The Crackhead and the Lawnmower

April 24th, 2016

Hans was telling about how, when he was living in the old Texas farmhouse with Tom, they had problems with theft. There was a local druggie who would rip stuff off to support his habit.

Hans said, “There was this crackhead who kept taking things. This idiot came up to the front door one day, trying to sell me back the lawnmower that he just stole from us. I recognized the mower because I had just bought brand new.”

“So what did you do?” I asked.

“I showed him my gun, and I told him, ‘You get off this property. Leave the lawnmower.’.”

“Did that take care of the problem?”

“Not really. He came back one night. We heard him in the yard. Tom and I fired a few shots.”

“Did you get him?”

“No. We never heard a scream or found a body. We talked to the police about it. The cop said we would be within our rights to shoot him. Then the cop said, ‘We won’t shed a tear.’.”

Bill

April 24th, 2016

 

Hans took me to see Bill, his friend who owns a Harley repair shop in Bryan. Hans hangs out with Bill when he’s bored, which is often recently. Bill has a long, grey beard (not as long as mine), and numerous earrings. He’s in his late forties. Hans introduced him to me, and we talked.

 

Bill asked me right away, “So, what music do you like?”

 

I told him, “Well, I like a lot of different stuff. Blues and punk rock.”

 

He grinned, “You like punk?”

 

“Yeah. I know a band called ‘The Dead Morticians’. They’ve played at my house.”

 

“No shit? I play bass with ‘Street Pizza’. Wanna see a video?”

 

I said, “Sure.” Hans smiled.

 

Bill found a You Tube video of Street Pizza playing in some dive, the crowd good and rowdy. Bill could be seen playing bass in the background, while the singer gave the audience the standard, deep-in-the-throat, satanic vocals. It was sweet. Then Bill told us a story of how he took care of the Ramones when they played in Bryan. Apparently, it was a blast. At the end of the story, he sighed and said, “I can die now.”

 

Hans and Bill talked about bikes. Hans is going to get another Harley somehow. He needs one. For real. Riding helps Hans with his PTSD. He needs to get a new ride. Bill is looking for an inexpensive bike for Hans. He knows about Hans’ currently precarious financial situation. It will happen.

 

Bill had to get back to work. A guy from Homeland Security wanted to order a custom-made drink holder for his bike. Bill took care of him. Hans and I left.

 

 

Redneck Values

April 24th, 2016

 

Out of the blue, Hans said, “Dad, you taught me the value of hard work.”

 

I had no ready response, so I let Hans keep talking.

 

“Yeah, I learned that you have to work to get what you want in life. That’s why I don’t like it when these politicians (e.g. Bernie) promise free stuff to people who haven’t earned it.”

 

Someone suggested to Hans that free college wasn’t really a bad idea. Hans responded by saying, “There has always been a way for young people to get the government to pay for college. It’s called: ‘Join the Army’. That’s what I did.”

 

That’s what I did too. Hans knows that there is no such thing as a free ride. He’s been learning that the hard way during the last eight or nine years of his life. He finds it inexplicable that other people don’t see that.

 

It’s not that Hans isn’t generous. He is. A while ago, when he was making the big money in the oil fields during the boom times, one of his combat vet buddies ran into trouble. The guy’s car broke down and he couldn’t afford to fix or replace it. Hans loaned his comrade $5000 to get a car. I think that it was really more a gift than a loan, but I suspect that Hans called it a loan so as to not hurt the pride of his friend. Hans is willing to help somebody in need, assuming he perceives that the person is trying to help himself.

 

Hans is fiercely loyal. He won’t turn his back on other people. He expects the same behavior from those around him. He is sometimes disappointed, but Hans has friends who really are friends. They can depend on each other.

 

Hans and his companions are an independent lot. They don’t want much from the government other than the government leave them alone. They are patriotic in a traditional way, and if there is any part of the government that they respect, it’s the military. Also, don’t mess with their guns. Don’t even think about it.

 

It could be argued that Hans doesn’t get the whole picture. He doesn’t. Nobody does. I find it interesting that Hans gets his news from the BBC. He watches the BBC because they are relatively unbiased with regards to American politics. He just gets annoyed when they keep reporting on boring stuff in the UK.

 

Hans got wound up about government give-aways and started ranting, “I don’t see why the politicians want to give stuff to people who just want to sit on their front porch and drink beer at nine in the morning.”

 

I asked him, “So, you never drank beer on somebody’s front porch at nine in the morning?”

 

Hans laughed, “Well, yeah, I did. But that was out in the country…where nobody could see me.”

 

“Ahhhh…”

 

Hans sighed, “I don’t care who wins this election, as long as it’s not Bernie or Hillary.”

 

Well, that narrows it down.

 

 

Oil Field Jim

April 24th, 2016

 

Hans took me out to the country to meet his old boss, Jim. Jim had been Hans’ engineer in the oil fields. Jim had been working in oil fields ever since he graduated from Texas A&M, almost forty years ago. Oil was all he knew. Then Pioneer fired him when they fired Hans. Since then, Jim has been looking for a new job, but there isn’t any more work with oil.

 

We drove up to Jim’s house. Jim came to greet us. He’s a small, stocky man with blond hair turning white. He has a sunburned face and bright blue eyes. He shook my hand. I told him that I was Hans’ father.

 

Jim said, “Well, I knew that. Hans told me y’all were coming over.”

 

We stood next to Jim’s pick up truck, leaning on its side. Hans lit up a Pall Mall. Jim’s little puppy came near us, closely followed by Brenda, Jim’s girlfriend, and Brenda’s granddaughter, Turquoise.

 

I asked Jim how the job hunt was going.

 

Jim looked a bit lost. He finally said, “Well, I hooked up with this satellite dish company, to do work for them. They wouldn’t even pay for the training. Me and the guy I worked with, why, we didn’t do no more than two installations a day. That ain’t enough time to learn how to do the work. After a week, I called the boss, and I told him this contract work just wasn’t for me. He told me to give it more time. I can’t give it more time if I ain’t getting paid.”

 

Then he asked me, “So, Sir, what work you doing?”

 

I told Jim that I was retired.

 

Jim thought for a moment, and then he said, “Retired. That must be a fine thing.”

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

Jim said, “Well, Sir, if I can just hang on for another year or so, until oil gets back up, then maybe somebody will hire an old fart like me.”

 

Jim asked if I had been in the Army like Hans. I told him that I had been, but back in the Cold War.

 

I asked Hans if we should move on. He nodded.

 

I told Jim we were leaving. He shook my hand again, and he said, ” Sir, I just want you to know that Hans here is a fine young man. I’m proud to know him.  And thank you for your service.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Hans and I got in his truck and left. Hans slept at Jim’s house that night.

 

Gut Shot

April 24th, 2017

 

Karin and my sister-in-law went out one night for a Scripture study with some other women. Shawn’s study group is called the “Pontifical Biblical Institute of the Holy Hippie Sisterhood”. While Karin and Shawn were having coffee and conversation, Hans and I wandered off to the Brauhaus of Bryan. It’s kind of German restaurant/bar. We ordered a couple Pschorrbraus, and sat around talking.

 

Hans said, “If I get hit by a bullet, I just hope it’s not a gut shot.”

 

“Why?”

 

“They’re bad. Really bad.”

 

“Hans, how do you know this?”

 

Hans thought for a minute, and then he said, “Well, when we were in Iraq, an Iraqi got shot in the gut. We patched him up as best we could until the ambulance came. Two days later we found out that the Iraqi was dead, and that he had suffered agonizing pain the entire time.”

 

Hans went on, “Yeah, a shot to the head or the chest. That would be okay. Even a groin shot. You bleed out quick from one of those. I know that.”

 

I didn’t ask Hans how he knew that.

 

Flying Pigs

April 24th, 2016

 

I asked Hans if he had heard about the guy in Georgia who had filled up a riding mower with Tannerite, and then blown it up with a rifle bullet. The shrapnel from the explosion had taken the man’s leg off.

 

Hans shook his head and said, “That guy was an idiot.”

 

I asked Hans, “Have you ever used Tannerite to blow up things?”

 

He said, “Yeah, but now the government won’t let you buy the explosive in bulk. It takes a while to get enough to make a boom.”

 

“What did you blow up?”

 

“Well, me and a friend went hunting feral hogs. We filled up a metal drum with Tannerite. We lured in went the pigs with sweet corn, and then we shot at the barrel with a rifle. But, we took cover behind the pick up truck. We weren’t out in the open.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“The barrel blew up. I went looking for the hogs. They were all over the place. There was one fifty feet away.”

 

Hans thought for a moment, and said, “Yeah, it was kind of a mess.”

Wall to Wall Counseling

April 24th, 2016

 

Karin, Hans, and I were at my sister-in-law’s apartment, hanging out. Shawn’s phone rang, and she said to the caller,

 

“Yeah, we’re all here. I’m working on my blog, and Karin is knitting. Hans and Frank…well, they’re talking about blowing stuff up.”

 

Hans and I finished talking about things that go boom, and then Hans mentioned about how he used to kick in doors and clear out buildings while he was in Iraq.

 

“Yeah, Dad, it was dark and I was the first guy going into the room. The next guy tossed in a flash grenade, but didn’t tell anybody that he was going to do that. The flashbang went off, and I couldn’t see or hear anything. I was yelling at the top of my lungs because I couldn’t even hear my own voice. I took off the NVG’s (night vision goggles), but all I could see were green spots.”

 

“I bet he pissed you off,” I told Hans.

 

“Yeah, but we worked it out later. We had some ‘wall to wall counseling’.”

 

“Uh, what’s that?”

 

“That’s when two guys go into an empty room, and resolve their issues in there.”

 

“Ahhhhhh…I see.”

 

“The bad part is now the Army says we can’t do that. I guess that ‘he fell down the steps’ isn’t a good enough answer any more.”

 

“Did you ever fall down the steps?”

 

Hans looked at me and said, “Once.”

 

There was a pause and then Hans said, “A pillow case with a few soap bars in it worked the best. The guy might get a few bruised ribs, but that’s it. I never went for the face.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Hans stared at me and said, “Because a face shot brings up questions that nobody wants to answer.”

 

“Oh.”

 

How Much?

April 24th, 2016

 

Hans was talking to us about the house fire. He showed us a picture of the ruin that used to be his Harley. Hans told me that the motor melted in the heat of the blaze. He started mentioning other things that he had lost. Hans had no renters insurance, so what he lost really is lost.

 

Hans said, “What hurts is losing those guns and all that ammo.”

 

I asked Hans, “So, how much ammo did you have in the house?”

 

Hans replied, “About twenty thousand rounds.”

 

“How much?!”

 

“Twenty thousand rounds.”

 

“Twenty THOUSAND rounds?!”

 

Hans looked at me like I was either deaf or stupid, and said, “Yes, twenty thousand rounds. Why?”

 

“And you needed that much ammo for what?”

 

“Well, it wasn’t for something stupid, like a zombie apocalypse. It was for martial law.”

 

“You’re expecting martial law?”

 

Hans smiled and said, “You never know.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Wanna Go Shooting?

April 24th, 2016

 

The day that Karin and I arrived in Texas, Hans asked me if I wanted to go out to the country and shoot with his friends. Karin heard him, and she asked if she could come along with us. Hans frowned and said, “Well, I guess you could, but I don’t know what you would do there.” Karin suggested that she could take her knitting along. Hans sighed deeply. Then Karin took the hint, and said, “It’s okay. You two just go and have fun”, and she gave Hans a motherly smile. He just shook his head.

 

The next morning Hans drove up to get me in his Dodge Ram 2500 Heavy Duty Cummins Turbo Diesel with the extended cab and the eight-foot-long bed. Hans usually needs two attempts to get the truck into a parking space. It’s a nice vehicle, except that Hans can’t open the tailgate any more, ever since he backed into that big stump in his buddy’s front yard. Hans bent the hell out of the rear bumper, and he hasn’t had the time or money to replace it. He did put an “Iraqi Vet” sticker on it. I climbed into the cab with him, and shoved aside the empty Pall Mall packs and Monster cans.

 

Hans told me that we needed to stop and buy some ammunition. What that really meant is that needed to buy some ammunition. So, we went to Gander Mountain to get some shotgun shells, and some .45 Long Colt ammo for his revolver, “The Judge”. It was breath-taking for me to realize how expensive ammunition is. Shooting a weapon is not cheap. Not at all.

 

Hans drove us out to his friend’s farm (Philip raises cattle) near Iola. The other guys were already there. A couple trucks were parked under a tree near Philip’s trailer house. Boston, aka Jim, had the bed of his pickup full of weapons, literally. Philip and his father, Lenny, also had their various firearms with them. There was a card table under the tree covered with boxes of ammo, all kinds. Boston went out in the field and set up some targets. He placed treated wooden boards (4″ X 12″ X 12″) at varying distances: 100 yards, 50 years, and 20 yards away. To prop up the nearest wooden target, Boston placed an old tire on a metal rim behind the wood. Hans got his shotguns and his handguns out of the Dodge.

 

I lost track of exactly what we all had for firearms. I know that we had Hans’ 1911 45 pistol (special ops edition), and The Judge. Hans also had his Mossberg 853 over-under shotgun, and his side-by-side. Let’s see: for handguns we had a 357 mag, a 44 magnum, and a 9mm. For longer range, we had a .22 rifle with a scope, 17mm bolt action rifle, an AR-15 assault rifle (with a forty round banana clip, and an AK-47. Philip had a couple other shotguns, and I think there were a few other miscellaneous pieces.

 

Since I was the new kid, everybody there wanted me to try out their favorite gun. Lenny came up to me and showed me his 454 “Raging Bull”. He asked me if I wanted to fire it.Then he opened the chamber and showed me one of the rounds. He said, “I want you to know what you are getting into here”, as he smiled.

 

Now, the Raging Bull is an absurdly large revolver. It is almost a parody of what Dirty Harry carried. The rounds are huge. Lenny handed me the weapon, and I lifted it up and balanced it with both hands.

 

Lenny said, “You’all might want to cock the hammer back. The trigger pulls hard.” I pulled the hammer back, and sighted the gun on the nearest target.

 

Lenny grinned and told me, “It’s got a bit of a kick.”

 

I took a deep breath, and pulled slowly on the trigger…

 

I went completely deaf for the next five minutes. That was a bit disturbing. On the other hand, I was relieved to know that I hadn’t broken my wrist when I fired off the shot and the pistol kicked back. I shakily handed the gun back to Lenny. He smiled and said, “Let me give her a try.”  He popped off another round at the same target. I bet it was loud when he fired, but I couldn’t tell.

 

Philip walked over to the target. He said, “Yeah, both shots hit the wood. One of them went all the way through the wood, and the tire, and the rim.”

 

We took turns firing for the next couple hours. Philip tossed up some skeet for us to shoot. Hans hit all the clay pigeons, five out of five. Hans is remarkably competent with weapons of all sorts. That’s not a big surprise really. It was his profession.

 

I liked shooting the AR-15. It’s essentially just a civilian version of an M-16, except that you can’t fire it in a fully automatic mode. I have been informed that it is possible to fix that particular problem. When I shot it, it made me remember things. I hadn’t fired one for almost forty years, and the smell of the gunpowder and the tinkle of the brass shell casings reminded me of times long past. I managed to hit a few things, and that felt satisfying.

 

Philip asked me if I wanted a beer. I told him that maybe we should wait until we put all the guns away. Boston laughed and said, “Hell, Frank, you’re in Texas now. We don’t have stop shooting before we have a beer!” I waited.

 

We shot until Philip and Lenny had to get ready to go to a wedding. Then everybody packed up their guns and ammo. We left Philip’s dirt driveway covered with brass. He didn’t mind. I enjoyed meeting Hans’ friends and I told him so. We had fun.

 

 

Bly Mountain

June 4th, 2017

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Blaze, Maire, and Jonathan. The Holy Families. Every family is a holy family. Every family struggles mightily with God and with men. The problem, at least for Catholics, is that most families cannot compete with The Holy Family, the model family in which two members never committed a sin. The bar is set too high. We might do better to compare ourselves to the families of the Old Testament, the families of the patriarchs. Those were real families. The Holy Family is an image of what we wish we could be. The families in Genesis are examples of who we are.

Karin and I wanted to see Maire and Jonathan, and, of course, their baby boy, Blaze. Maire is our niece. The visit to this family was the high water mark of our trip. After seeing Blaze and Jon and Maire, Karin and I were going to head home. We would venture no further than Bly Mountain. This place would be the last place we would explore on the outward part of the journey. We had toyed with the idea of going further, to Seattle maybe. That didn’t happen. For us, Bly Mountain was the end of the world.

We went to Bly Mountain after spending a weekend with the Trappists at New Clairvaux. We spent most of that Monday driving north through Red Bluff, Redding, and Weed. Mount Shasta loomed near us for most of the ride. Once in Oregon, we headed generally in the direction of Klamath Falls. Klamath Falls is still quite a distance from the home of Jon and Maire. The nearest community to them is Bonanza; a cluster of buildings that house people willing to sell you the basic necessities at inflated prices.

As usual, the GPS got us close. On our trip we tended to visit people and places that didn’t seem to have exact locations. Maire had told us that they lived on a country road in the mountains. Their road was to be the third barely passable, deeply rutted, dirt road that we attempted with the Corolla. We made it to Maire’s home, but it was a challenge.

Jon and Maire own a chunk of land on the mountain.  It has towering ponderosa pines and manzanita growing on it. Rocks grow there too. And weed. Don’t forget about the weed. Weed is important to this story.

Maire, Jon, and Blaze live in campers. I think they own five vehicles, one of which actually runs.  They have no running water. They rent a porta potty. They heat and cook with propane. They run a generator for occasional electricity use. To say that they have a simple lifestyle would be a gross understatement.

I don’t know what they do with their garbage. In other places, such as Texas, they might burn it. However, parts of Oregon, like California, have a very dry climate, and I am pretty sure that any open fire would be a cause of concern for the neighbors.

A young man, named Earl, lives on the property with Maire and Jonathan. I’m not sure what he does. All I know is that he is there.

When we arrived, Maire greeted us. Jon and Earl were inside one of the campers watching old episodes of Sanford and Son. That seemed oddly appropriate. Jon and Maire live with chaos. To me, everything on the land looked to be in a state of utter disarray. I’m the kind of person who compulsively picks up things to put them away. Jon and Maire’s home induced in me a kind of sensory overload. I couldn’t imagine where I would even start.

Maire brought out Blaze. Blaze is several months old, not quite ready to crawl. He’s a good-looking young man, and he seems to be a happy baby. Maire obviously loves the little boy, and she takes good care of him. Blaze was clean and well-fed and willing to be held by Karin. Some people say that Blaze looks a little like Hans did when he was a baby. Some say that he looks like Jonathan. I think he looks like Blaze.

Jon and Maire gave us a tour of the property. The land slopes sharply downward from the dirt road. There is a creek bed which was dry when we saw it. Jon had attempted to build a foundation for a greenhouse a ways up from the stream bed. His choice of location was unfortunate because the foundation flooded out during the spring snow melt. They will have to move the cinder blocks and find a place higher up the hill. Jon and Earl had built some rough steps into the hillside. They looked good, and I am sure they are quite useful.

A friend of Jonathan’s showed up. Jon and the other man tried to start up Maire’s car. That didn’t work, but at least Jonathan discovered what the problem with the car was. Then Karin and I sat with Jon and Maire under an awning next to one of the campers. Jon’s friend was with us for a while. Maire wanted to offer Karin some water, but they were out of drinking water. Jonathan found me a Coke.  As the conversation went on, we found out that Jonathan and Maire were also out of propane and a number of other items, including money.

They do have marijuana. Jon passed around a pipe while we were sitting together. Karin and I declined to take a hit. Jon’s friend took a puff, as did Jon and Maire. Jon and Maire don’t drink, but weed is definitely part of their lives. They have twelve plants, enough for personal use and to sell a bit on the side. Their neighbors have a rather large greenhouse full of plants. From what I could gather, everybody on the mountain is a grower.

Somehow, the folks on the mountain remind me of the moonshiners in the Appalachians. There is that backwoods feel to the place. There is also a distrust of outsiders. As Maire noted, there is the danger of strangers stealing plants, and there is a desire on the part of the residents to keep local law enforcement at a respectful distance. People are encouraged to grow weed discreetly. Maire also mentioned that everybody on the mountain has dogs and/or guns. There is a definite hillbilly vibe on the mountain. The local economy seems to be based on barter to a certain extent, weed being an acceptable form of currency.

Maire spends her days caring for Blaze. Jonathan works part time fixing machines for the locals. He works on a “cash only” basis. For a variety of reasons, Jon prefers to stay under the radar. Jon has a plans for the future, like eventually buying a backhoe. For the present, this holy family is dirt poor and likely to stay that way. That’s just how things are.

Maire remarked that Blaze will probably grow up like Mowgli, the character in The Jungle Book. She might not be far off the mark. Blaze will have an unconventional childhood. He won’t be raised by wolves, but they do have five dogs. Blaze definitely won’t experience the standard middle class upbringing.

Maire was happy to see us. She is a lonely young woman. Often she is alone with Blaze. Jon goes off to work on projects, and Maire is there by herself with Blaze. Both Jon and Maire are Texans. They are in exile, basically. I think that they would like to move back to Texas, but that is not a viable option, not now. Maire longs to see her family, and the geographical distance makes it difficult for that to happen.

We talked about Maire’s father. Marc was my younger brother. He died in 1998 in a car wreck, when Maire was only five years old. She remembers the day Marc died. It’s been almost twenty years since Marc left her life, and Karin and I are the links between Maire and her dad. So, it was important for us to be with her. Marc’s middle name was Blaise, and that explains the baby’s name. I told some stories about Marc. I am sure that Maire had heard them all before. It doesn’t matter. Some things are worth repeating.

We decided to make a trip into town. We packed everybody, except Jon and Earl, into the Toyota, and we went down the mountain to Bonanza. We stopped to buy propane and water. We got some Coke, and a pack of smokes for Jon. I got a six pack of Deschutes beer. It’s made in Bend, which is only a couple hours away. We stopped at the local café to buy some sandwiches to take back home for supper. We talked and passed around Blaze. He was even okay with me holding him.

The second ride up the mountain wasn’t quite as stressful. We knew where the potholes and ruts were this time. We went to one of the campers and ate. Then we all sat around and talked. Earl came to hang out with us. He drinks beer, so he and I had a couple Deschutes. Earl wore a torn, black sweatshirt, and black overalls. He had a reddish beard and a tendency to speak slowly. Jon sat there in his overalls. His hair and beard were all wild and unkempt; a cross between Jesus and Charlie Manson. Maire wore t-shirt and jeans, holding and feeding Blaze. We sat until the sun went down behind the trees.

When it got dark, Karin and I crawled into the sleeping area of one of the campers. We wrapped ourselves in a blanket that we had in the car. It got cold that night.

I laid down in the camper and thought about Jon and Maire and Blaze. They were definitely struggling. They really didn’t have a handle on things. I thought back to when Hans was born, thirty years ago. Karin and I struggled then. We had no idea what we were doing either. No parent has a clue. Mary and Joseph didn’t know. Every family is a new experiment in creation, and there is no instruction book.

No two people start a family with a clean slate. Each person has some history, has some baggage. Even with the best of intentions, genetics takes a toll. Some of the past becomes part of the future. Every new life contains an echo of previous lives.

All that matters is love. As a wise man once told me, “If you act out of love, you can’t go too far wrong.” Jon and Maire love Blaze, and they love each other. That will get all them through life. It will still be hard, and they will still have problems, but they will be okay.

They are a holy family.