Chapter 48

Summer was over ... We were scheduled to attend Michigan State College of Agriculture and Applied Science in two weeks.

We packed. We had much more going home than we had coming up.

Lucy Lou drove Grace's Speedster, Candy drove the Bel Air and daddy drove the Continental. The fifty sixes were now out and Grace agreed with me... 1956 was a bad styling year for Chevrolet.

Before we left, Mike Clotitier assisted me in pulling the mast of the K5. I planned on putting her in the boathouse. Until I opened the side door and the boathouse was full of boat, er, boats.

"Daddy? I hollered, "What the FUCK?"

"You are not too big to spank, young man!"

I know martial arts ... all kinds ... weird shit. Brazilian, Moro, Krav, all kinds, but, those damn buts, he's my dad.

"Yes Sir, sorry sir."

"What?"

"What is my word," I insisted, "And don't you be stealing it." I pointed at the boathouse, "It's full."

"That it is," he grinned. "My boats."

"Daddy, I paid for that ... why are your boats in there and mine is out here?"

"Where did you plan on wintering your boat?"

"At the old mill."

"What's keeping you?"

AAARRRGGGHHH ... PARENTS!!!

Mike and I motored, gingerly, to the mill basin and ... Oh ... gingerly? because the mast was resting on the cabin top and I'd hate to lose it ... The mill hauled us out, built a nice cradle, winterized all the plumbing, pumped, cleaned and pickled the engine. The owner patted my back as I wrote out a big check. Haul, winterize, launch and re-rig was spendy.

"Don't cry, David. She'll be ready for you in April," he said.

"May," I replied.

"April, last one in, first one out."

"Leave her on the hard?"

"It'll cost more."

"Take her down to our pier?"

He sighed and nodded.

I signed the check and he ripped it out of my hand.

Next year, 1956, end of summer was going to be BIG BUCKS. Next year, K5 would be in Detroit.

We convoyed all the way home. My dad has a bumper-sticker on the tail of the Continental. I'm Not Lost. I'm Exploring. Before we left Pentwater he took out his MAP. Years ago he had stuck a pin at Pentwater and one at Saint Johns and ran a straight pencil line between the towns.

"Find the shortest distance between those two points," he told Vera.

It's about 120 degrees south of north. If you're that curious ... look it up.

You are Lazy!

Leave Pentwater heading east, it's 31. Turn right onto N Oceana Dr., it's 31. Continue onto N State St., also 31. Continue onto S Oceana Dr. still 31. Turn left onto M-20 E. Turn right onto M-37 S. Turn left onto M-82 E. Turn right onto Cypress Ave. Slight left onto 22 Mile Rd NE. Take the 1st right onto Algoma Ave NE. Turn left onto 14 Mile Rd NE. Turn right onto Lincoln Lake Ave NE. Turn left onto M-44 E. South to M-21. Left to Saint Johns. Home.

Hey! It's my dad. It's very scenic ... pretty. There's not a lot of traffic. No town is larger than five thousand people. The gas is cheaper. Most importantly ... it's my weird dad.

We slept.

Monday morning we unloaded cars.

While Lucy Lou complained about biology experiments in the Fridge and the still existing drip in the sink, Grace and I washed clothes, serviced bicycles, aired musty sheets, read three months of mail and laughed about the immediate attention required notices. The first one was the day after we left for the lake. A church DEMANDING a tenth of all our deposits. I handed it to my Lawyer. He charged me a buck to read it.

"David," daddy said, "It's a church ... they can forecast all sorts of dire circumstances and it's not illegal. I do admit I like the part about your babies dying if you don't." He gave me the Groucho look.

Mike called at 9pm. The boat was secure.

Tuesday we went to speak with the College ... East Lansing. We had already bought a shack ... right on the eventual right of way for Ranny Park.

The land was more or less a jungle between Morgan and Glenmoor and ran all the way from E.Michigan to Saginaw. The trustees for the estate had sold the land to the west for a shopping center. Eventually, the money went to pay the trustees 'fees'.

The jungle was a block wide and about a mile deep. There isn't much call for a jungle in that neighborhood so it was cheap. The shack was expected to be torn down.

The house? Just a dump, 12 bedrooms, 14 baths, parlor, great room, three stories, plus basement and dungeon ... everything expected of a Victorian mansion. In the 1880's it was a major mansion but it had been vacant since 1943 when the last survivor was shot down over Rabaul. He was Missing In Action, Presumed Dead ... MIA-PD.

The MIA-PD was a War Department catch-all. The WD had seven years before they to pay up on his insurance unless he could be declared. Not that it mattered ... he had no survivors.

Eleven years hadn't been kind to what was once a showplace. The first batch of fraternity brothers that invaded our home were positive that the ghosts were part of the hazing ... until the hazers started running out of the place. Grace on my shoulders and covered with a hooded cape makes a fine ghost. I have to admit it was fun.

The cops showed up because the frats complained. The house was neither in Lansing nor East Lansing. Discharging a firearm in the city was illegal but we weren't. We were a special case. We were out in the County surrounded by the City. The next bunch of kids were welcomed with rocksalt. The police were summoned and refused to enter the County. The Sheriff asked the frats why they were trespassing. We were instructed to make sure the dead were in the house. The college kids got the idea the house was occupied.

We put just enough into the place to keep it from being condemned. Grace went out and hired a raft and a half of wetbacks and they spiffed and mowed and pruned and like that, so the grounds approached their former glory. A block wide and finally free of poison ivy and oak. They also fixed shutters, and windows, and doors, and roof, and cooked, and cleaned, and chauffeured and it only cost us ten five for two years ... plus food and they bought what they liked ... beans, out of date beef, flour- corn and wheat, chili peppers and seeds ... and beer.