Chapter 2

We went to college. College costs plenty. Where did we get the money?”

That requires a step back.

Grannie being the beauty of the 19th Century ... Grace being the beauty of the 20th ... I spent quite a lot of time in detention or under suspension because I defended Grace ... Detention includied the times I had witnesses. Some of those witnesses ended up in detention right along side of me.

“You get your story to match ours or you’ll sit here in detention until the cows come home.”

And that worked ... for awhile. Daddy was beginning to believe I was as bad as the school board said I was. I know the new Mrs. Austin believed it ... her Charles was an angel. We had a friend ... ok ... Grace had a friend ... whose parent had 16mm movie camera with one hell of a telephoto lens ... a 998mm. He happened, accidentally, to be parked in the general vicinity of the spot where 90% of the confrontations took place ... and he filmed said confrontation. The film was developed out of town and Daddy was the first viewer.

He sued ... the school ... the principal ... the school board ... the sheriff ... the chief of police ... the parents of the assailants ... several of the parents were mentioned in the body of this sentence.

When we went to court, they all lost because daddy was smart enough to have the jury trial moved to a different jurisdiction. The accused didn’t have any relatives on the jury. The jury found the defendants guilty of organized crime. The judge awarded punitive compensation.

One hundred thousand dollars combined award doesn’t sound like much ... but it was a hell of a pile in 1954 ... really good homes were in the 20 thousand range ... really good ... four and five bedroom homes. The town mansion sold for thirty-five and it was on its own block. Grace got a like sum.

Rich kids.

Daddy made us bank it. In 1954, a savings account paid five percent. We couldn’t touch the principal but the interest became our allowance. Five thousand dollars a year paid out weekly is 96 dollars and fifteen cents ... big money for a kid. Just about twice what a blue collar worker got paid.

Court awarded, the money was tax free ... and I knew who won the Derby.

Grannie had one vice ... she loved to bet the ponies.

“Grandmother?” I said.

“What do you want?” she answered.

“What makes you think I want something?” I replied.

“You only call me Grandmother when you are trying to wheedle me. It used to be cookies,” she said. “I haven’t baked for a week and don’t intend to.”

“Daddy said your family shame is horse racing.” I wasn’t asking.

“Your Dad needs to keep his mouth shut,” she said. “Ok ... What is it?”

“I’ve saved my allowance.” My allowance was the interest on the hundred grand award.

“So?” she asked. It was like a lightbulb went off in her pretty black haired head, “Oh no, I am not going to bet your allowance on a horserace.”

“The Derby,” it was a statement. “Determine wins it in two minutes three seconds.”

“Damn it, David. Don’t be telling me such tempting things.” She was quiet for just a couple of seconds ... I swear I could smell the brain grease overheating, “You’re sure?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If you’re so sure ... who comes in second?” she asked.

I closed my eyes ... like I was going into a trance ... really I was reviewing the newspapers for 1954 ... the damn things are all in my head.

I said ... in a hollow spooky voice ... very difficult because my voice hadn’t gone into puberty yet... “Determine, Hasty Road, Hasseyampa, Goyamo,” I opened my eyes.

Grannie was looking at me like, who is this kid? “You’re sure. The Superfecta?”

“What’s that?”

“All four places,” she explained, “Three places is a trifecta. With the time the Superfecta odds are about thirty-five thousand to one.”

“You mean ... a dollar win on a Super ... whatever ... wins thirty-five thousand?”

“Yes,” she said, but I could tell she was lost in the never-never land of the track; roaring crowds, flying hooves and scattered dirt. The shout of victory or the rip of the betting tickets in defeat.

“I have a hundred bucks.”

“What?” She shook herself, “Oh ... you want to bet a hundred dollars on a Derby Superfecta?”

“Yes,” I replied.

She looked at me ... hard. I could tell by the flush I had her.

“We need your Dad.” She went to the kitchen stairs and hollered down in the cellar, “Charles! I need you...”

Daddy lived weekends in his HAM shack in the basement. “CQ CQ CQ W8PSY looking around for a call.” He either ‘fisted’ that or voiced it for hours. ‘Fisted’ is HAM speak for Morse code transmissions. He even had a war surplus transmitter receiver in the bedroom.

Chapter 3 »