pendleton Infantry
Training School</b><b><span style="font-family: "arial";"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7oOOdhLRZu634ItyYxxK1JVZtDZJ2QMUiG4UTT8lgKP0lJ7Ex_dyQS8Thw3JAYocvpyBZy2s8EqFnpRShqmCE73_xreKM2sksVNL4KJWhrHoZ5Hlr9oKq0dPznnhn7jsFpfE9gmrEy7A/s1600/31a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7oOOdhLRZu634ItyYxxK1JVZtDZJ2QMUiG4UTT8lgKP0lJ7Ex_dyQS8Thw3JAYocvpyBZy2s8EqFnpRShqmCE73_xreKM2sksVNL4KJWhrHoZ5Hlr9oKq0dPznnhn7jsFpfE9gmrEy7A/s320/31a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial";"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75"
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It all happened when we were on the rifle range. Someone
took a set of my ear plugs and I reported it. Siganik had everyone beside me
holding rifles on fingertips until the culprit surfaced and they were all
suffering pretty badly. A recruit named <st1:city w:st="on">Battle</st1:city>
told me he had an extra set of ear plugs and to tell Siganik I found them on
the floor. Out of feeling bad for the platoon’s sweat and pain I did just that
and Siganik didn’t take kindly to the fact that I found them on the floor with
no one to blame! He came from behind his desk and hit me with a horizontal butt
stroke that dislocated my mandible. I spit blood and stayed at attention
looking at him to see if another blow was coming!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I waited to see if another blow was coming and felt the
blood filling up in my mouth. Nothing came instead he said, “Come on and swing
and give me a reason to kill your ass”! I responded with the Marine Corps “Sir
no sir” and spit a mouthful of blood from my mouth over my left shoulder and
remained at attention until dismissed. When the Senior drill instructor
returned to his shift he called me into his office and tried to persuade me to
sweep the occurrence under the rug. He hinted that if I kept silent about it
that I had honor man status pretty well in the bag. He further went on to say
that if I brought Siganik up on charges that it would follow me wherever I
went, and that life in the Marine Corps and beyond would be not so good for me.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3CiV0fF91Bc1NywvabnZXClacyPLFDegcXNT0U-VuIF9AONnOufVdvVT3xvZamz2wGcSSOTZ9vXnnXXuoQ1pL62c_PsmBTA3ofx-Jrikb8VHIegmP1rYKbMGQ2Gsa9eLZtmUMSq1lcs/s1600/32a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3CiV0fF91Bc1NywvabnZXClacyPLFDegcXNT0U-VuIF9AONnOufVdvVT3xvZamz2wGcSSOTZ9vXnnXXuoQ1pL62c_PsmBTA3ofx-Jrikb8VHIegmP1rYKbMGQ2Gsa9eLZtmUMSq1lcs/s1600/32a.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was an emotionally charged 17 year old boy in a world that
was dishing out reality checks too fast for my mind to handle. It hadn’t even
been a whole 24 hours since my incident with Siganik that he came into the
squad bay and assaulted two more recruits. The thing that made his assaults
stand out from the norm of the day was his level of brutality and the fact that
all of his targets where black guys. Some of them where pretty big guys too
most everyone was bigger in stature than he was anyway. He not only portrayed a
“Small Man’s Complex” he exhibited racial bias without a second thought.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the Doctor at sick bay called me back in for treatment
I told the story just as it happened. I didn’t care about being graduated with
honors at this point all I could really think about was revenge and making
Siganik realize that he could also be dealt with by others and held responsible
for his actions.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFt9P7_DoevcSj6EHqa40ykxz7nSLGC57SCkvrhxEud9DyBJ7h0GWVtxG-A5TzIQtI1BYjtBdpDa5cIuKaAXMo1rXmiJVH4nKJXsyhtqkoLRMgyxSzIbF0ImrptUihY2acJbFb4XrCAY/s1600/31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFt9P7_DoevcSj6EHqa40ykxz7nSLGC57SCkvrhxEud9DyBJ7h0GWVtxG-A5TzIQtI1BYjtBdpDa5cIuKaAXMo1rXmiJVH4nKJXsyhtqkoLRMgyxSzIbF0ImrptUihY2acJbFb4XrCAY/s320/31.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Graduation day was fast approaching and Siganik was relieved
of duty awaiting a Summary Courts Martial. When MOS (job classifications) came
out I was expecting the Marine Corps to honor their commitment to put me in
aviation as guaranteed in the enlistment contract. Instead the contract was
done away with and I was given an 0300 classification which is basic infantry
(a grunt)! I wasn’t the only one of the recruits who got shafted there were
many others as well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Graduation came and went and we all got our 10 day leave for
home before returning to duty for infantry training. I was ordered to MCB Camp
Pendleton for I.T.S. (<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Infantry</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Training School</st1:placetype></st1:place>) and
reported two days late. To tell the truth I really didn’t want to go at all,
but I was persuaded by my parents to do the “RIGHT THING”. My time in the
Marine Corps was rattled with UA’s, drugs, and fights. I pretty much lived in
legal platoons with other socially removed cases like myself although there
were degrees of variance in the non-conformist types I nevertheless fit the
mold. I had tried every company in the battalion and left everyone of them
before graduation. There were still evacuation missions going on and two guys
in a graduating company before my 1<sup>st</sup> one didn’t make it back. It
took all but two weeks for their lives to be ended. I started seeing this <st1:country-region w:st="on">USA</st1:country-region> in a very different
light. Once again reality set in deeper than I could have imagined and even
more than I understood at the time. At this point all I wanted was OUT!</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLjhZ1dIYGLqNd0EvBdKGKlHvhY-y8O_vcJYhzg0TfYbYZoLm-wT-BmrVX_pABqwf42zkCwgVxsOtNWtf0I5THdPa7nqCa9WZRJUQAG6GU7-ppMfqWkPAx03VE9oxgDxiYw4oy_XawqjE/s1600/32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLjhZ1dIYGLqNd0EvBdKGKlHvhY-y8O_vcJYhzg0TfYbYZoLm-wT-BmrVX_pABqwf42zkCwgVxsOtNWtf0I5THdPa7nqCa9WZRJUQAG6GU7-ppMfqWkPAx03VE9oxgDxiYw4oy_XawqjE/s1600/32.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">Leonard W. Bowers Jr. USMC 1973<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Next time: Traveling with hippies and soul searching with drugs and
sex.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-28782606330621612922016-09-19T07:30:00.002-07:002016-09-19T07:31:58.723-07:008. U.S.M.C. Honor, Pride, or just plain Stupid<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When Uncle Charlie lived with us I developed some pretty bad
habits. I learned that doing all the wrong things made me cool in the eyes of
all the wrong people I thought I needed to impress. I don't put the blame for
my actions on my uncle, after all he had a really rough childhood probably much
worse that his other 8 siblings including my dad. </div>
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You see my dad's Mom (Alice Moss/Bowers) died when my dad
was just 13 or so and uncle Charlie being the 3rd youngest could not have been
more that about 4 years old when my dad's whole family was separated and placed
into foster homes after the death of
their mom (my paternal grandmother). So yeah, he had it pretty rough and although
I know allot about things that happened to them I can't and won't speak on it.</div>
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Needless to say I looked up to my uncle Charlie and was very
proud of the many gifts he had. It just so happens one of them was being able
to talk the skin off of an orange or anything else for that matter and I had
developed some of those traits at an early age. From around age 12 to 15 I was
always in and out of juvenile corrections and detention centers primarily
because I was car happy and would take a joy ride in someone else's car lickity
split. This resulted in me ending up at
F.S.B. at the age of 13. It was a very disciplinary institution and if you toed
the line you got along pretty well. I used to wash my cottage parent (Mr.
Coverse's) Black Mercury Cougar at least once a week. I had two separate stays
at F.S.B. in Highland Cottage. After my bouts with he juvenile authorities and
spending time away from home at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Fairfield</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">School</st1:placetype></st1:place> for Boys (F.S.B.) I
finally returned home to stay, so I thought!</div>
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<b><st1:place w:st="on">Highland</st1:place>
Cottage F.S.B.</b></div>
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Both times around I eventually was stair-guard monitor and
played with the Bell Choir and sometimes went off campus with the group and Mr.
Hearnst or director to do presentations. Only Highland Cottage had the Bell
Choir.</div>
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<b>F.S.B. Bell Choir</b></div>
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Back at home I had a girlfriend that had been in the picture
ever since I was 11 years old. She was a cousin to some of my neighboring
childhood friends the <st1:place w:st="on">Holiday</st1:place> family. Her name
was <st1:city w:st="on">Sharon</st1:city> and
all the kids called her grandma because she was a little fussy and bossy. She
was 2 years older than I was and I would see her whenever she came from the North
to the Westside to visit the <st1:place w:st="on">Holiday</st1:place>’s. (Her
cousins)</div>
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Needless to say when I finally got through with the juvenile
crisis I was nearly 16 and shortly after my 16th birthday we moved into an
apartment on the East side of <st1:city w:st="on">Columbus</st1:city>
in the heart of all street activity. I lived right on the corner of Linwood and
<st1:street w:st="on">Main St.</st1:street>
which in the day was an area known for drugs and prostitution. As I mentioned
earlier I had friends named Bobby Shelby and Daniel Ragland who were also band
members, but with these two there was always something brewing. Dan loved to
smoke “pot” and watch the seeds pop! Bobby was a womanizer and loved to chase
the skirts. I was somewhere in the middle I guess, but I had Sharon (Grandma)
looking over my shoulder watching my every move.</div>
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She ended up getting pregnant by the time I turned 17 years
old and I would drive and take buses to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">West</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">High School</st1:placetype></st1:place>
on the Westside I was still in high school.
One morning at about 7:30 there was a knock at the door of the apartment
and it was Bobby all full of energy and ready to roll! He said, “Hey man this
guy let me use his car until he gets off work and I thought we might take care
of a little business while we have it”! I asked if the car was stolen and he
said “No” and that he’d even take me to meet this guy on his job. I got my coat and off we went to the Westside
cruising in a metallic blue Barracuda with dual Thrush mufflers sounding off.</div>
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When we got to the guys job he came out and said “Yeah it’s
my car”, and that he wanted us to be back by 4:00 P.M. when he got off work. So
off we went to good old West High! Bobby asked me if I wanted to drive and I
said “Yeah, why not”. So I got behind the wheel and we were circling the block
at West High looking parking space when one of the mufflers came loose and was
dragging the ground. A policeman noticed it and pulled us over. He asked for my
license and I gave them to him then he went back to do the routine check. He
came back and told us the car was stolen and placed us under arrest!</div>
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We took the police to where the guy worked at J. Ashburn Youth
Center and the old women that he worked with covered for him by saying he did
not work there. So Bobby and I got left with the ticket and the ticket was Auto
Theft. On the way to lockup Bobby and I had a few choice words.</div>
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When we finally made it to Court we were given a choice of
either Jail time as adults or enlistment into the U.S.M.C. It was December 1971
and we would be leaving for <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Paris
Island</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state></st1:place>
on April 13, 1972. I thought I had made the right choice, besides the Marines
were respected for being top of the line braves, and now I’d get to rise up
through the ranks and make my mark. Bobby had similar notions, but all he
seemed to talk about was how many different types of women he was going to boink
along the way!</div>
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One night not long after our car incident Bobby, Daniel and
I were out on the O.S.U. Campus partying when this guy comes up and asked us
“You guys do acid man”? Being the big men and hipsters we thought we were we
all said stuff like “yeah who doesn’t”, or “All the time”! We knew full well we
had never experienced LSD, but what the heck tonight we were going to give it a
try! The guy shows us these little orange pills no bigger than a BB and Daniel
starts to laugh saying, “You’ve got to be kidding what are these supposed to
do”! So he takes one and pops it in his mouth and now the other guy was doing
the laughing saying, “You’ll see man you’ll see”! </div>
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So then we all three took one and went into the BBF to drink
pop and listen to the juke box. So were sitting there listening to Led Zeppelin
“Black Dog” when all of a sudden Daniel rushes back from the restroom pointing
at his tongue saying “Orange spots, Orange spots man”! So I said, “Chill out man
be cool or we’ll all freak out”! Bobby was sitting across from me with the
silliest looking grin on his face I’d ever seen! </div>
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Anyway these two girls walk up one was name Jill Edwards and
the other was her cousin or friend or something. I remember Jill and that’s
another story. Anyway we’re all sitting there getting acquainted when all of a
sudden I’m looking at Jill and her face starts moving in weird ways! Daniel is
cracking up laughing and Bobby still has this idiotic grin pasted on his face!
So I’m trying to be serious and calm and I get up and start walking through the
BBF corridors and bopping to the sounds coming off the juke box and look back
and notice that almost everyone in the joint is following me in line bopping to
the groove and tripping hard too! So I get to the door and break for it and
here comes Daniel and Bobby right behind me. Then Jill comes running down the
street and puts her hand in my pocket and kisses me in the mouth, turns around
and runs back into the BBF!</div>
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The snow on the ground is showing names written in it of
everyone who’s ever lived and yet to come, Daniel is saying “Da, la, la, la….”
And Bobby is still grinning that sinister grin! Up comes a bus looking like
slow motion and the doors open so we get on. We went all the way to the back of
the bus and each took separate seats near each other when all of a sudden this
chick takes out a comb and rakes it through her hair! Man that hair started
crawling all over the bus and was changing colors, now I knew I was gone!</div>
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We all made it home and made weird phone calls throughout
the night because none of us could sleep. It felt like this trip was never
going to end and I remember thinking to myself that this is what hell must be
like. Bobby and Daniel ended up in the hospital together because their parents
didn’t know what was wrong with them. My mom on the other hand chose to pray
over me and quote scripture and that took me somewhere I don’t think anyone
would want to experience!</div>
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One day in late March Bobby wanted to go back on the campus
to party but Daniel and I had enough of that and we were still in awe from the
acid experience so we chose not to go. Well Bobby got into some trouble messing
around in the girls dormitory at O.S.U. and got an attempted rape case that
landed him in prison for 3 years. I went into the Marine Corps on April 13,
1972 as scheduled.</div>
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I arrived at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Paris</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Island</st1:placetype></st1:place> and was assigned
to 3<sup>rd</sup> Battalion Platoon 342. <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Staff sergeant</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Castle</st1:placetype></st1:place>,
sergeant Siganik, and some other guy were our original drill instructors for the
platoon. The Marine Corps was allot like what I experienced at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Fairfield</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">School</st1:placetype></st1:place> for Boys back in 1969 and 70 with
the exception of PT and rifle range. Everything else was spit and polish and
the discipline was about the same as well until I had an encounter with Sgt.
Siganik that would result in his Courts Martial. </div>
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It all happened when we were on the rifle range. Someone
took a set of my ear plugs and I reported it. Siganik had everyone beside me
holding rifles on fingertips until the culprit surfaced and they were all
suffering pretty badly. A recruit named Pvt. Battle told me he had an extra set
and to tell Siganik I found them on the floor. Out of feeling for the platoon’s
sweat and pain I did just that and Siganik didn’t take kindly to the fact that
I found them on the floor with no one to blame! He came from behind his desk
and hit me with a horizontal butt stroke that dislocated my mandible. I spit
blood and stayed at attention looking at him to see if another blow was coming!
Nothing but embarrassment, but it wasn't over yet..!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-65437155160685779772016-09-19T07:30:00.001-07:002016-09-19T07:31:58.732-07:007. Gangs, cigarettes, booze, fast girls and Detention<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>This chapter is dedicated to my Uncle Vernon who died 2004 resulting
from complications of exposure to Agent Orange while serving in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">Viet Nam</st1:country-region></st1:place>.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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My dad hailed from a family of eight brothers and one sister.
Uncle Harold was the eldest of the Bowers Brothers. Harold, Howard, Jerry,
Leonard, Carol, Charlie, <st1:city w:st="on">Vernon</st1:city>
and Eddie summed up the living brothers although there was one who died shortly
after birth. Aunt Nancy is the only sister in the bunch and she places between
Carol and Charlie in age.</div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><b>(Aunt Nancy 2007)<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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My uncle Charlie was a real character he passed on in 2012! I
recall when he was released from prison in 1966 he was only about 23 years old.
My dad who was much older let him live with us until he could get situated and
find a place of his own. I had no idea what Uncle Charlie was imprisoned for
until later and I had to find out the hard way. I think that letting him live
with us was one of the mistakes my parents made that helped create the stage
for deviant outlooks that where part of my childhood development, and I know I
still have some of that stuff lingering in my character to date. </div>
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<span style="font-size: 8.0pt;"><b>(Uncle Charlie 1975)<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He came off like a real friend and an understanding figure
because he knew just how to say the things you needed to hear. He was jovial
and fun loving got into cars, girls, (or so it seemed), and was instantly
popular with all the young teens due to his entertaining manner. I was first
introduced to pot (marijuana) by good old Unc! He then taught me how to fight,
lie and cheat like a pro. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Theft was not in his forte although BS was his prime MO! He
was for lack of better words a Con man groomed and polished in his field, and
he had one other queer aspect of character unmentioned but in essence when it
came to rolling people Uncle Charlie was the best that ever did it!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Old uncle tried to make a move on me about 3 months after he
came to live with us. It didn’t go so well for him though because he had
already showed his hand in the confidence scenario and I was pretty quick to
pick up on the spin game even at age 12. Yeah I flipped the script so to speak
and blackmailed him into being compliant to my request after I had alerted my
parents. Now I was beginning to think like a criminal as well.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned how to drive his cars, and dress the part of a
little gigolo at a very early age. I had a girlfriend that was 3 years older
giving me money and other things I should not have had at such a tender age. I
went to parties, and became known to my peers as a flighty sort of character
who had access to things well beyond his age group. I guess I became a
part-time miniature con man of sorts but back then in the 1960’s everyone
fancied the notion of being called a pimp!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I mentioned
previously I had the bad luck of living smack dead center of being sent to
Westmoor or Hilltonia where all my friends were. They call it Middle School now
but back then we called it Jr. High! I was sent to Westmoor which housed
predominantly white students, there were only 30 black students in the whole
school of 1500 or more. The weird thing is that the black students there
actually ran the school by a fear factor! (Militant mindsets) where the norm
among the black students during the civil rghts movement and even then I fell
somewhere in the middle! In fact I was dead center as I had friends on both
sides of the culture clash.</div>
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<br /></div>
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o:title="West moor Jr"/>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p> <b>Westmoor</b></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I met a guy name Van Rosselle who was one of the blacks that
was more the <b><i>loner hippie</i></b> type who kicked it with the white students too. He
was into getting high on just about anything that would do the trick, booze,
pot, acid, even sniffing glue! The strange thing was to me then and even now he
was one of the most genuine human beings I’ve ever met! So at age 12 and 13 I
was into all these things including sexual encounters with girls who were just
about on my same level of thinking. That’s how I met yet 2 other good friends
and running buddies; Daniel Ragland and Bobby Shelby. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Daniel played guitars but was willing to play bass behind me
and Bobby had a talent for showmanship that really got people up on the floor
dancing. Daniel was one bazaar cat that got into the music thing like nobody’s
business but his own. We then landed an exceptional drummer named William
Porter that had the biggest afro in the territory and played like a pro. We
called ourselves UTOPIA and we were on a mission! All of them knew Uncle
Charlie and by this time uncle would take a back seat in our mix which his ego
simply would not allow so he moved on to fresher uncharted ground and only
showed up every now and then to try to capitalize on our set. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>William Porter 2010</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieJarYVohu7GbQgPSsqkhQknZgDbsHXTYaFv44lm7WqTC5rjDQLXON1H2si_OIHTqG-FN1JeyI66CPe4Vqdq1evRqFiDnY3kenGVNJc9WoPAlGGueoemgDanCMi6jv8PksceHrPuFP_0/s1600/28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieJarYVohu7GbQgPSsqkhQknZgDbsHXTYaFv44lm7WqTC5rjDQLXON1H2si_OIHTqG-FN1JeyI66CPe4Vqdq1evRqFiDnY3kenGVNJc9WoPAlGGueoemgDanCMi6jv8PksceHrPuFP_0/s320/28.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
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<b>Daniel Ragland 1972</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We opened school gyms and played Coffee houses on the O.S.U. campus, did drugs, chased the girlies and partied heartily for nearly two years
in-between my minor incarcerations in juvenile detention. I even spent 9 months
in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Fairfield</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">School</st1:placetype></st1:place> for boys for Auto theft. <st1:city w:st="on">Fairfield</st1:city> used to be
called B.I.S. back in the old days. Bob Hope was among some of the people
B.I.S. housed. I was in the same cottage as Mr. Hope, it was called Highland
Cottage. There were many others there who later went on to make a mark in
society both good and not so good, I guess! (hint) Mr. Converse used to call
out "Hall" and then he's say, "Arsenio...boy where'd you get a
name like that!! </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My friend Daniel turned out to be a lifer in the Coast
Guard, made high rank, got married had kids, but somehow died in 2010 at age
55. But we shared time together in a really unique time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was an age that had the strongest impact on my
development; it was an age of promiscuity, and experimentation/rebellion
and associations of all sorts. All in all it was life in the late 60’s and
early 70's and I was in it! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s so much about this time that took place I’ve yet to
put into words, but I think many of you can just about imagine because after
all some of you were there too, only under your own unique set of
circumstances. Nevertheless, you were there, or you've heard stories from your
parents or friends that may resemble or sound like what I’m telling you now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The <st1:country-region w:st="on">Viet
Nam</st1:country-region> conflict was an ongoing endeavor for the
States and things were getting to the point that they were actually taking 17
year old kids, thugs and dropouts to mold into soldiers to fight a battle that
was unwinnable and for what? I would soon find myself in the ranks of the un-knowledgeable
youth caught up in the political crossfire that truly was deeper than the
common eye could see, or even begin to comprehend. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uncle Vernon knew what I was up against the whole time. He
just kept his cool and would always say "you’ll make it one way or another"!
Then he would say; (YOU’RE A BOWERS) with that big smile revealing his polished
teeth.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-37092589660867694022016-09-19T07:30:00.000-07:002016-09-19T07:31:58.728-07:006. Motown Days and Grade School Talent Shows<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yeah, my uncle <st1:place w:st="on">Vernon</st1:place>
was one of a kind. He came to live with us for a while after his return from <st1:country-region w:st="on">Vietnam</st1:country-region> in 1967.
I was going on 12 years old and already interested in music and all the
entertainers, but uncle <st1:city w:st="on">Vernon</st1:city>
helped bring it all to life for me. He was working at a steel plant here in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Columbus</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">OH</st1:state></st1:place>,
called Buckeye Steel Castings. He used to come in very dirty covered in iron
ore, make his way to the bath, and come out transformed into a guy that looked
like he was about to grab a mic, get on stage, and blow you away!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfV0G3No-tMYg7hjL7ds1bpUXHTNsOj1oKVmx-UYSu62PdTTQzqakX5Gh7pRCxIW_We3nnaSTB-G1cRtPNbiy6dCLcS_k-IVEZHaUcTF7dzoHImcbpoQCOV-Jf9oo40NLyrjZ9GgqaX6o/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfV0G3No-tMYg7hjL7ds1bpUXHTNsOj1oKVmx-UYSu62PdTTQzqakX5Gh7pRCxIW_We3nnaSTB-G1cRtPNbiy6dCLcS_k-IVEZHaUcTF7dzoHImcbpoQCOV-Jf9oo40NLyrjZ9GgqaX6o/s1600/22.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><b>(Uncle Vernon 2003)</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was the day of the Motown craze, and the groups that were
really hot were the Temptations, Smoky Robinson, the Supremes, and Aretha
Franklin. Dennis Walker (from school) had become my best friend and was also
infatuated with my uncle <st1:city w:st="on">Vernon</st1:city>.
Guy Monroe was now leaning away from sports and bullying and was fast becoming
a party guy too. In fact he would shortly become one of my background singers
and go on to become a darn good drummer!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My uncle had a few friends that he worked and grew up with
that had formed a singing group. They were top of the world to me, they had
these songs and harmonies that would make you want to get up and dance. One day
my uncle was practicing with his group of guys and he asked me to bring my
guitar into the front room and set it up. He then showed me a little riff to
play that fit into what they were doing! Wow, I was one of the big boys now and
playing guitar for this group of dancing singers! I just knew this was it! I
was on top of the world! My friends would come by on Friday nights just to hear
them practice and yep, I was playing the guitar as backup and hamming it up
like nobody’s business!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dennis Walkers mom made sure Dennis made popularity by
letting him throw parties at least 3 a year! All the kids from school that made
his scene seemed to be the most popular girls and guys from Highland Ave.
Elementary. Dennis too, but of course (it was his party), Guy, Michael Garlington,
Jerry Neil, and Mac Harris all ended up forming a group with me. I was asked by
my sixth grade Teacher Mrs. Dean to put together a <b><i>going away show</i></b> for her.
She was the first school teacher who ever showed any real interest in me and
she made sure I knew that she believed in me! She let me know that this would
be her last year at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Highland</st1:placetype>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Ave.</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">School</st1:placetype></st1:place>
in our 6<sup>th</sup> grade class and she wanted us all to move on to be big
7th grader's having something to remember. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Guy, Jerry, Michael, and I formed the singing group. We then
enlisted the aid of Austin Wailey, and a guy named Larry Daniels to play
guitars with Mac Harris playing the drums. Up until now all the little shows at
highland had been performed with groups singing over top of records and acting
out the songs. This was the first all live performance to be held at <st1:place w:st="on">Highland</st1:place> performed by it's
students. Best of all the gym/auditorium was newly built and finished just in
time!. </div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><b>(<st1:place w:st="on">Highland</st1:place> auditorium
Google Earth)</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The gym was full at show-time! Our first show was done for
the 1<sup>st</sup> through 3<sup>rd</sup> grade students. The curtains were
closed as Austin, Larry and Mac began the live sound, you could hear the
restlessness of the audience outside! The curtains opened to reveal a group of
4 singers and the 3 piece band wailing out the groove as the group went through
a carefully rehearsed dance routine. I was out front with the mic and my guys
stayed in the groove dressed in blue boating shirts and dark trousers topped
off by those little slim line sunglasses that looked something like futuristic
robot lenses.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The song was “WILD THING’! And we did it in a way that made
it bounce with a bottom end that made the kids stand up and groove right along
with our movements. When the curtains opened up the kids all let out the biggest
Whoooooooo, I’ve ever heard! It was as if they were totally caught by surprise
that this was real! We also did a song by the Temptations called “I’M LOOSING
YOU” and some wild song that was popular called the Boo-Boo song by King
Coleman that Michael Garlington led. However, those were done and acted out
from the records with the band acting out the music. We performed the same
scenario in the afternoon for the 4<sup>th</sup> through 6<sup>th</sup> grade
classes and the response was equally overwhelming! Mrs. Dean was so enthused
she actually cried happy tears. I wish I could find her now, she has actual
pictures of the event! Black and white of course, there weren’t too many color cameras
around in 1966.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Needless to say we all left Highland Ave. Elementary with a
bang that year and the summer was full of Dennis Walker’s party’s. We would inevitably
split up to go to two different Jr. High Schools because of zoning issues over one
street of difference. Most would go on to Hilltonia and others to Westmoor! I
would be going to Westmoor and all of my party friends went to Hilltonia, what
a drag. The summer of 1966 was a highlight in my life that led to everything
good in music and entertainment I’ve come in contact with to date. However,
being shipped to Westmoor in the fall would prove to be yet another turning
point I wasn’t prepared to handle. Now entering the picture comes a different
uncle, “uncle Charlie” straight out of prison!</div>
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</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-79302821504488238712016-09-19T07:29:00.003-07:002016-09-19T07:31:58.736-07:005. Football, Basketball or Entertainer?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
We finally moved to our own house at <st1:street w:st="on">212 South Wheatland Ave.</st1:street> in the spring of
1965. </div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">(<st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">212 S.
Wheatland Ave.</st1:address></st1:street>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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My brother, little sisters and I were thrilled that at last
we had our own back yard. There was even an apple tree in the back yard that
the previous owner had mended different apple branches onto so the tree had 4
kinds of apples on it. I had a dog my uncle Howard brought up from <st1:city w:st="on">St. Louis</st1:city> the previous
winter that I named “Blacky”! He was a Blue Tick, I think that’s how you spell
it. But anyway he was a good dog and followed me everywhere I went. He was very
smart and to me he was like a close friend that understood me somehow even if
he was a dog, he seemed to empathize with my emotional state where people could
not or did not whichever the case may have been.</div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">(<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Alice</st1:city></st1:place>
and Blacky)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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One morning that spring me and my little brother Timmy were
out playing in the front yard in our little furry coats my mom had gotten us
and along comes this guy I had never seen in the neighborhood before. He was
looking real mean as if he were going to say something crazy! He walks up to me
and asked, “What would you do if I hit your little brother”? I responded like a
total coward! I said, “I’m not allowed to fight guys bigger than me!” God, I’ve
regretted that over and over throughout my life and I still to this day it can
make me feel so worthless over that! Anyway, he get’s down on his knees and
say’s, “I’m not bigger than you now!” I was at a complete loss, my little brother
had just seen me cower in spite of a threat on him! I can’t quite remember how
I got out of that one or how it ended except the guy whose name happened to be
“Guy Monroe” walked off with a sneer and snicker knowing I would never be a
threat to him and that he could pretty much have his way around my neck of the
woods..</div>
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<br /></div>
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I was no more than 11 years old at the time, and I
eventually ran into Guy again at school in September. We used to play this game
with a football out in the field called, “Smear the queer!” The object of the
game was to catch the ball from a guy who had made goal without being tackled
in the mud! You guessed it, Guy Monroe was that un-tackled kid and everybody at
school was trying him out to see how close they could get in the domination game.
I was out in the field with the rest of the kids trying to find where I ranked
and yelling Guy, Guy, with my hands in the air acting like I wanted to receive
a pass that would make me the queer that got smeared or either a triumphant big
dog goal maker! (Fat chance)! I was only trying to fit in and to tell the truth
I was faking it! I never thought he’d throw me the stupid ball but he did!
“Damn!”, “&*@#! I was holding the ball and about to be creamed by 20 or so
kids! I’d never gotten the ball before, why now?</div>
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<br /></div>
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I made it a total of about two to three yards before I was
piled upon like a solitary meatball in the bottom of a bowl of spaghetti! Ouch!
Guy ended up being someone at the school everybody else in the male hormonal
department either respected or were scared of. What’s really strange is how he
chose to befriend me after all that intimidation and watching me make a
complete idiot of myself! He came by the house one day when I was out in the
front yard after school and asked, “Do you steal?” I had never stolen a thing
in my life, but I was sure going to try to look as tough as I could in Guy’s eyes
so I said, “Yeah, do you”? </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohBPqlVw1maWl6MjXhZqcpW0X-uYj8ANVvk8KibI6a_9Aj2HPk4YpV_1CvA_ca4g7sVH3ORlEJKHW_uy-Ca5Y8JVSq92WFJKJNSUpafWsUGs3-jbT5Z1r3nomdUMubn2yWSktxlrReUQ/s1600/20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohBPqlVw1maWl6MjXhZqcpW0X-uYj8ANVvk8KibI6a_9Aj2HPk4YpV_1CvA_ca4g7sVH3ORlEJKHW_uy-Ca5Y8JVSq92WFJKJNSUpafWsUGs3-jbT5Z1r3nomdUMubn2yWSktxlrReUQ/s320/20.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">(<st1:address w:st="on"><st1:street w:st="on">W. Broad
St.</st1:street> <st1:city w:st="on">Hilltop</st1:city> <st1:country-region w:st="on">USA</st1:country-region></st1:address> Google Earth)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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So off to the store we went! I was now officially making my
first move toward becoming a common thief! We went to a store on <st1:street w:st="on">W. Broad St.</st1:street> that
was called Gray’s Drug Store, they've since built a Family Dollar store on the
spot. They had a candy Isle and my new gangster buddy and I took some candy! He
must have filled his pockets with 10 or 12 candy bars! I on the other hand “stole”
one solitary Milky way bar! I thought that would prove I could be a tough guy
too, but instead it appealed to his humorous side because he laughed about it
all the way home. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The worst part was when I got home I still had the candy bar
and my mom asked me where I got it and where the money came from to buy it? I
was no good at lying and my mom saw right through it! She made me take the
candy bar back to the store and give it back! What’s so crazy is I actually did
it! I went in and told on myself and gave the man behind the counter the candy
bar and told him how sorry I was! What the hell? I was now a coward, and a
unsuccessful thief and a liar all rolled into one disgusting little package! I
really wasn't sorry and the next time I went into the store I did it again, was
caught and asked never to come into the store again unless my parents were with
me.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It seemed I was no good at anything and just did not fit in
no matter how hard I tried. I was no good at football, I always sprained my
ankles! I wasn’t very good at even catching the thing! Basketball wasn’t my cup
of tea either, I looked good but the stupid ball just would not go into the
bucket for me! I wasn’t very good at stealing so it seemed I was destined to
play little silly games like building makeshift toy planes or running around in
the yard acting like I was flying. I also did the “Fort building” thing I got
into with a select group of nerds like me! We even went on to jump ramps with
our bicycles until that also ended in injury for me. I was taking saxophone
lessons, and sax was O.K. but it wasn’t real interesting to me, besides the
horn was almost as big as I was! </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My uncle <st1:city w:st="on">Vernon</st1:city>
(Dad’s youngest brother) came by one day and had a guitar. He put it in my hand,
showed me how to hold the pick, put my fingers on the neck and in the frets to
change tone and pitch. I knew then that this was the beginning of an affair
that would not likely end any time soon. This first physical encounter with a
real guitar came to me in a open E and chorded by barring across the frets. I
would shortly learn from my Great-grandmother Carrey Newsom (Mother-Lady) how
to produce chords in standard 440 tuning.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2diI9QOR1A82x7NY6S1EO8wD3zvKmot9o22ZluNd6ZYJyTAzspZLYNHZNXKo1TMWqsvnas_62OAkPltgWuG0UZIBckAKEgI1yFptzPqfr49QB1awEeVWjs95h1f7_JxBo8wz5lG3brf4/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2diI9QOR1A82x7NY6S1EO8wD3zvKmot9o22ZluNd6ZYJyTAzspZLYNHZNXKo1TMWqsvnas_62OAkPltgWuG0UZIBckAKEgI1yFptzPqfr49QB1awEeVWjs95h1f7_JxBo8wz5lG3brf4/s320/21.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">L to R 1st
son Junie, Myself, Mom, Gran and Mother Lady</span></b></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-68072954262198134932016-09-19T07:29:00.002-07:002016-09-19T07:31:58.734-07:004. Slip, Dip or Trip?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>SLIP, DIP, OR TRIP?<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpXSiCZfLfTwSyyHakFgqO7wuZj9QuCom0LOfGPt5pDCHxQeZBiOEzbAhrKzXzyk6oVNgUOnOwWCn_TA1thN7UN4-WVwERVgdt4O-reJq_pTERs-pVVUlWzA3f4rv6juV0url_4MtNrvo/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpXSiCZfLfTwSyyHakFgqO7wuZj9QuCom0LOfGPt5pDCHxQeZBiOEzbAhrKzXzyk6oVNgUOnOwWCn_TA1thN7UN4-WVwERVgdt4O-reJq_pTERs-pVVUlWzA3f4rv6juV0url_4MtNrvo/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on"><b><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">Highland</span></b></st1:placetype><b><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"> <st1:placename w:st="on">Ave.</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Elementary School</st1:placetype></span></b></st1:place><b><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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So here I
was in my very first fight in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Columbus</st1:city>
<st1:state w:st="on">Ohio</st1:state></st1:place> the City of my birth, on my
very first day of school with Martin Fields. I was going through the motions,
but my heart wasn’t in it by a long shot, in fact I was pretty scared to say
the least! There was so much noise and yelling and what’s worse everyone seemed
to be happy about it and having a good time! All of a sudden life made no
sense, and I was lost in it. I was totally at a disadvantage to this sort of
behavior, God how I longed for the safety and sanity of Brezolles <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region>! I was scared,
but couldn’t show it and I wondered if they could see it? </div>
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<br /></div>
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I did wonder why I was scared after all this kid was smaller
than me how bad could it be? The chanting got louder and we bobbed around each
other like carnival clowns and all of a sudden BAM! A hit! Dead-Square in the
right eye! MY RIGHT EYE! I didn’t cry, I was too embarrassed and ashamed of the
fact that I knew I was not going to fight this kid under these insane
conditions and as far as I was concerned it was over! I really didn’t want to
fight at all! How did I get into this mess? I thought to myself, “I know, it
was my parents entire fault”! Why did they bring me to a place like this? They
must have known I wouldn’t fit in! How could they not know? I missed Madam and
Annie Claude, I missed <st1:place w:st="on">France</st1:place>.</div>
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The red X marks the exact location of the scrimmage. In the
midst of my embarrassment and pain Dennis Walker stepped up to help things end
out by saying, “Hey man he ain’t trying to fight nobody, he ain’t even from
around here”! Eventually we started walking hearing all the slurs and taunts
along the way. I was making the best
exit I could under the circumstances. Dennis walked with me all the way to my grandparent’s
home where we were staying and there was a trail of little girls following, giggling,
and making sport the whole way! I didn’t know it then, but I found out later
they only give you that sort of attention when they like you or something! How
backwards! I did not equate that with liking at all, I really thought they were
just being mean! Well most of them anyway except for one little girl named Gail
Weaver. She looked like she could be one of my sisters or cousins. I noticed
that she maintained a sort of sadness while the others seemed to be having the
time of their little lives at my expense. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">84 S. Oakley rear view<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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The closer we got to my grandparents home the more I started
to think about how my mom was going to react. Then I really started worrying
about what was going to happen when my father got a load of me and my big black
eye! Yeah, I had a bloody nose once from getting punched in Rantoul <st1:state w:st="on">Illinois</st1:state> and I acted my
way around that one, but I had never had a black eye before! And by a little
guy at that!</div>
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We reached my grandparent’s house and everyone separated
silently and let me maintain at least a small degree of dignity! I guess they
could have been loud and ribbed me all the way until I got to the door, but
they gave me a break of sorts and I was relieved that they did! Now when my
mother came to the door and opened it I saw the look on her face change from her
average to a look of panic! “Oh my God boy what have you gotten yourself into”?
She grabbed me by the shoulder part of my jacket and pulled me into the house
to give me the third degree. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the process of being drilled by my mother on how to be
more Christ-like and thereby avoid the pitfalls and vices of society, my
Grandmother went about her usual routine of cooking and setting things up for
dinner as if nothing were out of the ordinary. My younger brother Timmy however
took a totally different approach to the situation and seized the opportunity
to rub my nose in the fact he knew I got beat up! He watched as my mother was
questioning and preaching with a look on his face that almost screamed, “You
got your butt kicked”. Then he let out a loud laugh and sang, “You got your
butt kicked, you got your butt kicked”! “What a little prick”, I thought to
myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He’s in with them, and he’s supposed to be my little
brother”! I reasoned later down the road that maybe that was his way of getting
around the embarrassment for me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-LgLxwj067-O8Th-soxo-xFB125tswvETeIuvw5kbLdhkvBG2sz_H9Ikf7jyZp7lPHIbAimv9hwkEL5-v2KRZOVh4NNdSJltxRssZweVzK82dtJnL6JC6PFdpmogJETZ2PhgKHCDXSo/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-LgLxwj067-O8Th-soxo-xFB125tswvETeIuvw5kbLdhkvBG2sz_H9Ikf7jyZp7lPHIbAimv9hwkEL5-v2KRZOVh4NNdSJltxRssZweVzK82dtJnL6JC6PFdpmogJETZ2PhgKHCDXSo/s320/16.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><b>(Timmy)</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fortunate for me it had all died down by the time my dad got
home. I stayed upstairs in my room to avoid him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew then that I was in a world of crap and I reasoned as
best I could that I was going to have to live with it and make a comeback
somehow! I had big dreams about how I’d be a big deal at my new school and in
these <st1:country-region w:st="on">United States</st1:country-region>.
But obviously <b>I slipped</b> in my
thinking, <b>failed to dip</b> when the
punch came, <b>and inevitably tripped</b>
over the leg of ego to my own disadvantage at least for the time at hand!
Things were about to get really hot and busy on the Hilltop of Columbus, OH and
I never thought I’d turn out to do some of the things I did, but I did! Some
good, but many not so good.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-19426038084029780372016-09-19T07:29:00.001-07:002016-09-19T07:31:58.721-07:003. It's On..!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“IT’S ON”<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we returned to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Columbus</st1:city>
<st1:state w:st="on">OH</st1:state></st1:place>. From Rantoul <st1:state w:st="on">Illinois</st1:state> we lived
temporarily at my Grandparents house at <st1:street w:st="on">84 South Oakley Ave.</st1:street> My grandfather was
from a farmers type environment in <st1:place w:st="on">North
Carolina</st1:place> and maintained large gardens on the
outskirts of the County as well as the one he had at the residence. He had this
work ethic thing instilled in him and he was going to make sure we, as
grandchildren applied it to our own perspective logic. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The yard was big, and full of fruit trees, well there were 3
pear, 2 cherry and an apple tree on the property along with the garden. Then
too there were all the trucks and tools he used in his trade which happened to
be “The Jack of All” according to my dad’s description. My dad was an
accountant in the Air Force and maintained that in order for one to be
proficient at a vocation one must master it by devoting the majority of ones
time to the practice of (1) chosen profession above all other interest. These
two conflicting mandates from two of the most admired men in my life painted a
picture of rivalry in my mind at the time and would in later years affect the
relationships between siblings and parents alike! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDxly3HVlZpgtvQtn7fW7w6LUpQx9if_jFrH7KZJlgElN75NZanu56WfRDXB8ZWUvU-WB1SdAtlbm8m0CNBNcMqke2p7pmXbnTGk0yhdADhW5kfi8KoGuXXQ4Gl0HSrZS7sFXNygnGSk/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDxly3HVlZpgtvQtn7fW7w6LUpQx9if_jFrH7KZJlgElN75NZanu56WfRDXB8ZWUvU-WB1SdAtlbm8m0CNBNcMqke2p7pmXbnTGk0yhdADhW5kfi8KoGuXXQ4Gl0HSrZS7sFXNygnGSk/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">84 S. Oakley 2016<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the years it seemed to have fostered the individual
attitudes amongst family members that, “My perspective view and outlook is more
adequate and socially acceptable than yours”, so to speak! In time I would
learn what the word “dysfunction” meant and how it would play its part in my
life. It took many years to come to terms with the realization and that
understanding came at cost! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<strong><u>(ENTER) <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Highland</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Avenue</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Elementary School</st1:placetype></st1:place><o:p></o:p></u></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjanmgmoumh0AGxVuSOJI7hJ2lpUcO0ldygeflPljS4LhRNDB2T0LeH8g49JW8YkhsTVj35ILsZ7vduJheCY2WND1E9FL8dBXtgs1-3VqFMPDex3Ub0lcWhCl6uMmrAGP2V1-UUmvb18ig/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjanmgmoumh0AGxVuSOJI7hJ2lpUcO0ldygeflPljS4LhRNDB2T0LeH8g49JW8YkhsTVj35ILsZ7vduJheCY2WND1E9FL8dBXtgs1-3VqFMPDex3Ub0lcWhCl6uMmrAGP2V1-UUmvb18ig/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was time for me to get back into the school system after
a long winter absence and summer vacation. I had envisioned that my dad would
take me and walk into the classroom to introduce me to the teacher to set some
sort of psychological precedent that might make other students admire or
respect me! As it turns out that was only a child’s day dream or fantasy! The
fact is I walked into a classroom like I had never seen before! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember I came from almost (5) years in <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region> to live in "back water" Rantoul
<st1:state w:st="on">Illinois</st1:state>! In
Rantoul the racial balance was the typical few air force black children and in
1963 Hispanics were very sparse and where mostly Mexican. No need to say there
was a much larger proportion of white
children by comparison almost 9:1. The truth of the matter is I was never
conditioned to see anything other than what I saw and when I walked into that
classroom at <st1:street w:st="on">Highland Ave.</st1:street>
everyone was black accept for the teacher herself, and a wee little tiny
withdrawn white girl who had eye problems and was dressed in what seemed to be
1940's type attire! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was really out of place and so was I! I came to school
wearing short pants, a smock top and beetle type boots, but what makes it so
much worse was that I had on long checkerboard socks! Needless to say, all the
kids got a big laugh off on me, but it really didn’t bother me at the time
because I had no idea what the heck they were laughing about other than maybe
the way I wore my hair, or more importantly the fact that I was laughing along
right with them!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the laughter was over Mrs. McCarley (the teacher) asked
me to find a seat. The only two seats available were about in the middle of the
classroom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No one was laughing anymore, instead they seemed to all look
very mean and sinister to me! I had to walk through a narrow corridor of seats
occupied by very mean looking kids and felt surrounded in the center of the
room. On the way to my seat I was asked by three different boys if I thought I
could beat them? Dugh! They were talking about fighting and I just got there!
My answer was to the first, second and third a resounding NO! After all, they
were to me pretty scary looking characters! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, they turned and pointed at this little small skinny
black kid named Martin Fields and asked almost in unison, “Think you can beat
him”? Well I had already eaten crow to the tune of three bigger scarier
looking kids so I felt I had to be able to “beat” somebody! This kid was so
small but he had his lips pursed and nose flared open as if to suggest I better
say no. Silly me! I said, “Well yeah”! <span style="font-family: "arial";"> </span>The next thing I hear is the classroom
burst out into a sound that went something like this; Whooooooooooooooo”! What
had I done? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I was scheduled for a fight with this kid after school
and didn’t even understand why, or how! I reasoned that I had watched every
Elvis movie made to date and I could take him, after all we really weren’t
going to fight it would all just be an act and we’d just go through the motions
and put on a good show, at least I would not have to fight a big kid!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
School let out and everyone made sure to remind me about my
appointment with Martin Fields especially Dennis Walker the main instigator who
was supposedly also on my side to hear him tell it! We walked out to the fight
tree a half block from the school in front of a big old Baptist church and
Martin dropped his books to the ground, lowered his head, poked out his bottom
lip and raised his dukes! All of a sudden he didn’t look so small anymore!
There had to be about 15 to 20 kids gathered around and more were coming, good
God what the heck? This just couldn’t be happening! What’s worse is there was
not one single white person anywhere to be seen! I was the whitest spot in the
picture, and I wasn’t even white! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kids were yelling, “fight, fight, fight…” Martins fist were
bobbing up and down to the rhythm of the shouts in perfect sync, and I was
petrified! I reasoned I’d better do my Elvis routine and salvage what social
dignity I might, so I slid out of my jacket and went into my act, I tried to
talk my way out of it and that showed no results other than to get me in
deeper, so up went the dukes to defend myself from this little skinny kid who
thought he was going to best me! Dennis Walker was trying to encourage me by
saying “don’t worry about it man, you can beat him”!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-36763275920287615452016-09-19T07:28:00.001-07:002016-09-19T07:31:58.726-07:002. The Return To America<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<strong><u>THE RETURN
TO <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">AMERICA</st1:place></st1:country-region></u></strong> </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We left <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region>
in December of 1962 just after Christmas. All of the Christmas decorations were
up in the village and in the village square. My father got the news of the
transfer just days before Christmas so Madam and her family were taken by
surprise. They had come to regard me as their own and rightfully so from their
perspective. I basically lived with Madam Lebudec, and Annie Claude was like a
sister to me. When they got the news we were leaving for the States Madam was
devastated. Crying and sobbing she asked my mother if I could stay with them in
<st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region>.
Needless to say my mom couldn’t do that and told her that she would make sure I
wrote often and that Annie Claude could come to the states to visit from time
to time, also that there could be provisions made for the whole family to come
on visits. That didn't happen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got back to the <st1:country-region w:st="on">U.S.</st1:country-region>
in late1962 just before the New Year and were picked up at port <st1:city w:st="on">Columbus</st1:city> by my mom’s dad
(my grandfather) who I will always know as and refer to as Poppy! He took us to
his house on the Hilltop in <st1:city w:st="on">Columbus</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">Ohio</st1:state> where we would stay until my father received his
orders to report to his new duty station in Rantoul <st1:place w:st="on">Illinois</st1:place>. Which by the way is the exact
house I'm writing this biography from now in 2016. My office/studio now
occupies the room my Mom and 2 Aunts shared as little girls and young ladies.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyvSAKpBaPY3nsGTNv1OWnqUccXzLk5olmahcdr8_Lb2mt5A6WjcX7zy_vGjDO6UsD6koZDZg7ih5xdRS0Jz8DLmlDw43gl2xNf01AhSbeLDNKFHx0Oollrc8BjHwfAE3Bz09f8F9tek/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyvSAKpBaPY3nsGTNv1OWnqUccXzLk5olmahcdr8_Lb2mt5A6WjcX7zy_vGjDO6UsD6koZDZg7ih5xdRS0Jz8DLmlDw43gl2xNf01AhSbeLDNKFHx0Oollrc8BjHwfAE3Bz09f8F9tek/s320/6.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><b>(Poppy 1969)</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aside from myself my mother and father had 3 other children
I was the first and eldest, then came Timothy (1957), Tina (1960), and Alice
(1962). Tina and Alice were born in <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region> and to this day still have
the option of invoking French citizenship, or a dual citizenship if they
choose. I was born in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Columbus</st1:city>
<st1:state w:st="on">OH</st1:state></st1:place>. And my younger brother Tim
was born in <st1:city w:st="on">St. Louis</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">MO.</st1:state>
just before my dad was stationed in France in that we got the short end of the
stick! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE_mrYeR4CjM689_zpGI8XZb7lUlbgJYy4jBfhDM6yjbf5Wwog3Q6Na4AvwrV8Hi3WPJ6tOeQWYetQvKGqRHA-xtDDNMdrEPNhLUJglaBLvBqlY_UhfsoBBlPZaMw36hUXhcEBfgO69O0/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE_mrYeR4CjM689_zpGI8XZb7lUlbgJYy4jBfhDM6yjbf5Wwog3Q6Na4AvwrV8Hi3WPJ6tOeQWYetQvKGqRHA-xtDDNMdrEPNhLUJglaBLvBqlY_UhfsoBBlPZaMw36hUXhcEBfgO69O0/s320/7.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>(Timmy 1965)</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBck-GuKJs1Z_EaHzp88exkTcJug8re4bYfwoZznq0OERqalFR7T29fcnEW2rR4lxV8qCO-l_fBrnmGhzwlwtl37GLnvIqzv4EVwQL_ZQuRuBR-YnHds4ka4frDQWbNP9DhPgATuENMs/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBck-GuKJs1Z_EaHzp88exkTcJug8re4bYfwoZznq0OERqalFR7T29fcnEW2rR4lxV8qCO-l_fBrnmGhzwlwtl37GLnvIqzv4EVwQL_ZQuRuBR-YnHds4ka4frDQWbNP9DhPgATuENMs/s1600/8.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>(Tina 1968)</b></div>
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I had never really been in a fight until I came back
stateside and I was somewhat at a loss when it came to communicating in English
being that French had become my basic language and culture. I really felt out
of place and a little dense even though I was academically advanced by the
standards of the American school system I was still a little Frenchie and not
adjusting to the American way of life as rapidly as was required by my teachers
and peers.</div>
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<b> </b><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><b>(Me, Timmy and Tina 1962 Brezolles France)</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I recall my first bloody nose! it happened while stationed
stateside in Rantoul <st1:place w:st="on">Illinois</st1:place>.
A boy was over in the field across from my house at the mud hole pond where I
usually played alone and was standing on a little makeshift bridge I put
together a few days previously. I went over to say hello and I was in the
process of telling him how I made the bridge when he socked me right square in
the nose! It really hurt something awful and the blood just kept coming and
drenched my shirt! He just walked away in his beetle type boots combing his
hair like Elvis and I scampered across the street trying to look like I had a
big fight and it didn’t bother me! I felt like I had to at least act strong and
courageous and hold my shoulders up or people might think I was weak and timid!
This happened in about August of 1963 and would be the starting point of
forming my new attitude toward life along with my fall into prejudicial views
based on the fault finding characters of others in my surroundings. In
other words I would come to learn backwardly that violence created respect by
fear and intimidation.</div>
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I became more aware of the jealousies peers exhibited over
things as minute as the belongings of others. Even if I shared my things with them
in most cases that wasn’t enough! I was seeing the American way through the
eyes of a socially displaced child. Even though my parents should have seen
they did not because here unlike <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region> there was very little
time left to notice these things especially by my young parents. Besides,
they had three other small children to deal with. I was the oldest and it
seemed I was going to get into things and just have to deal with them on my own
the best way I could. Now by comparison <st1:city w:st="on">Rantoul</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">Illinois</st1:state> was heaven compared to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Columbus</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">Ohio</st1:state></st1:place>.
I was going on 9 years of age, in the 3<sup>rd</sup> grade and on my way to a
new set of circumstances in a culture on the verge of racial explosions.</div>
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Hello, <st1:street w:st="on">Highland
Ave.</st1:street> Elementary in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Columbus</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">OH</st1:state></st1:place>.
Now had come the time that would prove me to be a “punk” or a “man” in the day
of racially militant attitudes, Yeah me, a little mixed hi yellow almost white
but not quite person! Highland Ave. Elementary and our house at <st1:street w:st="on">212 Wheatland Ave.</st1:street>
was dead center of one of the largest all Black communities of the 1960’s! My
nickname was white boy!</div>
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<b>1963 Me!</b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154431283680811654.post-29625012498779671022016-09-19T07:28:00.000-07:002016-09-19T07:31:58.725-07:001. Moving to France<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><u>Moving to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">France</st1:place></st1:country-region><o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xUAEhiPHrbO3O84CjF0KsesUHiBcneromC5ISN2pPTBUuFb4bKe-2l4BhhsCDaTqJunjuH3RKWY2qW7HVn8EhJFu3w3RW2Bt-JN65IA5Ef7DLEO9dSgCTRoaJ90ZFkl5ybjk2u0xaQE/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xUAEhiPHrbO3O84CjF0KsesUHiBcneromC5ISN2pPTBUuFb4bKe-2l4BhhsCDaTqJunjuH3RKWY2qW7HVn8EhJFu3w3RW2Bt-JN65IA5Ef7DLEO9dSgCTRoaJ90ZFkl5ybjk2u0xaQE/s200/1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="font-size: 12px;"> </b><b><span style="font-size: 12px;">(84 S. Oakley 1958)</span> </b></div>
<b style="font-size: 12px;"></b><br />
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<b style="font-size: 12px;"><br /></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtkAN8QaLL6WENSCyLag6rIUU4Z8GRyjt3ojj6qb7bjyy8VbfSAWBhWcRiI7lePPFoGmFNUmB8rTp8EBuzLegtf2jzs4sYVPsTCfOZJIxs6rM3Z6rSl36_H4x6FzoMvRaRfiStKhIrhLo/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtkAN8QaLL6WENSCyLag6rIUU4Z8GRyjt3ojj6qb7bjyy8VbfSAWBhWcRiI7lePPFoGmFNUmB8rTp8EBuzLegtf2jzs4sYVPsTCfOZJIxs6rM3Z6rSl36_H4x6FzoMvRaRfiStKhIrhLo/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-size: 12px; text-align: left;">(Rue de Tillieres 1959)</b> </div>
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I was born in Columbus Ohio in 1954 to Edith G. Bowers and Leonard W. Bowers. I was named after my father so that makes me Jr! My father was in the Air Force when I was born and stationed somewhere near St. Louis Missouri because we live there around some of his brothers (my uncles) and their families from shortly after I was born until about 1958 when my baby brother Timmy was born. I can remember events as far back as my second year of life and have very vivid memories of my third year on this planet. Although I love my parents very dearly I must say that I wasn’t fortunate enough as to hail from a family that was vise free partially because my parents married young and still had a degree of party spirit going on! I heard words in slang and profanity from my father's friends that could make a sailor cringe and I was employing them in conversation as early as my third year of life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doing the victim thing here I’m just saying that when you’re in certain circles things of the nature of your placement are bound to happen sooner or later and the choices we make are sometimes affected by the stimuli we encounter in our early development as children. Some good, some not so good, but you got what you got and you did what you did<br />
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(so to speak)!<br />
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My brother was born in August of 1957 in <st1:place w:st="on">St.
Louis</st1:place> and named (Timothy Leon Bowers). Well now things
begin to spin! My dad was then transferred to Brezolles’ <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region> and based at Druex Air Base in <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region>. My mom,
brother and I moved there shortly afterward. The small <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">village</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Brezolles</st1:placename></st1:place>’
was nothing like back in the States and people there never used vile language
instead it was quite the contrary. Everyone as I can recall showed immense love
and exemplary common courtesies not so common in our society even back in the
1950’s. </div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(221 , 221 , 221); font-family: "arial"; font-size: 6.5pt;">Dreux
-Louvilliers Airf Force Base by M.M.Minderhoud</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: rgb(221 , 221 , 221); font-family: "arial"; font-size: 6.5pt;"> </span></span><span style="background: rgb(221 , 221 , 221); font-family: "arial"; font-size: 6.5pt;">or<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Wikipedia/Michiel1972<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 8.0pt;"><b>(Courtesy of Google Earth)</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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We lived at 15 Rue de Tillieres pictured above. This is the
actual physical location of where I lived from 1958 to 1963. I was placed in base schooling, but I didn’t
get along well with the other American kids because I could out cuss them
without even trying. My mom came up with the bright idea that I may do well in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">French</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Catholic</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">School</st1:placetype></st1:place> so that’s exactly
what happened. I learned the language really fast and I had a lot of help from
the Madam Lebudec and family because that’s who I was with five days a week
being that my mom was working on the base in the Affex. So in essence I became
a little French boy and since no one understood my vulgarities in my native
tongue I soon lost interest in using fowl language and began the more eloquent
approach to interacting in my new social environment. I must say the French
were excellent teachers and for them that was just part of a basic service to
mankind in general.</div>
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American GI’s from the base would sometimes find their way
to the village and scare people with their drunken behaviors and womanizing
predatory type actions. It’s safe to assume that the political minded French wanted
them gone despite the economy and dollar exchange of the day. They tolerated
and endured this sort of behavior largely due to the liberation by American
troops during the Second World War.</div>
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I started in French schools at the age of four in 1958. By
the time I was seven years old in 1961 I had the equivalent of an American 7th
grade education. School hours were different there, and there was no summer
vacation instead we had occasional breaks so we never got to far off track and
had very little time for mischief. There wasn’t a lot of jealousy over
belongings or clothing because everybody whore the same thing. We wore grey or
light blue smock type uniforms. The girls wore skirts and the boys wore shorts.
Can you imagine wearing shorts in mid winter?</div>
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<span style="font-size: 8.0pt;"><b>(Courtesy of Google Earth)<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 8.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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This is the physical location of entrance to the courtyard
of the Catholic school I was placed in shortly after my arrival in 1954. I
would attend French public school from 1959 to 1963. It was here in the
Christmas of 1958 I would meet a Santa so unique in character the memory would
last a lifetime.</div>
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Christmas was a really special time of year in France, Santa
Clause there is called “Father Christmas” or “Pare Noel” in the French
language. Madam had two daughters; Soline the eldest, and Annie Claude who was
a year older than me and was also my best friend. Much like Forrest, Forrest
Gump we were like peas and carrots. I had pictures of Annie Claude and Soline
that were sent back with me by Madam, however after my Mother's departure from
this plain of existence my sisters laid claim to all memorabilia and it would
do me very little good to ask for cooperation at this phase of life. The picture
as to why my lack of relationship with my sisters exists I think may be painted
at some point in this story. There is so
much about my time in <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region>
to reflect on in memories, and in the overall view it was all good to me.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00771251186812278280noreply@blogger.com0