Part Sixteen...

The three of us packed up our few belongings and headed west to Parkersburg, WV. The little trailer Sam and I lived in before had been sold, but the same landlord had a basement apartment he let us have. It was one large room except a bathroom had been walled off. He threw in an extra bed at no charge, so we each had our own. The main room was divided by a low divider, separating the kitchen/dining area from the bed spaces. Again I was elected cook, Sam was the dishwasher, and Joe became the house cleaner. Sam and I called him our house whore. His response was "just go ahead and try!". Joe was a big man, with a perpetual grin and a practical joker in his own right. His two favorite pastimes were eating and finding ways to get Sam's goat whenever possible, such as pushing him out the door and locking it just as Sam was getting ready to step into the shower. There were a lot of people around, fortunately all of them adults. Or leaving Sam to pay the grocery bill for all three of us at Kroger when we knew Sam wasn't carrying enough money to cover it. Sam looked like a whipped puppy standing in front of that cash register all alone with the cashier holding out her hand for the money. Sam paid us back at a restaurant, though. He was the first in line to check out as we were leaving, and he cut a silent but otherwise magnificent fart that reached the cashiers nose at the same time we stepped up to pay. Before we could blame him, Sam was out the door and looking back laughing. It was an embarrassing moment, especially for the girl behind the counter. She turned red, thinking that one of us did it, while wondering if the one of us that didn't do it thought that she did. This is when Joe hung the nickname "Wormy" on Sam.

Sam was back at his Thursday night rendezvous with his friend from Charleston. Joe didn't approve, being Sam's neighbor back home and all, but he never said anything to him. Sam would always want to drive the first leg home on Friday evenings, so he could climb into the backseat when one of us took the wheel. He needed to make up for sleep he lost the night before. Joe made sure that sleep never came.

Summer finally turned into autumn, and then the chill of winter set in. Actually, the job was more outside work than inside, and it gets mighty cold along the Ohio river. It was while getting ready to return to work one December Sunday, that I realized I wasn't the tough old boy I pretended to be. There was no doubt I was dieing. Carolyn called an ambulance and they took me to hospital where two days later I passed a bouncing baby kidney stone. It was just barely large enough to see with the naked eye, but that thing sure did hurt. I missed a week's work, Tennessee beat Arkansas in some obscure football bowl game, and life returned to normal, except that over the next four years I would pass six more kidney stones.

Joe and I had saved enough to take off a couple of months, so one Friday in January 1972, we told Sam we were dragging-up the next Friday. He said he wasn't going to do so, and got a little peeved that we were. In fact, he drove up by himself that Sunday, and hardly spoke to Joe and me the rest of the week. On Friday, he too quit. It was the last I would hear from him until June, but Joe told me Sam had gone back to NYC to again work the Trade Center.

In March, I became restless and tried to find something in the valley, but the pickings were slim. On a Sunday morning, I took off to Pittsburgh, PA. I won't say much about my time there except I never did find a tramping buddy, and I did like the hell out of that town. I also joined a nudist colony just south of there in WV, something I had always dreamed of. It was on a dare from another tramp, but I never did go to the compound; I was still a very shy boy. The cost of traveling and living alone, plus the fact that it was too far from home for travel each weekend, caused me to drag up after only three weeks. I returned home and waited for the valley to open back up.

In June, Carolyn told me to get a job. I called around and found work back at Amos powerhouse in Charleston. Once there, I had to stay at a motel until the rooming house we had stayed at before had an opening. One evening, I was at a department store, and ran into Sam's friend, the very same one whom met him each Thursday while we were in Parkersburg. I'd always known she was a looker. Model slim, medium tall with almost black hair nearly to her waist; she was a keeper, for sure. She had her daughter along, and we sat at cafe and talked for an hour while her youngster played on some swings and slides. Soon, she asked me about Sam, and I told her the last time I saw him he was mad and not speaking to me. She invited me over to her home for the next evening, and I went and we sat on a swing and talked for awhile. It was becoming obvious she was wanting Sam back at work in the valley, so to speak. She had tried to get over him, and hadn't had any contact with him since right after he left Parkersburg. I told her I would try to get in touch with him that weekend when I went home. It just so happened that Sam had just quit NYC, and was longing for the valley, again so to speak. I told him I had seen his friend and she wanted him to contact her. That Monday evening, I got a call from him on the motel phone, and he was working in Charleston but at a trucking company that was under construction. Next evening, he moved in with me at the motel, called his friend, and all was right with the world.

Sam finally got referred to the powerhouse, and ended up on the same crew as I, but we had the same foreman as before, and he wouldn't let us work together. We got our old room back at the rooming house, and went into our routine; except for one thing. Once after a hot and dusty day at work, Sam talked me into going into a beer joint with him. I had no intention of drinking a beer. Never had drank one and saw no reason to start. A couple hours later I was buzzing right along on 3.2 Pabst Blue Ribbon. I was hooked, and it changed my life completely.

Stopping at the bar became a daily ritual. Beer was cheap, and we were making good money. Sam was back to his Thursday night meetings and all was well. We stayed together until February 1973, when Sam and his friend had a falling out, and he left for greener pastures farther north. Then in March, I completely lost my sanity and went home to work for $3.90 an hour as a maintenance electrician at the local Magnavox cabinet plant. Except for the money, it was the best job I ever had up to that time.

Next: Magnavox, back to Atlanta, and then home to Texas Instruments...

Part Twelve...

Sometimes getting fired isn't a bad thing, especially when your trade is in high demand. Times would never be better for union tradesmen than they were in the decade of the 70s. Even with oil prices on the rise and interest rates hitting new highs, the heavy construction industry was booming. Powerhouses, both coal fired and nuclear were being built all over the country. Steel and other metal mills were still flourishing. Chemical plants were expanding, and commercial buildings were popping up everywhere in small and large cities. The only thing in decline was home construction, except for mobile homes, an industry running full blast with new factories going into production nationwide.

Another good thing about getting fired, or even quitting on most construction jobs of the day, was that you got paid every dime that was owed you before you went out the gate. Our motto was "My ass is red and my pockets green; there's a lot of this country I haven't seen!"

The next stop for Sam and myself was Parkersburg, WV. It is located about 80 miles north of Charleston along I-77, but was still within weekend driving distance of home. On Monday morning after our dismissal from Amos powerhouse the previous Thursday, we were at Local 968 in downtown Parkersburg. We received referrals to the DuPont chemical plant in Washington WV, which is just west of town on the Ohio river.

Parkersburg was a city of about 50k population at the time, with several major manufacturers to keep the residents at work. But, it was no party town like Charleston. The nightclubs were about as lively during the week as an empty funeral parlor. One club, the 616, had been a good watering hole up until about a month before we arrived in the city. It was a titty bar that was forced to give up its strippers to keep its license. On suspicion, Sam and I gave it a try one night, but it was pretty barren. A buddy from the Maryland job lived across the river from Parkersburg in Belpre, OH. He managed to get us into the VFW, which became our hangout one night each week. It was at the VFW where I watched the first Monday Night Football game ever played. The Jets played at the Browns, and I believe Keith Jackson was the play-by-play announcer, with a loudmouth Texan and ex-Dallas Cowboy quarterback named "Dandy" Don Meredith, and another louder-mouthed prick of a tv sports journalist named Howard Cosell as sidekicks. The only thing Cosell ever did right was get drunk and puke on Meredith's cowboy boots during the broadcast of a game later on. The unflappable Frank Gifford replaced Jackson the next season. The three announcers became legends.

Two things the Parkersburg situation lacked: decent and affordable restaurants, and living accommodations for transient workers. We checked out a hotel in downtown, but it was an expensive flop house. The owner and I almost exchanged blows after I told him the rent was too high. We stayed in a motel the first couple of nights. We finally found a trailer for rent, and it too was a little more than we wanted to pay, but we took it anyway, hoping to find better. The last thing the landlord said after taking our money was "absolutely no women". Didn't bother me at all, but Sam was perturbed, as he had a friend from Charleston due to come up and spend each Thursday night as his guest. They ended up in a motel over on I-77. His friend ended up paying for the room each week for as long as we were there. Why was he so popular? For a scrawny guy, he was endowed very, very well.

After a week, we found another, smaller, and much older trailer closer to the job and for a lot less rent. At 6'5' tall, I had to move around with my neck bent, and was almost on my knees to take a shower. I loved it! I became the cook and Sam was the dishwasher.

Then autumn began showing, and we decided it was time to hunt for a job that would be inside a building and warm for the winter. Sam wanted to go to New York City and work on the World Trade Center. The NYC local had a great pay scale, and was working some overtime. I told him it was too far for me, because I was used to going home on weekends. He decided to carry out his plan for NYC, and after calling our home local to see what was available, I got a job in Kingsport (again, of course) on construction of a new newspaper publishing plant. I counted on being home for at least a good part of the winter. The pay was poor compared to what I was getting in the valley, but I figured I could do some house wiring on weekends to help out.

After a couple of weeks on that job, the company decided to transfer me to—where else?—Tennessee Eastman. I lasted three days, three hours, and thirty minutes before I told them to shove it. I drove straight to the union hall and was given a referral to a powerhouse near Moundsville, WV. That town is noted for being the home of the West Virginia State Prison. The Wheeling local was in charge of providing electricians. The only good thing I can say about that job is that the first unit was online, and it was a warm place to work. even in the second unit where I was. I found poor and then good accommodations in New Martinsville.

On December 31, the morning began with a warm wind blowing from the south, with the temps in the 60s. By 1:00 pm it was snowing, and at quitting time, there was more than three inches on the ground and roads. Didn't matter. I was a die-hard Tennessee Volunteer football fanatic, and I wasn't about to miss seeing them play Air Force in the Sugar Bowl on January 1st. I gathered my two traveling buddies, and set out southward on Route 2, and finally got to I-77, where I made pretty good headway on to Charleston. There was a lot of traffic, but few accidents to avoid. There was 13" snow in Charleston, but we made it to the turnpike with little trouble. Soon after getting on that peculiar highway, traffic stopped. The toll both attendant at the Charleston end knew of the situation, but failed to tell any travelers about it. There was a tractor-trailer jack-knifed on a bridge at Cabin Creek. For you old sports fans, Cabin Creek is a small coal mining company town and the home to the great Jerry West of NBA fame.

Anyway, there we sat. After about an hour, the turnpike people came by and handed out coffee. Fortunately, I had the foresight to fill up with gasoline in Charleston. Sometime after midnight, the traffic began moving in just one lane. Of course, they allowed the north bound vehicles to go first, and before they all got by, another accident on another bridge stopped things again. To shorten the story, I pulled in home a 6:01 am., went to bed and got up at 11:30 am to watch the game. The snow had tapered off a lot before we got to Princeton WV, and there was absolutely none where I lived. The best part of the ball game was when a squirrel ran onto the field and eluded all attempts to corral him. 34-13 Big Orange!

I worked the job in Moundsville until near the end of January, when it was announced they were looking for volunteers for a layoff. I put my name in the hat, took the layoff, went home and drew rocking chair money off of WV until springtime.

Next, Sam and I return to Maryland.