Chapter 7

My first time through, we weren't poor. Daddy was the County Prosecutor for a few terms ... until the big Mink trial. He didn't get reelected the term before the trial ... I don't even remember if he ran. Anyway, he was in private practice when this particular opportunity presented itself.

In 1950, a local mink rancher bought a product from a really big chemical company and was guaranteed the product wouldn't harm the mink but it would kill the particular mite the mink had.

Mink coats were a status symbol at the time ... even a stole meant prestige and power. A full length coat cost thousands.

This mink rancher was well established and raised high quality animals ... he had contracts to supply pelts to several big name furriers ... furriers who advertised in places like The New Yorker magazine and Vogue. At the time the rancher was one of the richest people in the state.

The chemical was applied exactly as recommended. There were no shortcuts taken and the company required applicators were used.

Every mink died.

There was worse to come.

The poison didn't go away. It permeated the wood the buildings were built of. It ruined the land and polluted the water ... for years.

He sued.

He came to dad's office, "Charles, I have no money ... not a red cent. That company ruined me in ways you can't possibly imagine. My reputation is shot ... my land is quarantined. The state is suing me for the fish the chemical killed. I need help."

"I want twenty percent ... I'll take the case."

We spent a year at the State Law Library looking up case law and responsibilities. The company was nation wide and their lawyers tried every trick and ploy to delay, extend and dismiss.

Men were caught trying to destroy the evidence.

It took five years and a newly appointed District Judge before the company ran out of delays.

Finally, the District Court Judge had had it. In 1955 the case came to trial. A jury trial ... a local jury. The chemical company lost. The jury awarded the rancher millions ... at the time it was the largest monetary award in state history. Absolutely Huge award and tax free.

Daddy got a bonus.

One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars over and above the twenty percent. I know about the one twenty-five because he put it in a paper bag and sent me to the bank with it. Hr used to do it with all his big deposits. Who would suspect a kid?

I never found out how much his 20% was ... he didn't tell me. Mom got a new floor length mink coat ... daddy got a new office.

No, we weren't poor. But we weren't filthy rich. Daddy didn't retire but he started dressing MUCH better. And his practice improved beyond belief.

Then I got 'renewed' and made that bet. I may not have won more than daddy earned from that trial but I spent more.

So, in 1955 my sister and I were brand new Juniors ... from the Seventh grade to the Eleventh grade in one fell swoop.

While the house in the country was being built, I ran, swam, lifted weights, taught my sister T'ai chi ch'uan and self defense holds, throws and lethality ... all things I had learned in my latest ... and eighth life. Grace had the potential to be the most lethal girl in school.

It would come in handy.

For as long as I can remember, school always started on the 7th of September ... unless the seventh was a Saturday or a Sunday. Then it started on the following Monday. A student had to be five before the 7th to enroll in kindergarten. In my first life, Charlie was born on the 6th of September so he was the youngest person in his class. By the time I was a freshman Charlie was a Junior. He had friends who were Juniors and they never let me forget it.

This life Chuck was younger ... ain't revenge great?

It's not called hazing and it's not bullying in 1955 ... it's a fact of life. And there were immediate attempts to make our lives miserable. Regardless of our Junior class status, we were 'newbies'. Worse ... we were just kids ... and Grace was a beauty. There wasn't a single soul in high school who knew we were townies ... nobody pays attention to seventh graders.