Chapter 2: HOMECOMING

Johnny leaving for a seaman’s life roving the oceans, caused hardship at home. Johnny was the only driver in the family and had the only car., except it wasn’t a car. He bought a 1949 Diamond Reo pickup truck, used obviously. Bought with Johnny’s own money.

Mama called it the beast. Rode beastly, she claimed. It was quite a truck, one ton capacity, and built like a brick outhouse. Had a Hercules engine and the top speed was forty five miles per hour. Even that was too fast at night, cause you would outrun your headlights. Only had a six volt electric system and the headlamps were pretty weak and dim in those days.

Johnny was a hard and steady worker, and his labor was missed. The extra work landed on Dad’s shoulders. I couldn’t take on much of what my brother normally did, as I had my own chores and I was still going to school most days. Weekends, I helped haul crab pots with Dad, something Johnny and he shared. The extra time I spent with Dad was valuable to me.

As soon as I turned fourteen, I got a farm or hardship license. Restricted, as I mentioned earlier. I began driving the beast, taking Mom to work and myself and my siblings to school each weekday. The only school bus that came out our way was for the black kids going to the black school. Education and a lot more was segregated.

Then Johnny came home, a rich man. Only been gone six months, too. My resolve to follow him as early as possible was strengthened. First thing he done, was buy a new car. A 1957 BelAir stationwagon!

Mama said it was the most luxurious thing she had ever seen. Dad called it a pussywagon, because you could lie down in the back with the rear seat folded flat. Johnny did use it for that very purpose.

He refused me permission to drive it including not even after he left to return to his ship. Further more, he restricted my use of the beast to trips to school and errands for our parents. No joy riding. Our parents were given custody of all the vehicle keys. Unfair, and I told him so. Johnny just laughed at me, and asked who I thought gave him his first car? Himself. Go earn and buy my own was his advice.

As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right, that’s the right thing for me to do. When I dropped Johnny off at the bus station, he gave me a farewell five dollar bill as ‘Seed’ money to help me start saving.

I appreciated it. With what I already had, my personal fortuned totaled a bit less than nine bucks. No more drive-in movie dates until I have my own car, I pledged myself. Easy pledge to keep. I was forbidden use for pleasure, of either of Johnny’s vehicles. Our parents enforced Johnny’s dictates. Okay. Owner’s rules. Wait until I am an owner. Then it’s MY say goes.

Where to invest my nest egg? Talking it over with Dad while hauling pots the next weekend, I was given the real facts of life in Dad’s perspective.

There are consumers and producers. Even middlemen and manufacturers are consumers, buying customers, from a producer’s point of view. Miners, ranchers, farmers and fisherman produce. These professions will always be necessary. Maybe not the highest paying professions, but you are your own boss. What you earn doesn’t cheat anyone. There were debatable points but I bit my tongue and listened. Dad hugged me when I said I wanted to be a crabber like him, it made him proud. Dad offered to help set me up.

Pots cost money, even if you build them yourself. Boats cost money, even if you build one yourself. Bait cost money, everything costs, and Dad had no spare money to give me. What he did give me, was free range to pick over items already on the farm. He retained final authority over whether or not an item I wanted to use was something the farm either didn’t need, or could spare for awhile until I could afford to replace it. He suggested and described the working of a trot line. He would buy any crabs I caught, as he had the license to legally sell them to the fish house. Also, if I wanted to hunt clams, he’d buy those too. I need a boat. What I got, was an old much patched used inner-tube. I repurposed it.