I think we need to pass our stories on so they last forever ... long after we are gone. In some ways, my stories are like everyone's and in other ways they are unique. They made me who I am.
Everyone who I know has had an encounter with a bully, but they choose to bury it. I've had my share. Like Murry Burke of North Weymouth, Massachusetts (I wish I had his home address so you could hiss at him). If you know Murry, send a message for me.
Everyone has moments when they rise to the occasion, like the year I was asked to choose the little girl in my 3rd grade class in St. Joseph's School in Buffalo, New York, to play the Virgin Mary in the Christmas Pageant. The 2nd grade teacher chose Joseph (the smartest kid in her class).
Someone up above inspired me. I chose a child who was mentally and physically disabled. When I announced who would be Mary in the school play, every child in my classroom applauded. That's a memory I'll carry forever.
Still, everyone has moments they feel ashamed about even decades later. Everyone's heart has been broken by a jerk or a terrible loss. Such is life.
Most children who grew up in the 1950s remember the "duck and cover" drills, but I'll bet I'm one of the few who hid in an underground tunnel during the Cuban Missile Crisis in October 1962, I hid with my classsmates and the children in my school, which was a Mediterranean-style estate built in the early 1900s as a retreat for oil executives. The estate is named El Jardin, and we always referred to it as "The House." The children in my school were ages 6-16. The tunnel connected the house to the Olympic-size swimming pool. Visit www.carrollton.org .
U.S. troops were on the streets of Miami, and Key West had barbed wire to prevent Cuban/Russian invaders. The tunnel under the school, meant a welcome break from Algebra class, but my four Cuban classmates wept in the tunnel. I had only 11 classmates.
Later, I might tell you about Father Patrick Horgan. My family befriended the priests in our parish and they used to show up on their days off. Father Horgan was Father Conway's new assistant priest at Saint Theresa's parish in Coral Gables ( Father Conway performed my wedding). In my last year of college, I came home for Christmas. Poor Father Horgan went out on a yacht called Witchcraft on December 22, 1967 http://www.bermuda-triangle.org/html/witchcraft.html to view the Christmas lights. He never returned despite a distress call to the Coast Guard. The Coast Guard showed up just 19 minutes later at buoy #7, the place the call came from, but the ship and passengers had completely disappeared. There was no wreckage — there was nothing at all.
Almost exactly one year later, my friend's cousin, Barbara, ,was buried alive for 83 hours. I met Barbara when she was a kid. Another friend of our family, Father Hanley, was a most unlikely candidate chosen to deliver the first ransom. That went awry, and some Heisman trophy winner from Miami successfully completed the second ransom drop. http://www.crimescene.com/purity/other_note.html. Barbara lived, but my friend, Nancy, a classmate from Carrollton, died May 2005. What a waste. She was one of the funniest people I ever knew — and smart — we competed in English class all the time. Sometimes I was first and just as often, she took first place. In math class, she had me beat by a mile. No kidding.
Before I forget, my husband and I were asked to carry a package from our next-door neighbor's son to Chile, where we honeymooned in 1969 (see my other stories), but my mom forgot to bring the package (which was said to contain soap and toiletries) from Miami to the wedding in Washington, D.C. The guy we were supposed to carry it for is now in prison for killing Ambassador Orlando Letelier and his assistant Mrs. Ronnie Moffit in Washington, D.C., September 21 1976. It is the only foreign-instigated assassination ever to take place in the U.S. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orlando_Letelier Actually, my husband and I apologized to the woman we were supposed to meet in Pudahuel Airport in Santiago for forgetting the package. She was lovely and said, "No problema." She gave me a pretty silver necklace with a flower charm that is a symbol of Chile. My daughter has it now.
Maybe I have too many stories ... like the story about my brother, Richard, digging Rodney, his dead rat snake, from the front planter to make a belt out of him. He heard there were people who'd pay big money for snakeskin belts. Of course Rodney had been deceased for several months. You can see "the rat snake of the month" at this site www.kingsnake.com/ratsnake Rodney could have been a contender if Richard had kept him in a proper glass container rather than a bird cage. Those bars were a piece of cake (so to speak) for Rodney. Maybe you could find a rat snake that could win "Rat Snake of the Month."
The story about attempting to create a niche market in Miami pet stores for the burrowing owls who lived just off the Miami International Airport runways is typical of my brother and his friend, Vic. The idea had limited merit. In the early 1960s, the airport had hundreds of owls free for the plucking (bad pun). Vic called all the pet stores in Miami saying he loved burrowing owls and wanted to buy as many as they had -- of course no one had any.
Richard followed up just a few minutes later to say he was a major seller of burrowing owls -- did they want to buy some? Richard and Vic planned to cover the owls' burrow holes with my mother's laundry basket and catch them when they surfaced., but Mum said, "no."
If your mother will let you use her laundry basket to trap owls, visit www.members.aol.com/pjbowen/owls.html Maybe the market in owls has picked up after the Harry Potter books.
Richard was the youngest airplane pilot in Florida as a kid. He started flying out of Tamiami airport at age 14. He paid for the flying lessons by mowing lawns. Richard grew up to be a Captain with a major U.S. airline. He still flies. He also made a little extra money on the side when he was a teenager. He worked for a local playboy pilot whose lawn he mowed. This pilot (also from a major airline) had a big yacht. He used to have weekend parties onboard with his fellow pilots and gorgeous stewardesses. To avoid property taxes, he declared himself a religious minister withsome funky name for his congregation.
He hired Richard (who was about 15 at the time) to wear a toga and serve peeled grapes to the guests. He did that until the feds caught on. Richard, by the way is 6'5". He must have looked pretty funny peeling and serving grapes. But he said the work was pretty easy.