Chapter 14

Cora

The watermelon head smash wasn’t Chuck’s claim to fame. When he was four I traded a running fifty dollar Corvair van (contradiction of terms; Covair and running.) that Hairy had purchased in Greybull and drove home, for a 1967 Chevy short narrow pickup with a big block 366 GM truck engine.

I had this 1965 Impala SS 396 with a factory four speed ... and problems. Dirty Sally was a lowrider ... so low the exhaust pipes were on rods and springs because the railroad tracks would have torn off the exhaust pipes. It had your normal lowrider headers and dual four barrel carbs, electronic ignition, custom interior with homemade buckets. eight track player, blue-dot lights and crappy paint.

Railroad tracks would scrape the exhaust backwards on the rods and the springs would pull the mufflers back... (Rumble rumble ... scrape ... BLAT BLAST ... rumble rumble.). I bought it like that ... cheap. But the engine was on its last legs ... trade the Corvair for the pickup. Fifty bucks for a 366 big block?

You bet. The problem with the pickup?

The owner was an alcoholic ... serious alcoholic ... court ordered medication. One of those medications makes a non alcoholic partaker go into convulsions. There was a weeks worth in a medicine dispenser. Under the seat.

Don’t you just know it ... the shaking pills are really pretty and Chuck is small and low to the ground. Yeah. He found the pill container under the seat and there never was a Child Proof container he couldn’t open.

The convulsions were approaching Grand Mal when I got him to the Nurse practioner. Of course he was hospitalized. Of course we almost lost him. He was strange before. Now? The school put him in special ed ... the short bus.

He was Okay ... most of the time. The times he WASN’T Okay? Hide.

Special Ed was at the back of the high school and the SE grades were K-12. Even though it was K-12 there were only four kids in the classroom.

Beck was getting curvy and there was this huge indian kid ... in the range of six two and 350 pounds of pure muscle. He was the center and the line for the six-man football team ... not enough students to play regular ball. Anyway, he was a touchy feely kind of guy and he made the terrible mistake of grabbing Beck’s ass at the drinking fountain.

Chuck saw it, lost it and damn near killed the kid. Kicked him right in the balls and commenced to kick the guy multiple times in the crotch while the kid was trying to cover up.

The principal was a witness to the original grab ass and so was David IV.

Mr. Edwards turned to David and said, “Should I stop it?”

David said, “You tired of living? I wouldn’t go near ‘em.”

After Chuck snapped out of it. He sort of apologized ... if sticking his finger in the fellas nose and asking if he was going to put his hands where they didn’t belong ever again could be called an apology. Jim ... the kid ... responded with a promise to keep his hands to himself forevermore.

Chuck walked over to Mr. Edwards, “You good?”

“Yeah, Charley. I’m good.”

“See ya.”

Chuck walked off to stunned silence ... until one of the girls who had been on the receiving end of James’ gropes started applauding. All the girls followed. The guys were still cringing.

David related the circumstances when he got home.

I called the school and confirmed that Chuck wasn’t in trouble and may even get an award.

“Seriously?”

“He’s done the whole school a favor. The girls think he’s wonderful.”

“That many?”

“Never reported until today. Jim may be expelled. I have to take it to the board.”

Jim stayed ... but he was very polite and mannerly from then on. When he came back from his three day suspension he sported two nicely blacked eyes.

“Dad?”

“Mom. Rolling pin. Dad thought it was funny. Mom clocked him, too. I ain’t never seen her so mad.”

So ... when Chuck loses it? Hide.