The Yesteryears
I still go back to that day. Which If I’ve been countin’ right, was exactly fifty-one years ago. Now I’m layin’ in my hospital bed…IV in arm, nurse by my side… unable to speak, think…or move. So how I perceive it: I’m hangin’ on to life by a thread. So I feel the need to share my story, before it’s too late. And in order to do that, I need to go back in time. Back to…the yesteryears.
I grew up in Arkansas. Dedroy to be exact. A little town 45 miles west of Little Rock. I think I counted 724 people, plus Mr. and Mrs. Parkin’s to baby. Phil. But what I think; a mighty fine place to grow up. You get a sense of security, closeness. Only found in little towns. Virtually no crime, the worst thing that happened I think was when I hit ’bout 17.
You see, I was a country boy at heart. Lovin’ to roam the wilderness and discover new things. Always was, always will be. It’s engraved in my heart. I was a good boy too, never went disrespectin’ my momma. Too smart for that, learned from experience too.
Well I remember one day, when I was around the age of seven, just startin’ kindergarten. (I was the baby of the family, out of about seven kids. If I recall, four girls and three boys. Rose16, Paul, 14, Elise, 13, Anna, 11, Henry, 9, Berty, 9, and there was me, John Hamilton, who was a mighty seven.)
Well back to the story. Me and Henry were wrestlin’ out by the barn one day. It was spring, and momma had just fed the cows. So they were quiet n’ content. Henry stopped wrestlin’.
"Hey Johnny Boy, dare ya to scare the cows. If ya do, I’ll let you into my secret club!"
Being seven and not knowing any better, I said: "how?"
"How? You ask? Well my friend George let me borrow his thing where you press the button and it makes a loud noise!" He threw me the can and I picked it up.
"But you have to be real quiet so they don’t hear you!" "You sure?" I asked taking off my shoes. Henry nodded. I tiptoed up to the barn. I could hear my papa whistlen’ some old song. He was in there layin’ hay. I didn’t care though. And that attitude started right then and there, thanks Henry. Anyways, I loved that feeling; the sense of danger and not caring. It had adrenalin to it.
I quietly hit the button and to my unluckiness, it got stuck. My papa, and he still wouldn’t admit it even before he died, shrieked like a little girl, "AYYYEEEEEEE!!!." The bale of hay fell with a thud onto his right foot. I think that the metal part of the bale hit it, and the worst part; he wasn’t wearin’ any shoes.
I knew I would be in trouble. So I ran. I didn’t know where until I hit the ravine. Then I ran left and into the "hideout." A place me and my friend Jerry made up.
It was a little cave with a dirt floor, which we used to being our toy trucks into. It’s about a mile from home, but somehow Elise musta found it. She startled me to pieces. Then she took my hand and we walked home, real slow.
I gotta switchin’ that day. A bad one, at that. My bottom was as red as a tomatoe after Momma’s finishin’. And I can tell you two things: One, it hurt for ’bout two months. Two, I never went disrepectin my family like that ever since.
Growin’ up the Hard Way
I’m gonna stop my story for a bit. My time to eat. What is hospital food anyways? Ah to hell with it. I’m gonna eat it anyways.
My family still visits me. I guess what’s left of ‘em. Parents ‘er dead. Paul, like wise. Fishin’ accident. Wasn’t pretty. But I still miss them, everyday. Now back to my story.
Growin’ up, I grew up the hard way.Tough love, my parents called it. My marks had to be all A’s. No hang-outs with friends, and no girlfriends either. But one thing I could always do, which I thought was the weirdest thing, was drink. They never stopped me. In fact, they bought me a 12 pack of beer for my 13th birthday. "There you go son! Enjoy." Is what they said. I liked it, it made me feel free. And it made me do dumb stuff. Like jump off of houses. Sure it gave me a broken leg, but it made me a legend. I wasn’t allowed to drive either, not ’till I was eighteen. And school activites were banned. Tough love? Naw..Tight asses? You bet.
But as I told you before, I loved to get into trouble. I couldn’t get enough of it. I started off little at first. You know, hiding teacher’s belongings, coloring the milk green, scaring the chickens. That kinda stuff. But it was the same punishment every time: switchings. That’s all. I wanted something different, as weird as it sounds. It got so bad, in fact, that I decided to rob the local grocery store.
I got caught of course, and arrested. Jail was a scary thing. The inmates looked you up and down, like they were gonna kill you. I missed my Momma everyday…:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Troublemaker.
I had been fixing cars for awhile as my first job, so I went to work that day ready to fix. When I short stubby man brought in a ‘45 Cadillac Deville. A rare one, all he wanted was an oil change. He appeared to be Italian, walking around in a black and white pinstripe suit with a fedora. Well you don’t see that around Arkansas very often.
"Ey kid, weren’t you the one who held up that uh..grocery store?" I got up,"Yeah, that’s me. Love the feeling of danger.Just got outta the clink, four straight days."
"Bahahaha!!" The stubby man did a hearty belly bouncing laugh,"how old are ya, kid?" I got down to inspect the wheels. "Seventeen, sir."
"I see…" he replied stroking his un shaven chin. "Hey, well uh..there’s this "group" I’m in. Called the bles Brothers. We don’[t fight crime, we make it." He put his hands in his pockets.
I nodded.
"But there’s a catch: If you join this.."group," shall we call it, you have to move your ass to New York City. But uh..living accommodations are provided if you do what yer supposed to do. Got it? Are we clear?"
I sat there and thought. I didn’t want to leave my family. But there was only one shot for me to make something of myself. To get known.
"You go yourself a deal..Mr..uh…" I trailed off.
"Valentine, Ricky Valentine. Please to meet you!" He stuck out his hand.
I shook it. "John Hamilton."
"I know." He smiled.
I stopped. I didn’t ask."
The Crime Life
So I left Arkansas on January 11th, 1954. By that time, I had hit my 18th birthday.
I boarded a plane heading to New York City. I felt ready, but I didn’t know why. And perhaps a little uneasiness?
You see, I never imagined myself to commit crimes as a living. In fact, when I was younger, I had decided proudly ro be a Pilot. But since my family was brought up with no money, it never happened.
"Oh don’t worry kid, you’ll be makin’ hundreds." Ricky told me coming back from the NYC airport.
I gave him a faint smile, "Great…."
Two hours later we arrived in the actual New York City. Assumably Manhattan. It was new to me, and I thought it was amazing. The skyscrapers towered over the miniscule looking streets, in comparison to the tiny ant-looking people. The people were bustling from one place to another, carrying purses and briefcases, in long trench coats that made them look professional. And there was a store around every corner. We stopped at this tall building. It was old, but antique. A cream color engraved with bronze statues and lettering: BANK OF EBONY. I wonder what the Ebony stood for. Oh well.
"Stay here." Ricky ordered. I did.
He got out and went inside…:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Two minutes later I heard police sirens. Ricky came dashing out with two bags in his hands. "Hit the gas! Hit the gas!" He screamed, diving into the passenger seat and almost knocking me out. I jumped to the driver’s seat and jammed the key into the ignition, then slammed my foot on the petal as the car jerked into drive. "Turn left! TURN!" he screamed pointing to an alley way. I did so and the tires squealed and we hooked into the empty alley, and finally, the car stopped…:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
We held our breath as the sirens flew by.
"Gee kid! That was a close one! Good job!"
"I looked over at him," But I didn’t even do anything…"
"Well John, welcome to the world of crime! Guess what you are?"
"What?"
He eyed me and smiled," An accomplice. You just helped."
Then, he opened up the bag, and inside was mounds of money.
"I thought that’s where we were going to live…" I trailed off and looked at my shoes.
"Oh HEAVENS no! What, do you think I’m made of money or somethin’?
I nodded slowly.
"Go straight onto Main, then East on Blvd. CA1213. Then take a right by Wong’s Chinese Palace."
I took the directions automatically. There was an awkward silence. Then Ricky opened the bag up again and I looked down.
" See John, you helped me rob the bank. And if you tell, you’re gonna die."
We arrived at this dingy looking neighborhood. The streets were filthy and littered…:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Some kids were playing kick the can on an empty basketball court. We drove by some run down buildings with broken windows in ‘em.
Ricky pulled up at what used to be white house that was now a faded brown.
"Hey! It’s Uncle Ricky!" One of the kids yelled. A flock of kids surrounded him and starting firing him different questions.
. "Ey kids! He gave them all a hug. Where’s my Frankie?" He searched through the crowd. "Ahaa!" There you are!" He picked up Frankie, who was basically identical to him, and kissed his cheek, "Ya miss me, squirt?" ..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Frankie giggled then squirmed free and ran.
Just then a plump lady in an apron stepped out. She was quite pretty. But I assumed it was his wife.
"Marcella!" He ran up to her and gave her a hug. "She thumped him in the chest with the trash bag she was holding." I thought I told you to take this out!" He stepped back," I was going to hunny! But you see, there was traffic, and I woke up late and—" "Don’t talk, just walk." She cut him off and handed him the trash bag.
To be continued…
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