Dad's Life Story Part 3

When I left Okinawa, I went to Hawaii and then to Vandenburgh Airforce Base. Usually your pay records are shipped, but since I was being discharged, I had them with me. They’re in a blue tube. I put four ounces of pot inside and left. Only I can open it. No one asked for my pay records in Hawaii. I was in Vandenburgh for 3 or 4 days. I took my pay records to get my final pay and got my ticket home to Detroit.

I flew home; my mom and Uncle Walter were pretty upset. Everyone was upset with me. Then I got a job at Hazel Park School District as a custodian. I cleaned the high school and Hoover each night. After a year, there wasn’t anything exciting going on. I called a friend who was living in California and asked if he wanted a visitor. So, I got a ticket and flew to San Francisco. I knew him from the military. His name was Roy. I stayed at Roy’s house for about 2 or 3 months.

He was a photographer so we walked around a lot, took a lot of pictures, worked in the darkroom. Roy was getting tired of taking care of me, and we weren’t making any money selling photographs. I moved in with another friend. This was 1970.

He lived in the tenderloin district which was a pretty rough area. We bought and sold pot. Then after a while I met this girl living on 535 Ashbury---that’s where all the hippies were. She would work and I would stay home. I’d go play Frisbee at the park and do stuff. Met some different people. One day I was hitch hiking and these 2 girls picked me up. They asked what I was doing, and I was just looking around. I said I wanted to head up over the bridge toward Marin County. They took me to this guy’s house. His name was Terry. This was in Sausalito. His house was on the side of a mountain—mill valley.

After a few times meeting him, we became good friends. Terry was in a wheel chair. He was in a ‘vette accident and had lost control of his lower body. I would help him around. He had a wife named Sharon who was also his therapist. They offered me a room there and I helped Terry and helped around the house.

A couple of guys I knew moved to Larkspur. I went with them to Larkspur and lived with them, selling pot, acid, but I wasn’t into coke at that time. I didn’t have a job. I just sold pot. One of my other military friends was discharged and came to visit. He told me one of our friends was in Chicago and was heading back to Okinawa to sell some acid. He was a Hell’s Angel. First he came to Marin County to see his family. Then before he got on the plane, we tracked him down to see him. I knew people in San Francisco who sold acid. He bought 2 grams which is 8,000 hits. Then he offered to pay my way back to Okinawa if I would carry it for him. I said ok.

We flew to Okinawa. He said I could have half. He went to visit his people he knew, and I went to visit mine. We sold it for like $3 a hit. I bought some more camera equipment. Things got ugly because people were selling heroin; there were four or five different gangs putting out murder contracts as they fought over control of the area for drugs. I sold about ¾ of what I had. I left the rest with my friend, and wanted to get home. That was enough for me. But while I was there, I started heroin. I brought a little heroin back home.

I’d met 2 stewardesses in Okinawa. They were cool. We had bonfires, smoked pot, dropped acid. When I got back to Marin County, I had their addresses in Manhattan Beach. I went down to visit them; they lived with each other and a brother. That’s where I met Dana. 

Selling Drugs Begins

This is me just typing as my dad talked; thus, some of it is choppy and poorly written. Enjoy!
Also being in base ops, we were very secure. You had to pass through 3 locked doors to get where I was; even then you had to have a general’s approval to come in. We learned that soldiers coming home from Vietnam, Thailand, Laos, and wherever stopped there first. They gave them the speech that the next stop was Hawaii. If they had any contraband, now was the time to drop it.

So we learned that the Marines would escort them to their aircraft. At the time, the waiting area was left unoccupied for at least fifteen minutes. Two guys would leave our post and go down with paper bags and go through luggage or duffle bags that were left. We didn’t take everything, you know. We would take two or three pounds of marijuana at a time. Some of the guys, mostly east coast, were more interested in finding the heroin.

We would take it down to the bars in town and sell it to the bar owners. We would sell little match boxes full for $10. And of course, we’d eat and drink for free at that point. This continued for seven or eight months. Some guys were sending it home, but I was too afraid. Plus I knew my mom would open it up, and I didn’t want her to see it. I just kept my little stashes.

We were making a good profit. I saved quite a bit of money. I started buying camera equipment and nice clothes. Then one night, I was talking to two friends that I’d gone to school with. One was in Philippines and one was in Hawaii. Since I was in Base Ops, I could control that kind of communication…patching in multiple calls from wherever. My sponsor sergeant Dufus, had overheard me talking and turned me into the military police.

After I got off my shift that night, I went back to the barracks. My room had been stripped down, and everything piled in the middle. They said they wanted to know where my marijuana was. I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about, that I didn’t have anything. Luckily they didn’t open my folded socks because that’s where my baggies were. After that, I was under surveillance all the time.

If we were going to smoke, we would go to the roof, but we couldn’t do that anymore. We’d go hide in the tall banana leaves/plants, or whatever they were, and we made ourselves a little hut. We’d go one at a time before we went to the chow hall. At the same time, at home---my dad had a nervous breakdown. He freaked out pretty bad, and I wanted to go home on a family emergency leave. They wouldn’t let me. I rolled four joints and walked into my commander’s office. I said you guys are looking for evidence so here’s three joints. There would’ve been four, but I smoked one on my way to see you.

So they put me in what they call correctional custody. It’s not a prison, but more like a jail because I was a nonviolent criminal. All of us there had to clean the base, exercise, and whatnot all day. My friends on the outside would leave weed in the trash out on the base with orange tape or something, so I could find it. We’d pick it up and smoke it as we did our chores. They never searched us or did any testing. We smoked some and saved some. Another duty was washing all the MP cars. So, as we were washing them, we’d put joints under the floor mats. It was a good hiding place since we cleaned the cars every day.

Then we got really brave. We were playing volleyball. We lit a dooby and taped it to the volleyball. We just threw the volleyball around, taking hits.

After being in the corrections for 30 days and so-called house arrest for 2 months, I was discharged as an undesirable and sent back home.

Sneak Peek

I've decided to have my dad narrate his life story. I'm just writing pretty much whatever he says. Here is a preview of what's in store:

My orders were to go to Denver, Colorado, I think it was. While at home, they changed and sent me to Okinawa. When I arrived in Okinawa, there was supposed to be someone there to meet me; but there was no one. I took a cab to the base, and asked where the AFCS was. I went in to see the 1st sergeant. No one was there. It was about 11:30 at night. I asked the officer on duty where my room was. He looked and found an empty room where I went to sleep.

No one came to talk to me for 4 days. I took my papers to the pay center and got my pay. I hadn’t done anything yet. I decided to venture into town. I went to a bar that had pinball machines that you could win money on.

Went back to base and still couldn’t find my first sergeant. I hired this hiree to clean my room, do my clothes, do all this stuff. I kept going to town every night, and after like 3 months I just got bored: go to town, go to bed, and get cinnamon toast from the night stand.

Then they gave me a roommate. He asked what I do here and I said, “I don’t know.” He told me he was here for tech control. I didn’t tell him I was here for the same thing because I wanted to see what would happen. So, he gets up the next morning and goes to work. Meanwhile, I’d been swimming, snorkeling, skin-diving, doing nothing.

While I’m walking down the hall one day, the first sergeant who’s supposed to control everything sees me. He says, “I see you all the time. What do you do?” I said, “I don’t know.” He asked when I got here and I told him, “Three months ago.” I explained that I signed in, got my pay records done, and I’ve been waiting for my sponsor to come and get me.

He says, “Who is your sponsor?” I said, “Sergeant Dufus... That was his name, I swear!” The next day, I met Sergeant Dufus, and he was. So they took me to tech control and showed me the base ops—the airport terminal. They just swept everything else under the table because it was a stupid mistake, but I enjoyed it.

This week's Dad story

My dad has been calling me every few days or so lately. The last conversation went like this.

ME: Hey Dad, what's up?

DAD: I'm crying.

ME: What? Why?

DAD: I just lost all my play chips on Pokerstars.

I am not even going to bother posting the rest of the story. Just read that. over and over.

If I were an ostrich, I'd hide my head in the sand

This week, I'm spending time in Illinois with my two brothers, my sister in law, and my two nieces. For Christmas, my mom and dad drove over from Michigan. I haven't told many dad stories in a while, so I figured to bring the post-Christmas cheer, I'd lay a few out here.

Yesterday, my dad says, "Hey, Jesse, I have an idea. I think you should save those boxes that your pop comes in. Then, after you guys all drink the pop, put the empties in the boxes and have Michael FedEx them to me. This helps both of us out." You see, in Michigan, there is a ten cent deposit/refund on pop cans.

Jesse replied, "So let me get this straight. You want me to buy the pop, do all the work of packaging the cans up, and then have Michael mail them to you so you can get the money for them?"

My dad responds, "Well, we can split the money."

I, of course, am in the other room, cracking up. The conversation continued on whether or not this operation was even legal; not that Jesse was even considering it, but for some reason we children have a hard time just letting things drop. I think we expect my dad to realize his own stupidity if we continue to engage the conversation. This never happens.

Anyway, my dad said, "I know it's illegal in Ohio, but I didn't know if it's different since we're two states over." Huh? Seriously? No, he can't be serious. But yes, he was.

Then last night, Sheri and I were sitting on the couch playing our games on the laptops when my dad walks in with a giant Tupperware container of sauerkraut. "Are you going to eat that whole thing, Dad?" I questioned. It was a leading question.

"No!" he responded.

"Then you can't eat out of the container!" So, what do you think he said? Guesses?

"Why not?" Huh? Was he serious? He was!

"Because it's not your house! You can't eat out of the container! You have to get your own bowl," I explained. Is this really something I should be explaining to a 61 year old man? Really? Well, I was.

"Oh."

Happy Father's Day

Last November, my dad entered himself into a 3 week rehabilitation facility for his alcohol problem. He has had several areas of addiction problem for years, ever since I can remember. It's been a long road, with many roller coaster rides. Some days he is in a deep depression, other days he acts as if he is high or drunk. Today, I called to wish him a Happy Father's Day, and he sounded well. He went to the doctor this week, who gave him a clean bill of health. This means his heart, blood pressure, and even his liver, are in great condition. This is pretty amazing considering the years of abuse to his body. He's also lost 9 pounds since his last doctor's visit. I'm so happy for him, and I told him, "I guess that means we get to keep you around for a while." He's not the easiest person to love all the time, but he's still my daddy, and I love him.

The Starting Gate

I remember being 5 years old, sitting at the bar on John R. I'd drink Coke with grenadine, the original Cherry Coke. I'd eat sesame bread sticks and dip them in little packets of butter. To this day, I love Cherry Coke and sesame bread sticks with butter. Strangely, these are some of my happiest times with my dad. It was never fun being home while he was out drinking. We never knew what to expect. Unpredictable. Sometimes, he'd come home and be goofy drunk, handing us money and telling us crude jokes. We didn't mind those nights. Other times, he'd be in a fit of rage, screaming and yelling about one thing or another. We just never knew.

It's all I remember. I mean, I don't remember a time when we weren't wondering if he'd be drunk. That's just how life was. We certainly had some good times, but overall, I mostly remember his being drunk. On his good days, he'd try to buy our love.

Even after college, things were the same. There were always cycles of "I'm going to quit," including the one that began with a DUI and a weekend rehab seminar. He was pretty good for a couple weeks (?) after that. There was the time he said he'd quit after he fell off a ladder... while ripping the gutters off the house in a drunken fit. So many times.

In November of 2007, my dad entered himself into a 21 day rehabilitation facility. He was 59 years old. It's been 3 1/2 months, and he's been mostly clean. But more than being clean, he really is a different person. He's the person we saw small glimpses of as children. The kind, light hearted, caring person we dreamed he should be. I don't know how long it will last, but I can't even begin to explain my joy. None of us never thought it would happen. We'd given up hope.

I guess I say all this to say, Never give up hope.