Chapter 1

Naturally, I don’t remember much of the details of my early years. All I can remember for sure was that my father and mother, Jason and Mary Harbinger, were as loving and caring a set of parents as any child could hope for. I progressed through infancy and early childhood at a little better than the normal rate, except there was something wrong with my sense of balance.

Dad was working for the TVA (Tennessee Valley Authority), a federal agency, as a chemical engineer. I was born in 1934 in the hospital at Nitrate Plant, Alabama, probably the best such facility in the state. Back in those days, the medical profession was classed on a par with God, so my later troubles were never associated with them. Actually, my problem with my sense of balance was traced to genetics, so the medical profession was home free in this case.

I was very slow to learn to walk, though my other skills developed very quickly. My mom was a former teacher, and she did everything she could to push me along. I could read letters and numbers up to 10 by the time I entered kindergarten at the age of 5.

By that time, I could walk, but only if I had something to help me maintain my balance. Dad was something of an inventor, and he came up with a walker with wheels that I could use to steady me as I walked. Thus, as long as I had that device, I was able to get around.

In kindergarten was where I ran into my first school bully. He used to steal my walker from me and not return it until forced to do so by the teacher. In those days, a sharp swat to the buttocks was the usual punishment for such a disruption of the class, and the bully received many of those. This always resulted in laughter from the rest of the class, and an increase in the bully’s hatred for me. Of course, I was just happy to get my walker back and thought no more about it, except for a short peak in my dislike for the bully. I was never one to carry a grudge, so I promptly forgot the incidents.

The only time this taking of my walker ever caused any greater trouble was one afternoon as we were going home from school when the bully grabbed my walker from me and ran away with it about 50 feet. He stopped to laugh at me, and that was his undoing. Naturally, I fell to the ground on some rocks and badly skinned my left forearm. Blood poured like water from my arm, and this frightened everyone who saw it, except for the bully who only laughed harder.

Fortunately, all of this happened quickly, and it was seen by my kindergarten teacher. She immediately called for the school nurse and had a male teacher, 5^th Grade, I think, grab the bully and march him to the office of the principal. I was treated by the nurse to stop the bleeding and sent to the hospital. Emergency rooms did not exist at that time.

My parents were called, and Mom met me at the hospital, but Dad was called to the school, as were the parents of the bully. A heated discussion was held among the parents and the principal, and the result was that the bully was sent home for a week’s detainment. Each day, a policeman would check to be sure that the bully was indeed at home and not out playing somewhere. The result of this was that his mother got truly sick of the sight of the bully by the time his week was up.

His parents were told that any more issues like this from him would result in his expulsion from the school and a repeat of kindergarten next year. That would delay his entry into 1^st Grade, and bring great shame to the family. Well, that stopped the bully from picking on me while I was in kindergarten, and I thoroughly enjoyed that. It left me more time to play in the sandbox.

My father was called into the Army in 1939 along with the rest of the National Guard, so my mother decided that we should move to Arlington in south Alabama to live with her parents for the year that my father was called up to serve. Of course, that time was extended, and he was still in the Army in 1941 when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

Sometime in 1940, Dad had been transferred from the Combat Engineers to the Construction Engineers and sent to northern Canada to work on the AlCan highway. Therefore, I saw nothing of him for some time.

Meanwhile, my mother, my younger brother, and I were living with her parents in Arlington. I was going to the consolidated school in Arlington, and there I entered the 1^st Grade and encountered some more bullies, three of them. Again, I was tormented by losing my special walker, and the teacher was not interested in putting a stop to it. Her attitude was “let Jack work out his problems for himself.”

One day I was met by all three bullies, and they snatched away my walker. I had expected that, so I did not fall this time. I managed to grab the edge of a desk and held myself up that way. Of course, that was not good enough for the bullies, so they pushed me to the floor. In the process, I banged my right forearm hard enough on the steel leg of a desk to make it bleed.

Guess what, I was now in trouble because I had gotten blood all over the floor. The school nurse was called, and the bleeding was stopped. I was sent home because I had disrupted the class. I did manage to recover my walker so that I was able to walk home dripping only a minimum amount of blood.

My mother was used to these bullying problems and did not react, but my grandmother was made of much sterner stuff! After all, she had once been in a gunfight with some Apache raiders when homesteading in New Mexico Territory. [For that story, see “The Indian Raid.”] Anyway, she put on her fighting bureaucracy clothes and marched to the Elementary School Principal’s office. Everybody in town knew “Miss Alice” and was afraid of her sharp tongue.

After her meeting, I have no idea what was said in it, the three bullies spent the rest of the day facing the wall in the principal’s office. I did not see the three bullies for two weeks following that incident, and my 1^st Grade teacher was much nicer to me for the rest of the school year.

My grandfather was especially incensed about this, and it was probably well that he had been out working at the farm when it happened. In any case, he looked at my wound and pronounced that I needed protection for my forearms. He made a wooden form somewhat like my forearm and shaped sheet steel bracers for me to wear on each arm. The underside of the bracers was padded with the cushioning material from a Model T car-seat he acquired somewhere, and the bracers were held on by two leather straps.

I was still in the 1^st Grade, but I was smart enough to take instruction well from my grandfather. “Look here, Jack. You are headed for trouble as you go through school. I know because I have been there. You must learn to defend yourself, and these two bracers should help a lot. These are not just defensive shields. They can be used as weapons with a little training, and I plan to give that to you.

“You probably know that I was once a professional boxer, so there are some tricks with the forearms that I know. The sheet metal with the padding will protect your arms and still deliver a right smart jolt of pain when used correctly. We’ll start tomorrow with your training as soon as I get back from the cotton planting. I have to make sure that I meet my allotment or it will be cut next year.”

“Okay, Grandfather, I can hardly wait to start training. I am tired of being a punching bag for any kid bigger than me.”

“Fine, Jack. I like that attitude, but you need to make one small change: forget about whether or not the other guy is smaller than you. If he is a threat, attack right away. Don’t mess with trying to talk your way out of a confrontation.”

“Yes, Grandfather. I’ll be ready whenever you are. Don’t say anything to Mom, though. She is always after me to stay out of fights.”

I guess that you can say that was when my real education in life began. The next day, Grandfather showed me how to block punches with my bracers, and we practiced every day for about 90 minutes for eight days. On the ninth day, Grandfather showed up with padding on his arms. “Dammit, Jack, you sure learn fast. My arms are getting too sore to work the way you are pounding me. I wish you were steady enough on your feet to take up real boxing. You could be a champ.”