HODGEPODGE – MISHMASH & BALDERDASH

So you think you know me?

Neosho, Missouri. 1955. Coler Street, facing the Red Horse Saloon, a favorite watering hole for drunks and whores. My mother, father, two sister’s lived in a rental house directly across the street from the saloon.

Separating our home from the bar is highway 60.

I killed two beautiful puppies by taking them outside to relieve themselves. One a black Cocker Spaniel, the other an adorable white Chihuahua. I am a 13 years old know it all.

My dad was fucking one of them. One of the whores. I knew this because my mom pointed her out to me one afternoon as she, the whore, entered the bar in a very conspicuous manner with the assurance and confidence of a mistress who wished to taunt a wife. Entering the bar via the front door rather than the back door which is more convenient since all customer parking is located behind the building and a backdoor entrance provided.

Proving once again a secret is a secret if only one person knows it.

Or, another privy to the knowledge decides they want the whole Goddamn world to know. “She’s the one your dad is seeing.” Said my mom. Don’t know how she came into possession of this information but women have intuitive natures, and always seem to know when their husband is cheating on them. Guess she had to tell someone. I was never particularly fond of the old man anyway. Beginning the day he sold the shotgun I bought him for Christmas to pay bail money to get out of jail. I never knew the charge (s). But he was part time bartender at the Red Horse bar. Commission of a crime. Fighting I assume.

So, bless her heart, guess she felt safe confiding in me as we suddenly became confidants. She hadn’t at that time, I reasoned, discovered me peeping through the bathroom door keyhole to watch her bathe. Gotta learn about women somehow.

Summertime. Sunday morning. Sunday School. Northside Baptist Church. I go nearly every Sunday. Why? Treats. Cool-Aid and cookies. Loved Sunday school. Sure didn’t go to learn anything about Jesus or the stories in the Bible. Religion never interested me. I had no interest in Baptist, Catholics, Mormons, Pentecostal (I knew them as Holy Rollers, the antics I saw through the church’s open door on a hot summer night actually scared the hell out of me. ) Church of God – church of anything. I don’t believe there is a God. Didn’t then and to this day I don’t buy into it. However if I were forced to choose a religion on pain of death – Buddhist. I don’t begrudge anyone their religious beliefs. Just not for me. Some of my best friends are Christian.

Going to church for goodies in the summer was the beginning to a short but highly profitable relationship with the Baptist.

I liked to steal.

For fun, the thrill of it, and out of necessity. We were poor at best. So, when I was ushered out the door on Sunday mornings to go to church, I often chose to skip out by walking in the direction of the church until I was out of sight of our house. When certain I was not able to be seen by family members, I would hurriedly walk downtown to Lane’s Drugstore, and spend the 50 cents offering money given to me by my mother for the church collection plate. Pinball machines love money.

On days when my luck and skills were in sync I could play for hours and scurry on home in time for lunch. But, when the pinball gods decided to swallow my coins like a ravenous dog stumbling upon discarded food – I was left with little to do for entertainment other than skim through all the magazines. This was somewhat boring as skin publications were scarce to nonexistent ( or hidden out of sight or reach). But, I would soon fall into the lap of good fortune. And, in my very limited world of knowledge and experience – a small fortune befell to me.

“If you do not find a remedy to these evils it is a vain thing to boast of your severity in punishing theft, which, though it may have the appearance of justice, yet in itself is neither just nor convenient; for if you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their manners to be corrupted from their infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded from this but that you first make thieves and then punish them?” Thomas More. UTOPIA

Northside Baptist Church became my “Glory Hole.” The teachings of our Lord were taught in several classrooms segregated by students age. Each of us in our age appropriate group. I was always skinny and looked younger than my years. And, if you will, I am told, quite innocent looking, without a thought of ill will or evil deed. My looks and age belied the often uncontrollable urge to increase my wealth at the expense of others. The church, in particular, since I was basically a nonbeliever and therefore did not consider my unlawful acts a sin or a crime. Hey, a soda and games are more fun than learning about a radical teacher of new ideas some 2000 years ago. Devout. Me? Not a chance.

“He knew taking money was wrong. His nannan had told him never to steal. He didn’t want to steal. But he didn’t have a solitary dime in his pocket.” Ernest J. Gaines. A Lesson Before Dying.

At about the midway point of our hourly learning experience the teacher would choose a student to collect the offering monies contributed by the occupants of each room. And, there were several. Rooms.The cash was enclosed in a small brown envelope and sealed by licking the glued flap and pressing it to the body. Thus, assuring the contents secure. Well, it seems, more often than not, I with the look of innocence that only a child of God could have had bestowed upon him was chosen to collect all the envelopes.

Jesus, Son of God, Mother Mary, the twelve apostles, and all things Holy! Am I dreaming? I accepted this bestowment of honor with an air of dignity and began my assignment. As I collected the offerings from each room and the number and weight of the ever-increasing number of envelopes, something began to enter my mind. A thought. What I thought was this: I wonder if anyone would miss a couple of envelopes from the substantive stack I had retrieved. Naw, surely not. So began my accumulative effort to increase my wealth by stealing from the Baptist. My mind now began to expand and grow to entertain ways to increase my evil income.

“In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.” Hunter S. Thompson. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Wait a minute. “Stop the wedding,” (Etta James). A thunderbolt just struck me: some envelopes are heavy, some are not so heavy and some are very light. Why?Many coins, a few coins, no coins. No coins? Eureka! Serendipity! Euphoria! Epiphany! How Fuckin’ stupid can I be? Bills, big money, green stuff, folding paper, a wad. I had just graduated from loose change to billfold occupants. Now I take only a couple each Sunday. Not greedy I. And, I didn’t want to get caught. Then, abruptly one day my little operation was unexpectedly shut down. We were moving. Upstairs, downtown. A new era.

Life on the Square had begun.