Autobiography
Gary Mcintyre Autobiography –Volume-1
This is not a novel, but a running outline of one interesting life. 😊
I was born Gary, Philip McIntyre on the 26 July 1950 at 12:19 PM. I’m a high Nooner. With the sun, Pluto and mercury in my 10th house. That simply means I have something to say to the generations. Neptune and Mars were on the ascendant, Libra, which indicates my energy is available in other worlds to get the Message fairly. It’s so you’ll get an honest Judgement. My moon at 29° Sagittarius in the third house, implies a subconscious that is expanding and learning. Saturn the planet of limitations is in my 11th house basically untouched by the other planets. Uranus and Venus are together in the ninth house, the house of higher learning. But it’s in opposition to my moon. Indicating trouble with females and sudden changes. Jupiter is in my natural house, the fifth house. I undoubtedly have mega luck. These are my qualifications to see and to help.
I was born in a prestigious family. My Father was a Federal Judge in Washington DC appellate court. My mom was the secretary to General Lemay at the pentagon. I was the oldest, my sister, an Angel on Earth, Joan came two years later, and my brother, Brian lived 21 days before he passed, he was the last. I had a loving family. I had the best parents and sister and uncles and aunts and grandparents, anyone could have. I kept to myself for most part. Not a talker I was a listener. I became very attached to my friends. We had a baby boomer gang called the Langley Gents. Probably about 25 kids. I started drinking alcohol at 12, I was able to buy alcohol in Washington DC when I was 15, 16 was the age limit. We did cough medicine, pills, and drugs. The first time I got thrown in jail was when I trusted a cop. About 15 of the Gents were behind the A&P drinking beer. We would always run in the woods when the cops showed up. This time everyone ran when they cruised around the corner and I sat there with my beer between my legs. The cop said, why didn’t you run? I said because the last time we talked to you, you said, “I really don’t mind you all drinking a few beers, but it really pisses me off when you all run”. Get up I’m taking you downtown. But you…. He said, “I lied”. I was 16, it would be legal 2 miles away in DC. My Dad came to the Hyattsville jail and picked me up, he wasn’t that upset, he said, that should
teach you not to believe everything you hear.
Another bad time was when two of our gang got assaulted by People’s Drug store. Mike Kane was sucker punched and he was wearing glasses. The lens cut his cheek, they drew first blood. The alarm was sounded and 3 cars with 18 guys had their Dad’s guns in the trunk’s of the cars. We headed for retribution but the Greenbelt police caught us. We ended up going to court and it got thrown out for some reason. My Dad showed up for a hearing and testified we were a good bunch of kids but misguided.
I was headed down the wrong path. I missed 42 days of school in the 11th grade because I preferred a pool hall. On one of those days I drove to Great Falls, on the Maryland side with two friends, Donny Rodriguez and Alfreda Bracchi and almost accidentally killed myself, I was 17. Around Olmsted Bridge where it goes over a narrow gorge, looking down river and on the right is a sloped rock ( see photo). I jumped onto that rock and didn’t calculate the slope, went right off in tippy toes. Down into the swollen gorge I went. Suddenly I was 10 ft below the surface of the water in a full fledged torrent from the rain. It surprised me how quickly I got in trouble and wondered what I should do, I could be thrown into a rock and never wake up. From a Batman comic book came the solution; curl up into a ball and you will come to the surface. That’s what I did and when I popped up all around me is all vertical rocks. I saw a finger ledge and with 8 fingers I pulled myself out and up. I held on like life itself depended on it. My friend Donnie drove me home, cold and wet and humbled.
Things got so bad they wouldn’t let me back in public school. I was a spoiled, out-of-control, juvenile delinquent. The world was my oyster, and I was gonna partake in as many things as I could. My parents showed an unending love and patience to me and provided an answer. I was to be sent 2500 miles away to a private boarding school in Arizona call ed Judson high school in Scottsdale. Because I was under a lockdown, except on weekends if you were good they would let you out, all I could do was study, and I made the honor roll. Also I participated in sports I came in second in the State in the 165 pound wrestling class. This school was like a big family. It took kids from kindergarten to senior high school. It was a place for wealthy people to dump their children. Doesn’t sound good but I can guarantee you everybody there got a good education.
I graduated in 1968. my dad got me and a friend, Jim McCallister, a summer job with the department of interior working at Kings Canyon national Park in California. I came home and got accepted at Kent State university. I drove the six hours home and back to school every weekend. I didn’t care for Ohio’s weather. It was always windy and cold, and their beer was watered to 3.5.
After the fall semester, I told my parents I didn’t want to go back. This is where the National Guard killed 4 students in the Spring of 1969. They’re pushing for me to get into another school, which seem like the proper thing to do at the time because of the draft. If you carry a “C” average you couldn’t be touched. I got into the University of Maryland only 3-4 miles away, the classes were huge and besides that they gave me a parking lot 3/4 of a mile away. I couldn’t take it. I quit. I came home, threw my books on the kitchen table and said I’m joining the Army. But I was frustrated. I wanted adventure so I took a flight test with the US Army, passed it by three points and was able to enlist for helicopter pilot training. That was an eye opener and I learned discipline with barely no free time for a year. We did get weekends off in the last 5 months of school. One time coming back to base after visiting a friend living off base I got into an accident that could have been serious. It was raining cats and dogs at night, and in a slow right turn doing 55 mph my tires went off the road and the drop off was at least 2 inches. I over corrected when I turned left to get back on the highway. Soon I was out of control, doing donuts, full 360’s, I was thrown down to the floorboard
on the passengers side and the last thing I saw was 2 headlights bearing down on me. Wham! an oncoming car hit my right rear quarter panel. I went before a Judge in Savanna, Georgia and showed him who I was. He said, “Your going to Vietnam, that’s punishment enough, case dismissed”.
I got a 30 day leave, came home and got in trouble again. There was a big party going on and I couldn’t resist not going. Of course there were drugs and the place was raided by the Montgomery Police. Someone had a beef and called the cops on us. I had papers to Vietnam and I heard it got dropped because the paperwork wasn’t right. All my experiences in the military made me a man however.
After one year of training, I was given one year in Vietnam. I was supposed to do four years, but President Nixon was winding the war down and he gave us a two-year drop. War is a state of insanity, there should be no last resort concept, except for talking. I felt it firsthand, a lot of times with a birds eye view, 50-100 feet off the ground. A couple of incidents destroyed my concept of humanity.
One was killing people, and children and animals because some guy in the command and control chopper decides they have been helping the VC. Destruction of
human life up close and personal. At the same time this is happening on my helmet headset, the Beatles “Let It Be”song came on, it served as a reminder to me from God. Something also happened, when we were in a firefight my new Seiko watch came off my left arm and fell to the Vietnamese village we were attacking, no doors on the choppers, symbolizing to me the stopping of time. We are powerless to avoid what we must experience however. Another time the gunship platoon wanted me to try out and be one of them. I went for one ride as copilot and was told to take out a farmer with a rocket…… I declined and they kept me in slicks. That was simply a horrendous experience.
A 3rd world farmer, alone minding his own business seen us coming. He throws his hoe down and turns to run. Then he realized there’s no place to hide so he turns and looks at us defiantly and throws his arms out. The rocket goes whoosh and lands just in front of him. These rockets explode nail shaped metal pieces and immediately I see 3” lines of blood all over his brown sweaty naked body, 50-100 bloody lines. I thought no I can’t do this and yet I’m in it.
Things weren’t all bad. I ran some medivacs. One time South of Ving Long I was peeled off to help a Major find his two staff sergeants. They were on a mission with a Company of South Vietnamese and had run into a bad firefight. He had lost radio contact and now I was flying like a sitting duck flying low and near the tree lines looking for Whisky 1 and Yankee 2, their call signs. I had used up all my fuel, past the reasonable limit. I said Major we got to to go and I turned the bird towards Bien Hoa, as I gained altitude my right side crew chief and gunner says over the intercom, “Sir I got him at 5:00”. I quickly flew in on our soldier and was aghast at his predicament, a lonely black American where one of his bloody arms with mud was raised to the sky out of the rice paddy.
Imagine yourself in his position, watching us flying around for over an hour and then thinking we were leaving. We had found Whiskey1 and got him on board, shot badly. I raced to Bien Hoa for fuel, they radioed back fuel is down, something is broken.
I sat by the pumps no more than a minute and made a command decision, but verbalized it to the the crew. We are going to Tan An about 15 minutes to the North, we may run out of fuel, who’s in? It was an unanimous go for it. I knew the compass reading so I stayed low level to save what little fuel we had, pushed the cyclic forward and the tail was up towards the sky at 40 degrees. Hitting 90 Kilometers, in 10 minutes I pulled back on the cyclic and up we went, I could see where we were and landed it like a sports car on a track. What a relief, I think I got him to medical help still alive and the bird was still running. It was a good day. I always thanked God for every day, but HE always got extra
Reverence when something extraordinary happens.
The last 3 months in Vietnam they let me serve as a Command and Control pilot. I’m above the ruckus and in charge of 5 slicks and 2 gunships. Luckily I had no casualties. I lost a good friend in Vietnam. Donald Krumrie was a pilot also. We played hard and worked hard. One night when we both had the next day off we stayed up late in the Officers Club. We had been playing poker all night and putting down 7&7’s and it was about 3:30AM when we had enough. We were both beyond normal drinking inebriation. I owed him $180.00. The next day Donald was gone, killed by a helicopter accident. They had woke him up at 6:00AM to fly because someone called in sick. My pool room is honored with a plack with his name. Forty years later I gave $360 to the Wounded Warriors Organization. I think Donald would have wanted that.
I got released from active duty on 3 March 71, my best and worst year. Two weeks after discharge from the Army I was back home in my stomping grounds, Langley Park, Maryland. One night about 9:30 PM me and about 5 friends entered the Golden Cue Pool Hall. There was Mark and Danny Ryan, Frank Barbero and Steve Asher. The place I spent most of my youth. It held about 12 tables and it had big picture windows facing the street, bathrooms were in the back. As we entered, it appeared empty, we were very high on pot. There were 2 African Americans at the counter and I headed for a bathroom. Danny Ryan headed to the counter to grab the balls, but unbeknownst to us we had walked into an armed robbery. I’m halfway to the bathroom and I heard a scuffle at the counter, so I turned and walked towards Danny.
These 2 black men are shouting something we couldn’t understand, sounded like,”get in the back of the room”. The black man levels a hand gun at me and fires. He finally got everybody’s attention. So all 5 of us hippies go to the back wall and assume the position. Hands over our heads against the wall. The guys are still screaming get to the back of the room. We had complied, what’s their problem? I looked to my left and I see the bathroom is filled with about 12 customers. He’s saying get in the bathroom this whole time. Only problem, there’s no room left. There were actually 4 robbers and they were busy robbing the customers. Now they are yelling get your hands down. If a cop drove by it would have been a sure give away. Anyway’s our bumbling short circuited their robbery. After getting what they wanted they were gone. We examined the bullet hole in the wall and it lined up with my head. I had just survived a gun shot that was closer than anything in Vietnam.
Everybody had a needle in their arm when I got back, I’m ashamed to say. I did it and thankfully realized what an addiction it can turn into. I was 2O years old. $600 bought me a 1964 VW beetle and I converted it into a sleeping area. It was my transport and hotel. My Dad and Mom wanted me to continue my education so I was able to enroll into Georgetown University in Washington DC starting the summer courses. I lasted the summer semester but was too restless to stay for the fall courses. I got with a childhood friend, Mark Ryan and we hit the road. Free from the discipline structure of the military and school we lived loose and carefree. We started north, up into New York hitting bars and playing pool. Then we headed for New Orleans. We stopped in Eatonon, Georgia to see a Partner Pilot I was good friends with in Vietnam.
Jimmy Gregory really felt like my older brother. Did we ever have a good time on R&R. First night in Bangkok we couldn’t go out… we couldn’t move. The hotel could have burned down and we would have just watched it. The guy that gave us the smoke had put opium balls in the front of the joint.
We got to Mississippi and my little beetle was breaking down. It was loosing compression and only went 20 miles an hour, riding on the shoulder of the road. Sometimes we got up to 40 mph. When we got to New Orleans I found a mechanic who could fix the car for $400, so I dropped it off there and told him no hurry I would have to save my money. Now we were in the Big Easy, public transportation and a never ending party in the French Quarters.
We became street people, drinking Boones Farm wine and smoking pot, and psychedelic drugs. I never pan handled, but instead walked 2 miles twice a week to give plasma for $6.00 a visit. I ate at Buster Holmes red beans and rice in the Quarters for 30 cents. He made his fortune serving the street people one plate at a time, with all the French bread and butter you wanted. I was still getting $117 a week unemployment insurance from leaving the Army. So after about 6 weeks I got my beetle out of the shop.
Through some contacts I found a company hiring for rough necks on an oil platform. I had secured a job over the phone and me and Mark headed out for Grande Isle, a very remote place on the Gulf Coast. Mark was a Green Beret and neither one of us looked like soldiers. Our hair was long and we had beards. I guess we fit the counter culture. We arrived when the boss was leaving work, we were pulling in the driveway. I got out to introduce ourselves and soon as he saw us his hand goes over his eyes and he’s shaking his head like no, no.
People down here were untouched by counter culture and we were not the typical looking rough necks. So he says I’ll try you out, but I can’t keep you on land, you might get hurt it would be more accepting if you worked on the rigs.
He said go on in and tell cookie to get you something to eat, they are just done with dinner. We got a room in an old motel and the schedule was up at 3:30AM. Breakfast at 4:00AM, on the boat at 4:30AM. We get to the oil rig at 6:00. Work a 10 hour day and ride back to the motel at 5:30PM. We eat dinner at 6:00PM. That lasted about 2 weeks. Who wants to get beat to death by the waves before and after work.
Not me. I thought it’s beautiful out there on the rig, couple hundred feet above the water and when the sun comes up, it’s magnificent, but we weren’t cut out for this daily grind.
Mark headed back home to Maryland and I found a place to stay at 2468 Dauphine St. with an artist that worked around Jackson Square named Kenny Kilpatrick let me stay on the floor on a screen porch at the back of the house.
I had run myself down, partying, giving plasma and not eating right. I still had my two favorite books with me, Leaves of Grass and Cosmic Consciousness. I was also reading A Separate Reality. All my psychedelic experiences were positive. I had seen the Who play at the warehouse, a power adrenaline experience.
But the other shoe was about to drop, heard around the world. AND YOU ARE THE WORLD THAT’S GONNA HEAR IT. On a Monday night around Thanksgiving In 1971 I’m smoking hash from a piece that’s 2”x2”x1/2” and then dropped acid. Over the next 12 hours I was incapacitated, thank God Kenny was there. I sat cross legged on the floor and experienced what Heaven is, what Hell is, and what Purgatory is. I was looking for an answer to this life, and it was delivered to me by God Himself. Whoa whoa I hear half of you saying that’s a drug induced experience, not valid. But your having a chemical induced experience now stone sober. I was terrified, I felt alone, the old Gary McIntyre was transformed. I thought I was insane. This trip revisited me 3 times in full blown flashbacks in 7 day intervals to the hour. I will tell you I was consumed in a transparent geometric grid that had vertical and horizontal little crosses like plus signs, they were red blue white and transparent that permeates everything in existence tying everything together as ONE. The in and the out were the same. I wanted my old life back, terrified I turned myself in to the VA hospital. I really felt damaged, like what can I do, what job can I have if I keep flashbacking.
I was put on the mental patient floor for 30 days. My Doctor was named Dr Fudge and my nurse was named Stephanie, both excellent health care professionals. I was diagnosed with a major depressive disorder. They put me on Valium for the 30 days and reassured me I would be alright, that I had an intense learning experience. I more or less lost my physical body, I had osmosisified myself into everything. I started a new life, unbounded by barriers. I realized that I was alone in this new world.
Everyone else lived in the world of duality, separate, and selfish and were driven by symbols, like country, culture, man or woman rich or poor. These things or symbols didn’t mean anything to me anymore. I had become everything, ONE with the Creator and Creation. I see we are all in Cosmic School and only by determination and Grace can you see.
It was time for me to settle down, get a job and find a girl. Through a good friend, Matt Donahue I landed a job with Maloney Concrete driving a truck. Steve Crump was hired too, another person I consider an older brother who was an MP in Vietnam.
Washington DC was building the subway and there was plenty of work. It paid $5.85 an hour and I was in the Teamsters Union. It was a good job for me, I was alone and spent time just observing the city and people. I was #1 truck and I put an additional advertisement on the door; 1 Way. I had a ponytail and a beard and carried Leaves of Grass like a bible. I could spout whole sections by memory. This job lasted 2 years, up to the point when they wanted me to wash the truck with hydrochloride acid to scrub the spatters of cement off the back and barrel with no safety equipment.
I quit for a good reason but disqualified for unemployment compensation payments by 6 weeks. I had met my girlfriend and first wife, Joanne just before I quit. I had managed to keep my rent low, $50 a month because I cut down a huge tree in the front yard of the landlord’s rental property. I cut it up in 2’ pieces and the neighbors helped themselves. It was gone in a week.
Joanne was pregnant with my first son, Mason, born 6 July 1974. I had actually quit Maloney Concrete over not getting paid for the July 4th holiday which was a Thursday. The Union said I had to work the day before and the day after to get paid. Joanne had gone to the hospital on the 5th a Friday and I took off that day. Mason was born on Saturday. I thought a good excuse would be considered, no such luck.
Joanne’s father whom I hadn’t met yet supplied us with a car. It was a 1966 Checker Cab car. Great car, lots of room. We packed up and headed to California via New Hampshire where her family was living. She was the 2nd oldest in a family of 13 kids. A good Catholic family. I have nothing but high praise for my mother and father in law, Richard and Emma Brown. There were 8 sisters and 5 brothers, the youngest and last was a 2 year old named Jennifer. She tragically lost her life in the front yard pond.
Dick as he liked to be called gave me and Joanne 2-1/2 acres and I had started working for a master carpenter/ builder by the name Harold McDonald. I learned everything about construction in my 2 year apprenticeship. With the help of many people I got my public life’s work started, but another silent work was hidden. It was God’s work laid on day in and day ttfout until today.
There was Harold McDonald who taught me my trade. Herby Scribner who was also a neighbor helped with the well and septic. The local sawmill which cut native wood that you could buy at the time for 10-15 cents a board foot. Harold was paying me $3.10 an hour under the table for a 40 hour week. Plus I was using the GI bill to go to the University of New Hampshire Tuesday and Thursday 5 hours each night, 5PM to 10PM.
From the age of 24 to 29 I built my house, my in- laws a huge house, helped a Langley Park friend BD or Bobby Dolen build his house, raised my son Mason, got a Bachelor Degree in General Studies, ( major in philosophy and US History) and ended a marriage that wasn’t going anywhere, all with a full time job. Joanne and I had reached an impasse and she wanted me to leave.
So at the end of Dec 1979, I left in the middle of the night while a blizzard hit. I had all my tools in the back of my 1971 Ford pick up and headed for warmer weather, New Orleans. I drove straight through about 18-20 hours, and ended up crashing in the front seat in a parking lot in the French Quarter, snow still in the back, but it was now 65 degrees.
I was severely depressed, so much work, seemed to be all in vain, but I neglected my marriage and I had to leave my son. But I grabbed my cat who had been with me since 1972. Her name was Shiva, a ferociously independent but unbelievably faithful and loving companion. She was a super cat, backed down many a dog. She would sleep sometimes on the dashboard, other times on the seat behind my head. I named her for the Hindu God of destruction and death. She was with me 18 years.
I looked in the Times Picayune paper for work and found a construction job for $3.10 an hour plus a room at the Scottish Inn on Airport Drive. A new life was starting with new friends. All the newness helped me recover from the disastrous marriage. It was fun working in New Orleans again, 10 years later but I was better equipped. I had a pick up, tools and a Trade. I worked for the owner of the motel with 3 other guys, Greg, Everett, and John. I also met a very dear friend through Everett, his brother in law Harry Anderson.
We all worked for Phil who was remodeling a spec house. Then me and Greg got upgraded together we started working for Linda Mayor a wealthy 40 year old woman who lived in the Garden District. She had a spec house on Louisiana St. that we could live in, pay increase to $5.00 an hour. Once she could see what I was capable of I became her personal carpenter at her residence. She had a huge deck in the back built and a huge remodel of her kitchen, all in mahogany.
It’s the Big Easy, no hurry, drink some beer while you work, everything was laid back. Walk to Magazine St and get a Po’boy for lunch. No rush on the work and a friendly boss, what more could you want?
About 8-10 months went by and Joanne is telling me the house needs to be sold, so I take a leisurely drive North and stop by my parents house in Maryland. I spend a few days and on to New Hampshire. I had some work to do before I could sell it. I had procured a good buy on oak flooring 2”x3/4”. I put that down, made a nice finished look, but interest rates for mortgages were 17% in 1980 and buyers were not around.
Finally someone offered $42,000 when the county had assessed it at $62,000. But it was a fire sale and I wanted to get back to New Orleans. We made $22,000 for our troubles and we each got $11,000. Now I had a grub stake and a place to go. I was eyeing land in Mississippi, 1 hour North of New Orleans.
Volume -2
When I got back to New Orleans, I had $11,000, it doesn’t sound like much, but it was like a diving board for me. I bought an acre of land just outside Picayune, Mississippi. It was a rural subdivision built by a local named Mr. Lee. It had about 10 or 12 lots, he provided the septic and a community water system. It only cost me,$5000 monthly and my mortgage payment was a month. I bought a used $2200 small trailer or Mobile Home, I think it was 10’x 36’. This was my base of operations. From here, I planned to travel the hour to New Orleans to find work. But the very day I moved in a friendly neighbor approached my door with two bags of groceries. It was Gerald Miller. I liked my neighborhood already. Gerald owned a drywall finishing company, named Hungry Folks Drywall. I asked him how he chose the name. He said, “You got to be hungry to do this work”. Since I had some experience building my house in New Hampshire, he offered me a job. What a great boss he turned out to be. He was a friend first and a boss second his favorite joke was, “if you can’t get here on time. Get here when you can”. I met a great bunch of people in Mississippi. Lane Miller, Roger Mallery, Virgil Lee, Greg Mallery. Everybody was in the drywall trade either hanging or finishing. We worked all over the south and stayed in motel rooms in Birmingham, Alabama, and Mobile, Gulf Shores, Tampa, Florida. We were all beer, drinkers, and pot smokers. Sometimes I would go off by myself and do jobs in the French Quarters in New Orleans. Even after work, and weekends I developed my homestead.
In 1983 my parents wanted me to build them a house just outside Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. With my horse trading abilities, I was able to procure a step van. A good friend named Frank Barbero showed up from my Maryland days, he was a proficient carpenter also. So we built bunkbeds in the van, loaded the tools, “Shiva” the cat, and “Split” the dog. Split was my son’s dog from my first marriage. He was flown down to me because Joanne didn’t have the ability to keep him. We set out for the address, my dad sent me. He had purchased a nice lot in a subdivision near Little River Campground. We pulled up, let the cat and dog out, got the chainsaw out and cleared the lot. Believe me, we were the talk of the neighborhood. We spent nine months there, we did everything except the electrical and plumbing and the brick masonry. A lot of times Frank and I would go to Myrtle Beach to the bars to drink and play pool and instead of driving back to the job we stayed in the RV in the parking lot, didn’t get any DUIs like that.
We headed back to Picayune and I continued to build my house next to my mobile home, Frank went back to Virginia. I had put down a 24×24 slab and put a perimeter of concrete blocks, 3 courses high. Then I put up walls, windows, doors and roof. I used it as a workshop for years and finished the conversion to a home. When I first got home I would leave Split in the mobile home when I went to work. He looked like Benji, half terrier and half beagle. He was so smart and accommodating to learn he could do about 20 tricks on command. His curiosity was his downfall though. One day I came home and the door was open, he was gone. He had learned to turn the doorknob.
I had a 13 year old boy in the neighborhood that I paid to pull nails on recycled lumber and he told me what happened to Split. He says not so innocently and shamefully that, “my daddy shot your dog because he was in our yard”. I was heartbroken and said, “small-minded people”. I swore never to own another dog, Split had a human soul.
Around 1985 I was visiting my parents in Maryland and met my 2nd wife through my parents friends. Her name was Kate or Kathleen. I think we were both lonely and found solace, friendship, and security with each other. She was a staff sergeant in the Army at the Pentagon. I did not want to father another child, I was 35 and she already had two boys, Damian and Whitney aged 4 and 1.
My McIntyre Construction business had plenty of work. I had a general contractor license in VA., DC and Md. What finally broke our marriage was her military attitude of having me home at 5:30 pm for dinner and an insurmountable stubbornness. An impossible task if you’re self-employed and in DC traffic. Kate got what she wanted in the way of a child, by unscrupulous behavior.
On the 4th of July party 1987 I drank too much and Raven was conceived that night, I think? I never did do a DNA test. At Raven’s age of 3, our relationship became intolerable. I was the one that changed her diaper at 4:30 in the morning, for years because I was self-employed and people didn’t want construction before 9:00 AM.
Kate locked the doors on me when I came home from work. We talked through her kitchen window about my delay in filing taxes and her circumnavigating me by already filed single and depriving me of my tax breaks with the children. At that point, I lost it. It was the first time in my life I felt nothing is stopping me. I warned her multiple times to open the door or I’m coming through it! I wanted my personal belongings. She wouldn’t budge. I held on to the iron railings on her porch with both arms and in two kicks at the dead bolt I splintered the jamb and was in. I grabbed some plastic bags and filled them with clothes. Second time in the house she caught me facing a knife in her hand. I got around her and got on the the stairway upstairs, as she came towards me I kicked it out of her hand and got outside to my truck. Now she was calling the cops on me. Telling them that I broke in. In minutes, two of Prince George’s finest were at the scene. The whole incident was surreal. She’s screaming at the officers about me, and I’m standing quietly by my truck, telling them I’m married to her and just wanted my things. As soon as they found out the truth they left. But Kate threatened to put a brick through my windshield and slash my tires. So I left. I couldn’t even contemplate continuing with such emotional outrage and from that moment on she controlled my daughter, poisoning her to me. I was allowed to see Raven one or two times after the separation and divorce. All communication was controlled like she was behind North Korean lines. It hurt me bad losing Raven. I never could understand why people can’t live and let live. There’s too much want and personal control in the world. I paid 15 years of child support and took her to court over not seeing my daughter and if I persisted she would have been found in contempt of court. The Judge asked me what I wanted to do. I said nope. I gave up, it would have ruined her military career, so I walked away…. who fights over kids? I thought this Irish Woman, that’s who. What did you think? That I would turn her against you? Which made me think I’m not the father.
I connected up with my old buddy Mark Ryan, and after finishing some jobs around DC we headed back to New Orleans. I got in touch with Gerald who is working in Atlanta and he said stop by, he can put us to work. So we did some drywall work for him and then set out for Picayune. Gerald knew a contractor in New Orleans that needed a finisher. So me and Mark worked on Royal Street for a couple months in the French Quarter. We actually got to see what’s behind the façade of businesses on Royal Street. That’s where the old slave quarters were located and we were remodeling the place for an artist from Greece. In the meantime, I kept working on my home in Picayune.
Gerald got back to town. he wanted to know if I wanted to go to Mobile and work on a federal building. I said sure when are we going? It didn’t take long and we were there living in a motel. This place was the largest place I’ve ever worked at, imagine three football fields side-by-side, The one in the middle was an atrium with a glass roof connecting two 10-story buildings. It was built for Federal courthouses they had over 300 finishers there at the time of need. There was more rooms, bathrooms, courtrooms, hallways then you can imagine. Somehow I was chosen as the last finisher, the point man for the whole building. There’s always something to fix to look nice, even after it’s finished and painted. I guess I spent 6 months total on that job.
Mark was staying in my house in Picayune and told me the Sheriff had shown up looking to serve me child support payments. It was November of 1994 and I said you want to go to Tampa for the Winter? I knew I could find work anywhere I went and he had a small RV so he came to Mobile and we left for Points South. I knew a friend and co-worker from New Orleans named Eddy Tawny and he was living in a place called Cedar Key. It’s about an hour and 1/2 North of Tampa.
Stop by Eddie said. Never in a hurry, we followed the Gulf coast to the turn-off on St rd 24, made a right turn that dead ended at the Gulf of Mexico, 20 more miles. When we got to the town we got to Eddie’s place and found out he was in jail for possession of drugs.
We found a place called Rainbow Campground and holed up there. Cedar Key is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. It’s not overrun with people and they kept all the fast food franchises out of town. Most people worked on the water or in the Tourist industry. It was 4 square miles on an island with other island keys nearby. The fishing was excellent and the people were friendly.
I want my ashes near Shell Mound. It’s the neatest place seen in Florida. It’s on the Nature Coast, Indians had made this huge bowl of oyster shells. I mean it’s like 100 feet around and 20 feet high that you’ve built by throwing oyster shells around you. In the winter it is warm like a solar stove, no wind. There’s Spirits abound.
I got a job right off as a clean-up person where they were building townhouses on the water. Then I got a maintenance job at Park Place. I worked for Carol and Ron Sheldon who supervised the condominium building.
Life got slower living here. The tides rolled in slowly every six hours and out every six hours. The sunrise and sunset over the water were beautiful. People drove golf carts around the island. There was no traffic lights and no traffic except on the weekends.
The morning of February 1 1996 I heard from my Mama. She says, “Gary, you need to get home if you want to see your dad he’s in the hospital. The doctors say, he’s at his end”. I said I’ll be there in 16 hours. Mom said come to the hospital. That’s where I’ll be. I drove all night,all the way through, thinking about this ride and what I’m doing. As I turned the corner in the horror corridor, I see Mom standing and talking to the doctor. I give my mom a big hug and the doctor a handshake. He says we did exploratory surgery and the cancer is all up in his abdomen and stomach, there’s no chance.
I looked into my mom’s eyes. She had just finished the five-year battle of prostate cancer with my father. She had been at the hospital for three whole days straight with my sister, Joan had left already and gone home. Mom says to me she’s got to go home and get some rest. She says he’s the furthest patient in the room towards the window. You won’t recognize him Gary. He’s just coming out of surgery. Love you. I’ll see you tomorrow. I sure am glad you’re here Gary.
I made a left and went into the room. I hadn’t seen Dad in two years, and had talked to him on the phone maybe every six months. Dad didn’t waste his talk, just as long as we knew we were all right, everything was good enough. Everything was a green light. Didn’t take a lot of talk between us. I can’t figure out who made me the most independent my mama or my daddy so I put that record on my God.
Mom was right, I didn’t recognize him. He had lost all his hair, all his teeth and was yellow. His skin had wrinkled. He had two tubes coming out his left side and two tubes coming out his right side. I sat down next to the bed and held his hand. I’m here Dad I love you. I felt some pressure on my hand. Then it clicked in my head as to what I was to be: the executioner.
I got to the hospital at about 7 PM, by 7 AM. He was dead. Dad partly regained consciousness and said he was in pain. I told him what the doctor said about the cancer. He said, “I know”. Well, I’m gonna get you out of pain Dad! I’m going to get you a morphine drip. It was about three in the morning when I asked the nurse. I was told they’d have to call and wake the doctor up and then the pharmacy had to make it. It would take about three hours. Finally a nurse had came in about six in the morning and tried to insert it into his blood vessel. She couldn’t do it so they had to get another nurse. I stepped out in the hall to gather my composure while they did their work. When I came back in and sat down next to him, he was finally relieved. I said goodbye Dad, you were the greatest Dad ever and I love you. At about 6:50 he was gone. I couldn’t close his eyes. A nurse came in and did it. I sat there, shocked at what had just transpired. I left the room and sat in the waiting area thinking about the phone call. I had to make to my mama.
It was probably around 8 o’clock. I said Mom I got some bad news. Dad is gone. I got him a morphine drip. There was a muffled cry and she said OK. I’ll see you when you get home. Be careful it’s snowing.
I stayed on for about a week with my sister Joan, her husband Jeff, and her two boys, Lance and Colby, in short, we all had to adjust our living without this great man in our lives. Mom would live another 22 years to age 96. She was the strongest and most gentle woman I knew. Smart, organized, and always busy. She kept a clean house and always prepared my food. She gave her advice like a gift.
My Mom was my motivator for this story, it is for her. They said an uncle of mine had left an inheritance to my dad and wanted me to take it. Now I was making another trip to the southland with another grubstake. So I returned to Cedar Key, left a pauper and returned a man of some substance. First thing I wanted to do was move out of the campground and figure how to do something and make money. The State of Florida was starting aquaculture, and clam farming where you grow clams in nylon bags. The only downside was you have to wait a year for the clams to grow for a paycheck.
I immediately invested the money in a business. It was called the Big Bend Seafood Corporation. I had a local waterman named Alan Bainbridge. I had my friend from my teens Mark Ryan.
Through Carol and Ron Shelton I was told about a home on the water, a double-wide, prefab house 4’ off the ground and a canal on the backside to protect a boat. He was asking $100,000. I bought it 3 months after Dad passed in May of 1996. We applied to the State for 4 leases. The application cost $500 each. One was in my name, Allen’s, Mark’s, and a homeless girl by the name Teresa. I met her on a corner in Cedar Key, carrying a bag of her possessions. I brought her home with me. All the leases were under the corporation of Big Bend Seafood. I got a bird dog boat and we were ready to go into the clam business. Except Mother Nature had other plans. In October of 1996 a storm hit and water was 3’ under the house, wiping out the A/C and moving the block piers. It was a mess.
The State offered me a $15,000 grant if I raised the home 10’ off the ground. I paid a guy to raise the home, cribbed temporarily with wood. I had a structural engineer design the foundation plans and set to work. A lot of concrete and rebar, cores of piers filled solid with 4-5/8 rebar in each capped with 1/2” plate steel. Across the width were 12” galvanized I beams and the home was set back down and welded in place. Now I had a huge working place in the shade, it turned out really nice.
Fortunately, Allen knew what he was doing, he had walked the lease area and chosen a section that had good mud for the clams to nestle in the ground. Other leases that had sand took up to 18 months, we produced nice 1” clams in 10 months.
Teresa had moved on. She was in her own world, I did as much as I could for her. I gave her $5,000 so Big Bend Seafood could buy her lease.
I can tell you that the sea was another master in my life that I resented or tolerated, the timeless check the schedule and get in the water job. Always at its Mercy.
You know that time or tide waits for no one. Planting and harvesting had to be done at low tide. The only master I wanted to follow was God.
I met and heard about April through Allen, because his wife Loretta, was good friends with April. I saw her driving around town and we exchanged fleeting glances of acknowledgment. Always laughing. But she was married with 4 children and an irresponsible husband named Tony. The children were Lillian 7, Carrie 5, Gary 2, Kenny 1. Kenny was born with Cystic Fibrosis and needed special care.
One day after work we stopped by the local watering hole, the L&M bar and April was skipping around the pool table smacking balls with one of her friends. She caught my eye, and at the same time my business partner introduced us, that’s April. Then he says, You should marry her”. I said how many kids she have? “Four” he says. I said it out loud so I made sure I heard it myself.
Tony shot a pistol at April one night and we had gotten to know each other better, I said you should move in with me. I instinctively knew I should be with this complicated creature that was mysteriously happy and jokester all the time. But she’s 21 years younger than me, and has 4 kids. I would take 3. Kenny got adopted by Allen and Loretta.
So April, Lillian, Carrie, Little Gary and Big Gary (Me) became one Happy Family. First time in my life I really felt like I belonged somewhere. Somehow this girl from a carnival family that was pushed out of her family in West Virginia at age 14 with her father leveling a gun at her, knew me better then I knew myself. I was drinking a fifth of vodka a day, and when my back hurt so much I had to quit working. The VA does 15 years of MRI’s, CAT scans, and x-rays and comes up with an incorrect diagnosis. They think it’s my spine, and lower back problems and put me on Methadone.
April and I started off by saying, “You should find someone your age”. “Fine!” She said, With that, she left and I had to come to grips with what I really wanted. So I had to chase her down and apologize and ask for her back. I instinctively knew this girl would be good for me. And on top of that I loved her and the kids. We were both a little gun shy about marriage and decided we would wait 10 years.
April was my working partner, she always put me first and watched out for me. She was more mature than me when it comes to relationships. April is a solid Gemini Sun, fastest mind I ever encountered. She loved me more than anyone else. My mom’s last words to her was, “ he’s your problem now”.
We had just got back from Maryland visiting my mother. It was just one day and mom called, and she says, “Joan died, I need you back”. Second time I was in shock! We were planning to go back and see Joan on Thanksgiving but instead we got in our car and headed out that evening.
I had talked to Joan just a few days ago. I knew she was suffering from breast cancer. The surgical wound wasn’t healing and she was in a lot of pain. We all assumed she died of cancer, except her close family, they made her death a secret, her real cause of death was hidden from me, mom and April until the day after mom died, two years two months later. It was an atrocious revealing, the day after mom died, I was told by her husband Jeff and their two boys, Lance and Colby that Joan had shot herself in the head. Who the hell leaves your critically sick wife home alone while you and your boys go on a fishing trip in Montana? And leave a gun at home? Greed will promote evil thinking. It all had to do with the inheritance.
My Mom passed on the 18 Oct. 2018 at 11:20 PM. She was sitting comfortably as a 96 year old can in her recliner. I held her hand and said Ma you can let go now, go be with Joan and Dad. I’m old enough to take care of myself now. A white lie I guess. I didn’t know how I was going to get along. My Mother loved me unconditionally like God.
I had swollen up to 250 lbs due to my inactivity and cancer and methadone addiction. A few days later I had a mild heart attack and they put one stint in. The civilian doctor found cancer on my right kidney that the VA had missed for 15 years. All my back pain was from the cancer. I was under the impression you couldn’t sue the King, so I put that out of my mind while I dealt with a kidney and adrenal gland removal operation. A VA doctor tells me I have 2-21/2 years to live. A year later they removed my other adrenal gland. My surgeon says I’m the only person in Florida that he knows of, that has that condition. I am 100% steroid pill power. I can’t make adrenaline. Stage 4 cancer is eating my last kidney.
My wife April took care of my Mother for two years in Maryland. My Mother finally fell in love with one of my wives.
I owe so much to April I can’t even express it here. She has saved my life more than a handful of times. If I pass out she waits with a 100 ml shot of steroids to bring me back.
And I did her wrong. I did myself wrong. I’ll tell you flat out, if you love your significant other don’t do what I did. I destroyed her trust in me and her love. Against her will, I called my first girlfriend 4 times about 20 minutes each. Nothing sexual or nefarious was talked about. But I had to have my egotistical way and I’ve been in the doghouse ever since, and rightly so. The whole episode was my mistake and I’m trying to win her back. April is as much an optimist as I am, except in certain areas, trust and love.
Suffice it to say she had the worst upbringing I’ve ever heard. And yet this playful, happy, funny girl made it on her own at 12. I have now written what appears to be a confession letter to the world. April taught me the only pure essence to life is Love. Everything else is contaminated.
I owe a great many people to turn out like I did. My Grandparents from both sides, Ada, Louis, Memere’ Pepe’. and my Uncles, Raymond, Phil, Hugh, Gene, and Lance. My aunts, Stella, and Rita. My first cousins, Rita Lee and Jay, Bruce and Michelle, second cousins, Diane, Dawnie, Dean, and my Friends. I
only Hope that I can create Hope. As I breathe in I accept all that is, as I exhale I Dream all that can Be. Avoid my mistakes, God Bless You All, and find “YOUR” Happiness.
I’m panhandling now America.😊❤️