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| The first six years of my life from 1968 - 1974 are little more than a collage of hazy memories for me. My earliest memory dates back to when I was still wearing diapers and is of standing at the foot of my Aunt Linda's bed and staring up at a big oversized beach towel that she had hanging over the head of her bead. On the terry-clothe beach towel was a depiction of a big orange and yellow cartoon bumble bee playing a guitar on a sunny beach. That was back when my Aunt Linda was still young enough to be living at home. Her bed sat in a little nook between the front-room and the kitchen. I still recall the smells of bacon grease and mildewed plaster of Grandma's kitchen. For reasons that are beyond me the memory of that smiling yellow bumblebee strumming out a silent tune on it's mute guitar on that terry-clothe beach under a summer sun has stuck with me all my life. |
| Another very early memory that is dated to that same time and was also in Grandma's house is of being in the living-room and all of the adults were drinking and smoking on the sofa in front of Grammies old floor model television. I became transfixed by some commercial and stood there in that infant daze staring at the large T.V. screen. The screen went blank after the commercial and suddenly a large ghoulish face came into view accompanied with a laughter that scared the be-jesus out of me. I turned to race for my Mothers comforting arms only to find all of the adults in a frenzy of laughter at my expense. It's crazy how we forget that even young children have feelings too. I know it was all done in good humor, but I was filled with a sense of betrayal and hurt that no child should have to feel. It was late at night, and the ghoulish face was that of Sammy Terry a local late night horror-flick host at that time. I later became a big fan of his show, but the events of that night were so traumatic at the time that I would have a nightmare of such intensity later in my life that it will be mentioned later. |
| On average though my early childhood was spent like many other children's, playing, exploring, learning. My Mother bounced from the Bible to the bottle often and usually the bottle won out. I don't recall walks in the park or spending play time together, nothing like that. I do remember spending a lot of time being babysitted by my Aunt Linda who was still a young teenager at that time. Two incidents worth mentioning from that period of time are more stories that have been relayed to me rather than my own memories of the events themselves.
The first one occurred during my first year of life. My Aunt used to like to hold onto my hands and spin around with me, you probably know of what I speak, then let my dizzy ass down. One day we were playing out this little exercise on the front lawn which had a slight hill. It seems that on this one particular occasion that my Aunt lost her grip and I went flying. Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, there was a big briar shrub at the edge of the yard that caught me before I went slamming into the concrete walk. My Aunt has told me this story repeatedly over the years and always make sure to express the total mortification that she experienced and the absolute sorrow that she feels for the whole incident. �It's OK. Aunt Linda, I reckon the event traumatized you much more than it did me. I don't even recall the occurrence.� The second also occurred while I was under the watchful eye of my Aunt Linda (I'm starting to see a pattern emerging here LOL). We were evidently playing a game of chase when I ran into the corner of the floor model television set hard enough to knock myself unconscious. Once again Aunt Linda was mortified and once again I don't recall the incident. We, being my Mother my new Step-Father Luke and I, moved to Kentucky for a brief period around 1970 or so. There was a neighbor kid who's name I never knew so I called him Dumplin'. Don't ask because I don't know where the name came from. But Dumplin' and I became good buddies. As a matter of fact that kid is the only real living friend that I recall having as a child. I spent most of my time drawing out pictures of the way that the world around me appeared to me, or so caught up in playing out stories and events with my toys of people and places that seemed as real if not more real than this physical world. I guess that was my first trips into �The Zone�. But for some reason Dumplin' and I hit it off just fine and spent many a days playing in �The Zone� together, or watching Speed Racer on our little black and white television. I can still remember being crushed when I found out that Dumplin' and his family were moving away. I found myself alone once more in this world. But curled up with a box of crayons and paper and my favorite Teddy-Bear named �Ben� behind our old green couch I would slip unnoticed into �The Zone�. And when I was in �The Zone� I was seldom alone. Meanwhile, here on this plane of reality unbeknownst to me at the time, the Kent State shootings occurred at Kent State University, Ohio, and involved the shooting of students by the United States National Guard on May 4, 1970. Over the course of four days, Kent State students protested against an American invasion of Cambodia which President Richard_Nixon launched on May 1. May 2nd Following a night of civil unrest in Kent, Kent city Mayor Leroy Satrom declared a State of emergency on May 2 and, later that afternoon, asked Ohio Governor James Allen Rhodes to send the United States National Guard to Kent to help maintain order. When the National Guard arrived in town that evening, a large demonstration was underway; and the campus Reserve Officer Training Corps building was burning, having been set on fire by protesters. Protesters prevented the fire department from extinguishing the blaze, and the National Guard cleared the campus. May 3rd On Sunday, May 3, the campus was occupied by nearly 1,000 National Guardsmen. A press conference held by Governor Rhodes caused "the widespread assumption among both Guard and University officials...that a state of martial law was being declared in which control of the campus resided with the Guard rather than University leaders and all rallies were banned." (In fact, Rhodes never did declare the State of Emergency which would have made the May 3rd and 4th protests illegal; also, Martial law would not be created merely by the existence of military patrols, but would require a suspension of the civil courts.) Two separate demonstrations were dispersed later that evening by the National Guard, who fired tear gas into the crowds. May 4th On Monday, May 4, a rally was scheduled to be held at noon, and University officials attempted to inform the campus community that the gathering was banned, by handing out 12,000 leaflets. An estimated three thousand people gathered on the university commons. Just before noon the Guard ordered the crowd to disperse and fired tear gas. Because of wind, the tear gas had little effect on dispersing the crowd, some of whom were now responding to the tear gas with rock-throwing, yelling, and chants. A group of seventy National Guard troops advanced on the protesters with fixed bayonets in an attempt to disperse the crowd. The National Guardsmen were wearing gas masks in the hot sun (obscuring their vision and causing heat exhaustion) and had little training in riot control. They soon found themselves trapped on a athletic practice field which was fenced on three sides, where they remained for ten minutes. The Guardsmen then began to withdraw back in the direction from which they had come, followed by some of the protesters. When they reached the top of a hill, twenty-eight of the Guardsmen suddenly turned on the crowd and fired a 13-second fusillade of between 61 and 67 shots, killing four students and wounding nine. Only one of the four students killed was participating in the protest, and ironically one of the students killed, William Schroeder, who was not even involved in the demonstration, was a member of the campus ROTC chapter. Of those wounded, none was closer than 71 feet (22 meters) from the guardsmen. Of those killed, the nearest was 265 feet (81 meters) from the guardsmen. Killed: Allison Krause Jeffrey Glen Miller Sandra Lee Scheuer William Knox Schroeder Wounded: Alan Canfora John Cleary Thomas Mark Grace Dean Kahler Joseph Lewis Donald MacKenzie James Dennis Russell Robert Stamps Douglas Wrentmore Consequences A photograph by photo-journalism student John_Filo which was taken shortly after the shooting depicts a female identified as Mary Vecchio kneeling over Jeffrey_Miller's body as she cries in despair. The photograph, which won a Pulitzer_Prize for Filo while still a student at Kent State, became the most enduring image of the tragedy and of the anti-war movement in general. It becamse one of the most influential images of the century, and still evokes a mythic image of grief, and brought home a fresh sense that Vietnam protesters included not only dirty Hippie, but also presumably decent suburban kids. (In actuality, Mary Vecchio was at the time a 14-year-old runaway hanging out at campus.) The photograph was distributed around the world and jelled anti-American feelings. Following the shootings, the discussion in some ranges of the press of whether these were legal shootings of American citizens, or whether the protests were illegal, served to further galvanize uncommitted opinion by the terms of the discourse. "Massacre" was bandied about, as it had been for the Boston_Massacre of 1770 in which five were killed and several more wounded. The shootings led to protests on college campuses throughout the United_States, causing many campuses to close because of both violent and non-violent demonstrations. The Kent State campus remained closed until the summer of 1970. |
| Not long after Dumplin' moved away a somewhat strange thing took place. I couldnt't have been more than three or four years old, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. There was this closet in the front-room, I guess it is what used to be referred to as a coat closet back in the day. My Mother did have a few coats and sweaters in there as well as the vacuum cleaner, but it was mostly used for the storage of all my toys that called an old cardboard box home. It was my treasure chest, my Pandora's box, it was the holy crucible which held all my worlds. After Dumplin' moved away those toys became my only escape. I would spend hours creating characters and personalities for those inanimate chunks of plastic and wood as my Mother slept off the night before on the sofa.
One day I went to the closet and opened the door ready to dive into The Zone, but something was there this time that hadnt't been there before. Something was there that wasnt't mine and definitely did not belong there. It was a plastic baby-doll head, you know the kind that's eyes shut when you laid the doll down. Except there was no doll in this case, only the decapitated head. Its eyes no longer functioned properly so that one was stuck wide open and the other only half shut. It's brown hair was matted and stuck out wildly about its face. There was something about that doll head staring up at me with those bright blue eyes that was so alien, so out of place that it struck me with utter terror. I stood there in shock and breaking out in a cold sweat trying to assess the situation. I grabbed up my plastic baseball bat and my yellow sand bucket which were laying outside of the box close enough that I felt safe reaching for them. Then with quick nervous movements of a frightened child I used the bat to knock the baby-doll head into the bucket. I then raced for the kitchen to deposit the head into the big trash can that sat next to the refrigerator, all the while trying to avoid looking down into the bucket which contained the head. Mission accomplished I returned to extracting and arranging my toys and escape into my own little world. By the following day the incident of the disembodied head had nearly been erased from my mind. That was up until I went to the closet that day. When I swung upon the door, sure enough, there was that plastic baby-doll head looking up at me with those eerie blue eyes. Once again I repeated the disposal ritual as I had the day before and returned to my play. This continued to occur for a number of days, and my fear and bewilderment grew stronger each time it did. It got so I played with my toys less and less, so I would hide behind the couch and draw more and more. I could still keep an eye on that closet door from that vantage. I swear that I could actually feel that damned baby-doll head calling out to me. It got to the point that I would avoid that closet door all together. That's when �Ghosty� first appeared. I don't recall how or exactly when it happened. He was just there one day and it was as if he had always been there. His presence did not strike me as strange or unusual and I don't recall any feelings of fear or anything like that. It was as if we had always known one another and had always been the best of buddies. He would sit and watch intently when I drew pictures, and kept me company when I was watching cartoons. We would even share stories sometimes, but not with audible words. When we communicated it was more like thinking to each other than speaking to one another. And just like that a ghost became my best friend, and he was a friend that no one could take away. (yeah, I haven't failed to notice the psychological implications of such a statement.) Then one day out of the clear blue Ghosty said or thought to me �Just bury her and she'll go away.� And it was so matter-of-factly stated so that is exactly what I did. I went to the closet and opened the door, but the head was not there. I felt relieved and exillerated. I pulled the box from the shadows and began to pull out my toys that I had began to actually miss. I fell back on my bottom side startled when I found the head hiding deep down in on of the box corners. It was as if that inanimate head was hiding, as if it knew what I was planning. �Bury her and she will go away�. I tipped up the box on it's side and spilled the contents, including the doll head onto the floor. Then using the plastic bat and bucket I repeated the capturing ritual, except this time I did not go towards the kitchen. I went straight out the front door, and crouching behind the shrubs that lined our porch I dug a shallow grave with my bare hands and buried that hideous thing there. I never knew where that baby-doll head had come from, and I still don't know to this day. But I know that it is buried there behind those shrubs in Kentucky, and I never saw it again. |