Rich White Trash

by Judi Taylor Cantor

He said now I love my country

  And I don’t under-stand why so

  Many people put it down….

  Now I’m mad, too, Eddie,

  I’m with you….

  I love A..mare..ica..too”

  The room burst into applause and whistles.

  “My silver-tongued crooner!” the older lady-turned-groupie yelled.

  VF watched the adoration, and then walked out to the open deck, intent on finding the North Star. Hap soon followed. The night sky was expansive, inviting, and a slight sea breeze ruffled their jackets.

  Neither Hap or VF wore dinner jackets in real life, but the cruise required so they complied. Hap was attired in a light blue jacket with white lapels, light blue shirt that matched his eyes, dark slacks and shiny dark shoes. VF wore a white jacket, white tuxedo shirt, dark slacks and his Sunday boots. They stood looking out to the great beyond, arms outstretched on the railing.

  “Can you believe that flight from Austin to San Fran?” Hap asked. “One female and two male flight attendants. World’s going crazy. They used to wear the prettiest little outfits. But no more. Baggy shirts and pants. Nothing tight fitting. I told them they didn’t have to dress up for me.”

  “Hap, I had the strangest dream,” VF said, changing the subject.

  Hap was not surprised at anything VF said anymore. He chalked it up to the brain tumor. He was quiet.

  “Your grandmother and grandfather Krejci were there.”

  “You mean dead granma and granpa Krejci?”

  Hap looked away, then lit a despised English Rothmans cigarette. His favorite was Winston, but alas none to be acquired on this boat.

  VF observed coolly but dreamily and continued. “On the farm. The O-Bar. When I was five I wanted a tricycle so badly. The one in the Moulton hardware store. It was $3.00. They couldn’t afford it….

  “They were standing there in the dream, beside the tricycle.”

  “Did they talk to you?” Hap asked.

  “No, they just stood next to the tricycle, looking regal and pleased with themselves. And then it began to rain. That beautiful, hard rain that was about the only thing I liked so much about the farm. Pop. Pop. Pop. Big droplets against that dusty earth. I could feel it. But the tricycle stayed dry. I felt joyous.”

  Hap inhaled and blew the smoke downwind. He wondered if this was a premonition. This was getting pretty heavy. VF never ever told anyone how he felt. That was a little too squishy. Hap needed to give a little lift to the narration.

  “But you got your tricycle, didn’t you?”

  “I did in that dream. That tricycle was my heart’s desire. In my community anyone could work, even the five year olds.”

  Hap had heard this story before, but he never tired of it. “So you took on a summer job?” Both men smiled at each other as VF continued.

  “It was healthy outdoor work if you could survive an aching back and the burning Texas sun. Boy, did that scorching soil burn your bare feet. Just getting your feet into the shade of a cotton stalk was a reward in itself, but then you’d have to move on down the row with additional shade never guaranteed. Big white clouds would drift across the blue sky and play Russian roulette with the sun. You’d bend down for hours and then fall on your knees in that hot dirt for more hours.”

  “But you got paid, right?” Hap asked.

  “You were paid what you were worth. Usually one dollar per hundred pounds of cotton. If the scales read ’27 pounds’ you earned 27 cents. Sometimes I picked cotton for as low as 50 cents per hundred.

  “At the end of the first season, when I was five years old, I had two silver dollars and a fifty-cent piece. We went to Moulton to get my tricycle. I was so excited.

  “When we got there, I was crushed to find that the price tag was $3.00. The cotton picking season was over. I couldn’t borrow a couple of quarters.”

  Hap flicked his cigarette into the vast ocean.

  “You had a hard life, Dad. Maybe your dream is a reflection of what your parents wanted to do for you—give you your tricycle and some soothing rain.” Hap said this while thinking Wow! They’re coming to get him. He felt it was time to change the subject.

  “Dad, I’ve had at least two women stare at me so far. I don’t think it’s because they find me attractive, but because they’ve never seen anyone wearing boots before. Too bad. They were a couple of the younger ones. Somewhere around 65 or so.”

  Both of them laughed.

  “What the heck, at least they could stand up without the help of a cane! When I felt those seniors staring at me for too long, I skipped lunch and ran as fast as I could to the bar to drink my lunch.”

  VF was determined to make a confession.

  “Hap, I just want to square things with you. I want you to know I know that I was pretty much a failure as a father. I was rough on you. And I should have stood up for you when Mom hurt you.”

  “You knew about Mom?” Hap would rather not revisit those days.

  “I probably don’t know…everything Mom did to you. Your sisters told me at times, and I should have done something. I thought maybe they exaggerated about the ‘torture.’ And that business with all your model planes—I just thought maybe you threw some of them away.”

  “Dad, you did the best you could.”

  VF was not convinced. He remembered what he wrote Virginia when she had taken one of her long travel vacations to New York, when the children were quite young.

  My Dearest Virginia,

  The children are fine. They miss you and I’ve enclosed some of their letters to you.

  Today Hap gave me a picture of a cowboy on a horse that he drew and then inked. It’s very good. He has real talent. I think he could be a professional artist some day.

  Honey, I don’t want you to get upset when I say that I think it’s very important to be supportive of Hap and to praise him for his artwork. If we don’t make him feel good about himself, he will not be able to be successful. Please think about this and don’t get all mad because I’ve brought it up.

  VF knew that Virginia had rages, for heavens’ sakes, he bore the brunt of many. But he never knew the extent of them with the children. By the time he arrived home every day after working in his downtown office, or after days of long travel on the road, the children were always complacent and cooperative.

  Side-by-side the two men spoke calmly. The decades of competition and anger subsided. Tonight they were adversaries no longer. Tonight they were father and son and the moments were tender.

  “I know I can’t change the past, but maybe I can do something for your future. I’ve got to save the land. When I’m gone, she’ll sell it you know.”

  “Oh, Dad. What will be will be. Isn’t that what she always says—que sera sera. You’re a good lawyer. You’ll make it work.” Although he did not have the same attraction to the land, Hap felt that the hard times between them were starting to melt away and both of them were beginning to relax.

  The next day was Hap’s wife’s birthday. Hap and VF started the day at 6:30 am doing laundry, and then Hap went to the cruise ship’s driving range to hit balls with his golf buddy Doug.

  “How about a good laugh?” Hap said to Doug. “Dad and me doing laundry! We worked out in the gym and then decided to do some laundry. Too much soap—we had to rinse the clothes half dozen times. They took forever to dry. A real Abbot and Costello scene. But then the machines are a little different than what I’m used to. You wash in one—spin in another—it’s crazy. I needed a drink after that.”

  “What about the roses for Karen?” Karen was Hap’s wife.

  “You talking about the love of my life?” Hap felt comfortable around Doug. “I sent a dozen, but should have sent her a truckload. My dad sent my mom some roses, the copycat. He said he wanted her to know he missed her. I doubt that, but it will keep her from screaming at him
….I don’t know what it is about flowers, they sit there a day or two and then wilt. But it’s not really the flowers that women get excited about; it’s the mush that goes with it. Well, that’s OK because I like the mush.”

  Doug was surprised. “You like the mush?”

  “OK, now, I know you’re Crocodile Dundee, and there’s no mush in your orbit.”

  The rest of the trip around and in Australia was uneventful. VF felt as if he got what he wanted. He had some semblance of closure with Hap, he enjoyed seeing the Australian backcountry and talking to a diverse group of people. And he got a great new sign for the ranch. Mission accomplished.

  Chapter Three:

  Ranch. Landry Here.

  Thanksgiving 1994

  “Ranch. Landry here.” That’s how VF answered the phone: He said that’s what he wanted on his tombstone in the family cemetery. It was a joke. Kind of.

  While VF’s health continued to decline after he returned from Australia, he came to the realization that he did not have enough time or energy to write his life’s story and agreed to sit for a video memoir. Mary would ask the questions and he promised to answer truthfully. It was nearly Thanksgiving, but still quite warm at the ranch.

  VF had fulfilled his bucket list: his cruise to Australia with Hap, a quick trip to the Rockies with Bits to visit Vicki, a rollicking canoe trip down the Guadalupe River with Fred, a pre-paid funeral just in case he was mortal, and the ranch tied up neatly in a living trust with most of the kids as the remaindermen. Translation: Virginia got the ranch and when she died, the kids were to get equal portions. He thought he had made it clear that she could not sell because of their shares that bound the parties to the land. “Keep it together,” he kept telling her.

  The O-Bar’s 300 acres, a farm located close to Houston, in the deepest Czech community where VF was raised, was to be given to Iris. This was to ameliorate the fact that Iris would not receive any of the acreage of Silvercreek Ranch. Iris had been written out of the family trust when her untimely pregnancy forced her to marry her high school sweetheart. Now, though, VF forgave her indiscretions by making sure she was given the O-Bar. “Iris will never sell the O-Bar,” he told his attorney. He was sure of that. He wasn’t so sure about his other children and their intended acreage on Silvercreek Ranch. He knew this because he had watched them grow up as weekend warriors on the land. The south Austin city house was their refuge, but the ranch was their religion, or lack thereof.

  VF knew instinctively which of his children would and would not hold on to the land, but he hoped that all of them cared as deeply about its monetary value not to discard it.

  Earlier in the week, VF thought he had prepared Virginia for taking over the assets. He sat at his massive desk in the library, Virginia facing him. He opened a large, legal-size brown leather portfolio and pulled from it three major files clearly marked. “Virginia, see this file? This is our stock portfolio. It’s worth $2 million right now.”

  Virginia tried to understand what he was talking about, but he had never mentioned a stock portfolio before. She wasn’t sure what that meant. The closest she came to complicated financial matters was keeping her bank account in the black. She did not know “net worth.”

  She nodded, faking comprehension. “And this file marked PENSION AND SOCIAL SECURITY. That’s my Texas State pension information and the information about my social security that will benefit you. There are names and addresses and phone number here for you if you need them.”

  He handed both the files to her. Virginia looked at them, a bit dumbfounded. He thinks he’s dying, she realized, and now her denial was being challenged.

  VF continued as he opened the last file, pointing to the title page, “This third file holds our will. Please don’t tamper with this. We’ve both signed it. It gives equal shares of the ranch to the kids after your life estate. We’ve already ceded land to Will, Iris’ son, because of his veteran status. All the kids except Iris get Silvercreek acreage. She gets the O-Bar after your life estate. Remember?”

  Virginia nodded.

  VF closed the file, and held out his hand, summoning the other files. Virginia held them close to her chest, and then handed them to him.

  “So all the debts are taken care of, everything is paid off, you’ll collect on my life insurance policy and there’s cash in the savings account—you have the savings books?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK then.” He pushed the files back into the portfolio and slid the leather bundle into the top desk drawer. “Here is everything you need.” He stood, knocked twice on the desk, walked over to her as if to hug her. She did not get up.

  Everything was so well organized. There were no debts. Virginia should have been thrilled. She did not embrace him.

  This arrangement about money, land, and valuables always made Virginia uncomfortable. It was beyond her comprehension. He’s going to die, she realized. How will I manage without someone to help me with all of this?

  VF didn’t understand how confused Virginia was, just that she was more and more distant. He was going to do everything he could to keep the family together—maybe a video would help.

  * * *

  “So, how does this work?” VF asked as he sat in his favorite UT-emblazoned Captain’s chair, holding his UT baseball cap.

  Mary was off-camera where she could ask the questions so that VF would be the center of attention. Father Joe was the director. VF was in the screened-in porch, with the wide expanse of land in the background as cattle moo-ed in the distance.

  “Can I wear my hat?”

  “We’ll ask you the questions you have in your hand and you just answer as many as you like, any way you like. If the hat feels right, wear it,” Mary answered with a smile.

  “Like a deposition?” VF asked.

  “No…not like a deposition. Natural,” Mary replied

  “Like a documentary?” he asked, trying to warm up to being on camera. “I saw that movie Forest Gump recently. You think this will be like a box of chocolates?”

  The remark had its intended effect. Mary and Joe laughed.

  VF put the hat on. “Proceed.”

  “So we’ll ask you about your career in law…your marriage…your children…your advice….your religion…your gardening and ranching….Can we start with this letter to Mom?”

  VF grabbed his glasses, “A letter to Virginia??? Where in the world??? 1938? Ah, between law school semesters…after that wrestling championship.”

  VF embraced the letter like an old friend, carefully turning the page over.

  He pursed his lips and read: “Let me assure you sweet Virginia, not a moment has passed that I have not thought about you. When your letters arrive, I get them and read while I’m riding. When you come to the O-Bar you may ride Snip and I’ll ride Fanny Crocket. Snip is not afraid of cars…”

  VF grew silent ….. “But she was never going to ride. She hated horses. Gosh! I was struck by her. Her beauty. Her youth. She was six years younger than I. She wanted to go places, do things. She played the violin! She was going to nursing school. And I felt sorry for her. She had such a screwed up family.” He talked about his wife, his first real love, as if she was gone.

  “Her father was a successful, functioning alcoholic. An engineer. The director of city planning for Christ sakes! But he divorced her kleptomaniac mother and took off with his secretary…and that sister of hers in the looney bin, and the oldest sister who died under odd circumstances..Gosh, I was worried about her education.”

  Mary was surprised by the candor of his answer. The surgeon had warned her that a brain tumor changes the patient’s behavior. “They say things you thought you’d never hear,” he cautioned. She decided to move on.

  “Can you tell us what have been the greatest cases in your career?”

  “Texas/New Mexico versus Colorado. It was the Rio Grande Compact case
. Water rights, together with the fresh water, claimed by Texas/New Mexico were not coming through Colorado because they were being dammed and El Paso was about to dry up. Went to US Supreme Court. My first and only argument in that auspicious room. Won it hands down. Texas/New Mexico been getting water ever since. Set me on the path to specializing in environmental law. Well, that case and the Braniff case, of course.” VF smiled and took off his glasses, staring straight into the camera.

  “What happened in the Braniff case?”

  “Well, that’s for the records. It’s very complicated.”

  “We want to know as much as you can remember,” Mary said.

  “OK then. I was working for a private law firm at that time, specializing in PI.”

  “Personal injury?” Mary asked.

  “Correct. In 1954 Braniff founder Thomas Elmer Braniff died when a flying boat crashed on the shore of Wallace Lake, 15 miles outside of Shreveport, Louisiana, due to icing…”

  “What’s a flying boat?” Mary interrupted.

  “A flying boat is a plane that tries to land in the water, darlin’. May I proceed?”

  “Please.”

  “So… Mr. Braniff was returning from Lake Charles on a hunting expedition with friends from Louisiana. The wings iced up on approach to landing in Shreveport, and the plane lost altitude. One of the wings hit cypress stumps and the plane crashed against the shore. It caught fire and all 12 lives aboard were lost.

  “We had to prove there was neglect in that accident. Took several years and many hours of depositions, court fights. We won. That was a big win.

  “After that, Braniff’s brother took over the management of the airlines, then died of cancer, and then his daughter died in childbirth. This airline and many more were out of business by 1978 due to deregulation. Goes to show you that the Republicans aren’t right about dereg.”

  “Was there another case that stands out?”

  “Oh, dear, yes—the Ben Ramsey insurance case.”

  “Wasn’t he Railroad Commissioner?”

  VF’s voice rose as his admiration showed. “Why yes, darlin’, Railroad Commissioner, Lieutenant Governor, Secretary of State, State Senator. But when this case came forward he was Railroad Commissioner and trying to clean up the insurance fraud taking place in the state.