From cford@mindspring.com Thu Jan 8 12:12:00 1998 Date: Tue, 6 Jan 1998 13:33:22 -0700 From: Charlie Ford To: type2@bigkitty.azaccess.com Subject: Charlotte On last Sunday, December 27, I drove from Chapel hill down to Charlotte. I had lived in this "Queen City" in the early 80's and looked forward to tracking down some old friends while I was in town. Its really funny, early on in the trip planning, I said then that Charlotte would be on my route. There are just those people in life that one has to take the time to drop in and see every now and then. Isn't it amazing how some folks in life influence and move us more than others. Just one of those phenomena's I guess. When I moved to Charlotte in '80, I had recently suffered some major heartache in my life. Carol Barnes, the first woman I ever really loved, had only a week earlier broken my heart into a thousand pieces by telling me that she could not marry me as we had planned. On Saturday night, after the week before selling all of my possessions in Indianapolis, Indiana (where I had moved, at her beckoning) I boarded a red-eye flight to Charlotte, North Carolina. I had never been to the city, I didn't know anyone there, and I didn't have a home or a job. I did have three hundred bucks, a duffel bag full of clothes, my youth, and a broken heart, not to mention the Jack Daniel's bottle I claimed as carry on luggage. This gave "red-eye flight" a totally new meaning. I sat there on my first airline flight ever at the fruitful age of 25, broken hearted and drunk. We were on a DC 10, and the wings were icy, but I didn't care, all I could do was drink and think of how good the sex had been, she was a good looking woman and know doubt we were much to young to be thinking of marriage. She had to be right, I told myself. When I arrived in Charlotte I was in rare form, charcoal mellowed you might say. I was feeling no pain at all and didn't have a worry in the world. I had gotten about two hours sleep on the plane and had still been able to maintain a fair amount of inebriation. I went straight to the airport bar and commenced to continue my agony by sinking even deeper into the well drinks they served. I had emptied my 5th of Jack, and I couldn't afford it in the bars, so I started drinking something like "Mr.'Bob's Pine Mellowed Bourbon", whatever it was called it was "rotgut". Most well brands are. Even the waitress in the place saw my heartache, she did her best to fix my drink of straight whiskey on the rocks as strong as it could get, but she didn't have to work to hard to do that, I wasn't that drunk.....yet. As I sat there in my stupor, I got to thinking about who I might know here, or how I might get to know someone in this fair city. I thought of all the buddies I had known in college and the ones that I might have known if they had been cool enough. I remembered a buddy I grew up with. Ken Drawdy and I had grown up together in Hazlehurst. In college he was a textile engineer and after college had gone to work for Celanese. I remembered him mentioning that the home office of the company was in Charlotte. it was a long shot but I borrowed the phone book from the bartender and looked for his name, sure enough he was listed. I gave Ken a call and told him I was in town. It surprised him about as much as it surprised me that I was able to get the words out straight enough to understand. he asked where I was and I told him the airport. he came straight way and picked me up. I drank until he got there. Over time Ken moved away, but I lived in his house for one month and then found myself my own job, my own apartment, and my own car. Life was as close to normal as it was going to get with the broken heart and need for self medicating that I was suffering at the time. Ken Drawdy has saved my life a couple of times, one of which I still owe him for. I miss his company, a good dude he is. As time went by my broken heart started to subside. I still drank, smoked, and snorted up about half of Peru in that recuperation period, but I eventually overcame it. At least some of it. It was the 80's, what can I say. Charlotte is a good town. For years it has been trying to become another Atlanta, but it is a long way behind. I will have too admit that over the years Charlotte has become a fine city in it's own right. The buildings are creative spires that all seem to point to the Carolina Blue Sky above. They do no get lost in the skyline but serve to make the "big Picture" of the city look intentional. The only think I can complain about is the lack of old stuff. They need to be a bit more "preservative". My first job in Charlotte was teaching Mentally Retarded Adults at a Sheltered Workshop. I was named the woodshop instructor, but to be honest I was not much of a woodworker. I knew how to work with the clients and loved my job. After two years of doing that I started working with Hard-core Juveniles in Charlotte. I worked with the "Willie M" Kids as they were labeled by the state. They were the kids that committed murder and rape and arson. It was the beginning of behavior modification therapy and I was learning while we in the field "built the plane as we flew it". Mental health was changing its methods in the late 70's early 80's. it was a tough job, and at times I was a gladiator. The kids were tough and needed some attention so they could change. We were tough and offered that attention. I loved doing that work. Russ and Donna Scott were some of the first folks I met after arriving in the city. Russ is actually one of the folks in my life that inspired me to do the trip that I am doing right now. In 1967 he was busted with two hits of acid in his pocket, he got thirty months prison time and served it every bit. This incarceration came on the heels of him being wounded in Vietnam and being sent back home with medals in hand, which he eventually threw "at" the White House, and turned and walked away. I am sure there were several Vets that felt like doing that. You gotta understand it. After getting released from prison Russ took off and headed out to find America, just like Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper. He ended up hanging out in the southwest for a few years and then came back to Carolina, but he went, he found his niche and eventually the America he was seeking. These days he is a business man. I arrived on Sunday evening at Russ and Donna's bar. They still enjoy the "party" life to an extent, and one of their businesses is a bar called The Cattle Company on The Plaza in Charlotte. They weren't there so I asked the bartender, Opal, to give them a call and leave a message that I was in town. She did and I went back out to The Mothership to take myself a nap. I am not the drinker I used to be, and to be honest I don't have much tolerance left for drunks. I had this blonde hanging on me like I was her husband, I had to vacate. I don't need a drunk ugly chick just yet. Later, Russ and Donna showed up and collected me. We had a drink, they had beer, I had water with lemon. We sat and once again reviewed the old times like we always do each time we see one another, then we headed out to there home in Mint Hill, a city just south of Charlotte. They live in a 4000 square foot house that is beautiful on the outside and lived in on the inside. They have two kids and you guys with yunguns know what that is like. I am sort of glad that I am single, childless, and live in 12 square foot, I couldn't imagine 4000 anymore. Over the next few days many things would come to light. Donna and I shared some really good conversation about things and come to find out, she and Russ are not doing as good as they each want to. They are struggling to get by in more areas than that of just money, at least that is the gist I got. I know that marriage is tough, but living it in an un-satisfying relationship is even tougher. Russ and I talked some, but not about any of the deeper things. I wish we could have done more of that, but he is not the talkative open up type dude. I wish I could help. They mean a lot to me and I just wish I could work a miracle and everything would be alright. The sad truth is, "It is not my cross to bare"", I just hope they can work it all out. Over the next two days, Monday and Tuesday I din;;t do much at all. The first night I was there it snowed about four inches and we were kinda socked in. In the south when it snows, everything shuts down. now I know all you yanks out there think this rather wimpy behavior, but when it only snows once in a coons age, why should you waste tax revenues on snow equipment. Ya'll prepare for snow, we'll prepare for hurricanes. On Wednesday, New Years Eve Russ and Donna were going to have an annual gathering at the bar. They, for the past three or four years have cooked all sorts of food and served it to a packed house, and this year was no different. they prepared prime rib, and all the fixin's. The food was great, the problem was that no one showed up to eat, drink, and be merry. Russ sat lonely at the bar and drank himself into an oozy stooper. Donna ran around and tried to stay positive for the people, the good customers that did show up. I hung out in the kitchen and voluntarily washed dishes simply because I no longer enjoy the bar seen so much. I think being alone so much this year has left me a little bit non-sociable, not anti, but non. As he and I sat there, he told me that he had recently, at least in the past few months, ran the "coke" or cocaine crowd out of the bar. he explained that as soon as he did this, the business sank to it lowest ever. As the New Year 1998 rolled over on the clock and at Times Square the small celebration began. Husbands and wives in attendance kissed, hugged, and looked solemnly into each others eyes. I reckon they were promising each other that things would be fine in the future. Russ and Donna kissed and smiled. Me, I was standing beside the beer cooler with my apron on from washing dishes. I thought about a lot in that small moment. It was a sad moment in a way, but it was also a nice one, I have almost made the goal I set out for, ten days to go. I wander how I will feel then. Have I found the beginning of wind? hmmm...gonna have to think more about that. Russ and Donna were hoping that this New Years Eve Party would pull them out of the hole a little so they could make it a while longer. He drank some more and eventually went out to The Mothership and lay down. I drove him home a little after 1:00 AM. It was a pretty sad sight to see. As I drove I couldn't help but think about the bar life itself. I used to bounce in one in south Georgia. A place called Kerigans, which many in the area referred to as "carry-guns". I will have to admit I was rather captured by the lifestyle in the beginning, but over time I guess I saw the truth of it all. In the bar, you have several different types of drunks; 7 night drunk, who is as harmless as a puppy and usually weak as a dead man. Business tycoons that have already came and went and are just biding their time till retirement. 5 night drunk, that likes to dance and drink and shoot pool simply because it is his life, and he has found a family. These folks need love in the worse way. 3 night a week drinker, who comes in and tries to tell everyone that he is the most responsible person there. Usually an up and coming business tycoon looking for someone to impress. 1 night a week drunk, the most dangerous of them all. It is usually some young buck that thinks he is the baddest ass in the crowd and he shows this by drinking half of the bars liquor just so he can start some crap with someone over their woman. This is the one that usually starts the trouble and gets his ass kicked to boot. "The bar life ain't no good life." At least it's not for me. I knew I didn't want to be any of those people when I eventually grew up. The next day I told Russ and Donna once again that they needed to get out of the bar business as soon as they could. I know that is pretty bold advice, but they are my friends and they at least think about my advice even if it was unsolicited. They both drink a lot more than they should and as a friend I have a right and duty to speak my piece, I will leave it at that. I love Russ and Donna. They are my family. I believe that if I needed them they would be there just as I would for them. They are always on my thoughts and dreams and prayers. When I am 80 I will call them and it will be like once again talking to my 30 year old friends. On Thursday evening I left their place and headed over to another old friends house. No, they didn't kick me out because of my advice. I had planned this little move earlier in the week when I had met up with probably my best friend of all time, Mitch. Not that I have known him all of my life, but I damn sure feel like I have. He is my brother, and "He ain't heavy". Mitch Freitag came along a little after Russ and Donna in my Charlotte life. I had just moved into a new apartment complex outside of town. Mitch was in college at UNC Charlotte and lived right across the walkway from me. He and I burned a little and partied a lot, back in those days of course we did, everybody did. In about 83 Mitch met and married the wife of his dreams. Mary Anne, or "Murph" as Mitch has nicknamed her is as beautiful and as wholesome as the sunshine. Yep, Mitch liked "Mary Anne" women more than "Ginger" women. I think I do as well come to think of it. When they married they moved away to Summerville, South Carolina, where Mitch is from originally. Mitch is a man of many talents. He and his dad both are flyers and even won at Osh Kosh, Wisconsin at the National Fly-In. They won Grand Champion Antique in the early 70's. Mitch now flies a Piper Clipper that he rebuilt from the ground up. I wish he would buy a Volkswagen, damn he would love it and be good to it. He is also one of the better guitarist I have ever known. He owns a really nice old martin that sounds beautiful to say the least. I have never seen anything he couldn't pick out if given time to think about it. One of my musical inspirations he is. Both of us also enjoy old Fogleberg (before he sold out) and old James Taylor (haven't lived till you've listened to Mud, Slide, Slim and the Blue Horizon LP). Over the years Mitch and I have kept up with one another. We have discussed all sorts of things and have reached conclusions on very few of them. I don't know if you guys know what I mean, but he is one of those friends that helps you take your thoughts to a new level. For me he stimulates me to think deeper, no matter what the subject might be. On Thursday after I arrived at his place we served up our ritual meeting practice. we went and played par three golf. niether of us are any good at it, but we hit the ball and enjoy the frustration equally. Joseph, Mitch's son also played along with us, he is 7 or 8 and can hit the ball like a pro. Tiger Woods move on over, Joseph is on his way. The best shot of the day was made when Mitch teed the ball off over a pond. The pond had accumulated a thin sheet of ice during the snow storm and he has a habit of hitting the ball low and hard. He teed up saying "I'll never make it". He hit it and damned if it didn't hit three times on the ice only to bounce up the bank and onto the apron of the green. "GOLF SHOT" I exclaimed as the ball hit the apron. We laughed our way to the green, my ball made it there in the air, I hit the ball hard and high. Mitch and I didn't get to talk much on this visit. he was busy with work and I had some places to go. We will get together one of these days and chew the fat again. Life is just like that. it may be two years, or ten years, but we will still know one another. As I said, he is my brother. On Friday I pulled out of Mitch's place and headed northwest toward Roan Mountain where Ric Jablonski had invited me to hang out a day or so. The adventure is still real, although growing shorter each day. As I left Charlotte I wondered what might become of my old friends. Russ and Donna are on the rocks and going through changes that only the strongest love can endure, and Mitch and Mary Anne are raising their one child in a setting filled with so much love it hangs from the sides of the house and drips from every faucet. I worry about them, all of them, and I know they worry about me. You might ask why we worry about one another. It is simply because like great loves, friends are few and far between, and the bridge you build when the friendship is developing into something sacred, is built so strong that the person actually becomes a part of you. They run through my life like the blood in my veins. The Mothership and Gus are doing great. Gus is getting fatter each day and is getting more mannerly as we go. The Mothership is running like a dream and floats down the road southward like she is anxious to finish the journey. I think I will put her in drydock for a few days when we're done. Damn she has done a good job! Thanks for tolerating the ramblings. Charlie Ford "79" Transporter, dressed for the road The Mothership The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and Search for the Beginning of Wind". http://www.slurpee.net/~keen/charlie/charlie.html "Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set" ------------------------------------------------------------------------- To leave the list, send an UNSUBSCRIBE message to TYPE2-REQUEST@TYPE2.COM -------------------------------------------------------------------------