I remember: I can remember when old people would begin every other sentence with, “I remember!” Without a job to eat up the day and little kids who need new shoes, time can hang heavy. The brain was never an empty slate waiting for a story but there was a time when our tires had lots of tread and the odometer number was small. The brain does a good job sorting out experiences and picking out what to remember and what to let go. Some have no value at all and go straight in the trash, others get tucked away like grocery receipts and get lost before you know they are gone. Some memories hang around but lose their way when they go unremembered for too long. Then there are long term memories like books on the shelf, story after story at your fingertips. Sometimes you have to go find it and other times the backstory finds you. I have lots of experience (years & years), breathing in and breathing out, stuff happens and over decades you remember first and notice how the world has changed, everything changes and I remember how it was.
I remember when US-71 Hwy. passed through Hickman Mills, Missouri, past the church we belonged to, past Albin’s Drive In where we hung out, cars backed into spaces around the drive with car-hops delivering cokes & fries. When all the slots were full the late-comers just cruised around and ‘round. The more I went to Albin’s the less I went to church. Decades later when US-71 was moved and widened the old highway was renamed Hickman Mills Dr. Then came I-435 and the Grandview Triangle, a convoluted 3-way interchange and US-71 was upgraded to I-49. Now, if you don’t know the exits by heart you can be well on your way to Wichita before you can get turned around.
I still drive old 71 (Hickman Mills Dr.) just to avoid the crush on I-49. It snakes around below and between pillars of the GV Triangle, ending at a roundabout just up the hill from Albin’s. Maurice Albin died a long time ago, so have his two girls who I went to school with. The place doesn’t have a name now, just a tall, overgrown chainlink fence around it, parked full of old wrecked cars, trucks & boats, no signs of any activity when I go by. But I can remember when there was lots of activity. Late night if business was slow we could tell the car-hop we were broke and if he knew you (he knew me) old Albin would send out some food. He never kept track of how much or who owed him. That was the late 50’s. Everything was new, I was young and that’s what I remember.
I remember the week before Xmas when I was 7 or 8. In the attic I discovered gifts we would open on Xmas morning, hidden in boxes and bags by my parents. I thought I had done something special. But to my surprise, opening presents on Xmas morning there were no surprises and I was disappointed. It was a good Life-Lesson and I still remember.
I remember in 1959 at Fort Bragg, N.C., 82nd Airborne Jump School. We spent three weeks in preparation, lots of running and physical training, marching and running some more. Then there were hundreds of repetitions, putting the parachute on, hooking the static line onto the cable, shuffling to the door, jumping out, landing and rolling in the sand pit below the tower. One of many instructors were there to critique your technique (lots of cursing) and do it again. In all the training, after the guy ahead of you jumped you move up to the door, wait for the jumpmaster’s command to “Stand In The Door” and jump when he slaps you on the shoulder and shouts (GO!). The worst thing ever would be to freeze in the door, not jump. I had so many leaps from the mock-up I knew I would not freeze in the door.
The day we made our first real jump it went just like all of the practice except the parachute and the airplane were real. We flew around for half an hour then, just like training; Stand up! We stood up and faced the back of the plane. Check your equipment! We checked our buckles and straps and then the back of the parachute for the guy in front of us. Hook up! Hooked our static lines to the cable. After a few minutes of bumpy air the green light came on and the line started moving. I got my first good look at the door with two guys in front of me. The guy in the door stood there waiting for the shoulder slap and GO! but the jumpmaster was busy with both hands, pulling static lines back out of the way. There was no command; he swung his foot up onto the jumpers ass, kicked him out the door and motioned the guy in front of me up to the door. I was dumbfounded. When he did the same, foot in the ass trick I knew I wasn’t going to stand there and get kicked out the door. Too many practice jumps, too many pushups, too much running for some guy I didn’t even know his name, to kick me out the door. It was my turn and he motioned me forward but I didn’t stop, I just ran out the door before he could move his foot off the floor. My parachute opened just like it was supposed to and I felt smug about it. Over the next two years I made 24 static line jumps and never stopped at the door. I remember that.
I remember when US-71 Hwy. passed through Hickman Mills, Missouri, past the church we belonged to, past Albin’s Drive In where we hung out, cars backed into spaces around the drive with car-hops delivering cokes & fries. When all the slots were full the late-comers just cruised around and ‘round. The more I went to Albin’s the less I went to church. Decades later when US-71 was moved and widened the old highway was renamed Hickman Mills Dr. Then came I-435 and the Grandview Triangle, a convoluted 3-way interchange and US-71 was upgraded to I-49. Now, if you don’t know the exits by heart you can be well on your way to Wichita before you can get turned around.
I still drive old 71 (Hickman Mills Dr.) just to avoid the crush on I-49. It snakes around below and between pillars of the GV Triangle, ending at a roundabout just up the hill from Albin’s. Maurice Albin died a long time ago, so have his two girls who I went to school with. The place doesn’t have a name now, just a tall, overgrown chainlink fence around it, parked full of old wrecked cars, trucks & boats, no signs of any activity when I go by. But I can remember when there was lots of activity. Late night if business was slow we could tell the car-hop we were broke and if he knew you (he knew me) old Albin would send out some food. He never kept track of how much or who owed him. That was the late 50’s. Everything was new, I was young and that’s what I remember.
I remember the week before Xmas when I was 7 or 8. In the attic I discovered gifts we would open on Xmas morning, hidden in boxes and bags by my parents. I thought I had done something special. But to my surprise, opening presents on Xmas morning there were no surprises and I was disappointed. It was a good Life-Lesson and I still remember.
I remember in 1959 at Fort Bragg, N.C., 82nd Airborne Jump School. We spent three weeks in preparation, lots of running and physical training, marching and running some more. Then there were hundreds of repetitions, putting the parachute on, hooking the static line onto the cable, shuffling to the door, jumping out, landing and rolling in the sand pit below the tower. One of many instructors were there to critique your technique (lots of cursing) and do it again. In all the training, after the guy ahead of you jumped you move up to the door, wait for the jumpmaster’s command to “Stand In The Door” and jump when he slaps you on the shoulder and shouts (GO!). The worst thing ever would be to freeze in the door, not jump. I had so many leaps from the mock-up I knew I would not freeze in the door.
The day we made our first real jump it went just like all of the practice except the parachute and the airplane were real. We flew around for half an hour then, just like training; Stand up! We stood up and faced the back of the plane. Check your equipment! We checked our buckles and straps and then the back of the parachute for the guy in front of us. Hook up! Hooked our static lines to the cable. After a few minutes of bumpy air the green light came on and the line started moving. I got my first good look at the door with two guys in front of me. The guy in the door stood there waiting for the shoulder slap and GO! but the jumpmaster was busy with both hands, pulling static lines back out of the way. There was no command; he swung his foot up onto the jumpers ass, kicked him out the door and motioned the guy in front of me up to the door. I was dumbfounded. When he did the same, foot in the ass trick I knew I wasn’t going to stand there and get kicked out the door. Too many practice jumps, too many pushups, too much running for some guy I didn’t even know his name, to kick me out the door. It was my turn and he motioned me forward but I didn’t stop, I just ran out the door before he could move his foot off the floor. My parachute opened just like it was supposed to and I felt smug about it. Over the next two years I made 24 static line jumps and never stopped at the door. I remember that.
No comments:
Post a Comment