by Jeff Holmes
Scott really wanted a new pick-up. It was probably kind of impractical, and Roni had even told him as much. But Roni had her car and she told him she wasn’t going to argue about the truck.
Company was coming on June 8. Scott’s parents, Wayne and Donna, along with his sisters, Amy and Kimmy, were coming down to see their boy. Scott was excited. He loved his family a lot and missed them; it had been three months. Sure, he was going to be home for the Rodeo, but they needed a vacation, and when they asked where everyone wanted to go, Kimmy said, “…to see Scotty.” Mom agreed and the Mitchells were going to Texas.
Kimmy was Scott’s little buddy. Red hair and freckles, she was quite the junior-high jockette. She’d become a good basketball and softball player. But even at 15, she was still a little girl – at least to Scott – and he was pretty protective of her. Rick had been teasing him about Kimmy having boyfriends not long before he left for basic.
“You’re baby sister is hot,” Rick said, in a way that disturbed Scott. “She’s going to have a lot of boyfriends!”
“Bullshit,” Scott said. “I’ll have to kick some ass.”
“We both had girlfriends in seventh grade,” Rick countered.
“Yeah. Would you want my little sister dating somebody like we were then?” Scott said sternly.
Rick paused for a moment. “Yeah. You’re right. We were pretty bad, weren’t we?”
Scott and Amy were always close too, but they were close enough in age to get on each other’s nerves – basically since birth.
Amy was the practical grown-up of the three Mitchell kids. She loved to have fun, but she’s the one who was constantly on Kimmy’s case about school and boys and basketball. She was also the one who was probably the hardest on Scott when everything blew up. Except for Wayne, of course.
“How can you just throw this all away? How can you be so irresponsible?” she asked him one night. Of course at the time, he was holding her hair while she was throwing up at a party in Greeley where she came to spend the weekend with Mark.
Amy had soft blue eyes, wavy blonde hair. Scott actually hooked the two up.
Scott knew how proud his mom was of him for pretty much anything he’d ever done in his life. And he knew he disappointed her over the last year. But she never showed it. She worried and fussed and cried over Scott’s struggles and was happy about his relationship with Roni, even if she thought they were going too fast.
“You two have all the time in the world,” she had told him on the phone during basic. “I want you both to be happy, but I don’t want you to rush things and get hurt.”
Scott assured her they weren’t hurrying. Two weeks later, Donna was helping Roni plan her trip to Missouri.
Wayne and Scott’s relationship had always been interesting. Wayne had taught and coached wrestling and football from the time Scott was six months old, back in Iowa. In 1962, Wayne was passed over to be the head wrestling coach at Delaware Valley High School in Masonville. Donna’s cousin, Gene Sweeney, was the principal at Wild Horse back then.
Gene needed a new wrestling coach and offered Wayne the head coaching job, along with a chance to be head of the school’s math department. Scott was five at the time, Amy was three, and Kimmy was fresh out of the oven.
Scott was a wrestler from an early age and excelled at every level. Wayne’s team won a State championship in 1967 and was runner-up in 1971. They won another championship in 1973 when Rick and Scott both qualified for State. Two years later the Stampeders finished third and right after the season, Wayne resigned to devote more time to officiating.
Scott and Wayne loved each other, but they always seemed to be at the opposite sides of most issues. They battled over what weight Scott should go to and what car he should buy. Scott was very upset with his dad for giving up coaching. John Connel, his long-time assistant, took over and while Scott respected him, this was still his dad’s job. That’s why Scott never understood why his father wasn’t in favor of his volunteer coaching stint before he left for basic. And like his son, Wayne could be prone to impulsive comments – like their confrontation in December.
“You just flunked out of college and lost your football scholarship,” Wayne had thundered at Scott, who was nursing a hangover. “You’re not just going to lie around here and party. Joe McCullough told me they’re hiring at the stockyards. Go out there today and apply.”
“I’m not working at the goddamn stockyards,” Scott shot back. “I have almost $6,000 in the bank. Connel asked me to help with wrestling, and I can take classes at Limon CC. Give me some damn room.”
“We gave you room all semester and look at what happened,” Wayne snarled. “If you’re not going to go get a job, then join the goddamn Army.”
“FINE!” Scott said, slamming the back door as he went out. That was Dec. 22. He ended up at the recruiting office in Limon that afternoon. Eight days later, he was taking his physical in Denver, signing up as a medic and EMT, just in time to get in before President Ford ended the GI Bill on New Year’s Eve. He didn’t even tell his parents he was going to Denver – or why – until right before he left.
When Donna asked why, Scott shrugged and said, “ask Dad,” as he walked out the door. Even though Scott’s partying continued for the last two-and-a-half months before he left for basic, neither of his parents said much about it.
Ever since the conversion van craze had started the year before, Wayne Mitchell had wanted one. He went to Roni’s dad and bought a silver and blue model, with four captain’s chairs and a fold-out couch in the back. It even had a little TV built in by the couch.
It was that van that pulled up to the barracks at about 1630 hours on June 8. Scott had been off duty about a half hour and was already in civvies and waiting in the courtyard.
“Are your parents hippies?” Carl asked. “Looks like a stoner van.”
“It’s only a stoner van when I drive it,” Scott said.
The back doors opened and Kimmy came bounding out, running across the courtyard and leaping into her big brother’s arms. “Hey baby sis!” Scott exclaimed as he held her tight. “You’re taller, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, and I’m getting boobs, too!” she said.
Amy actually moved faster than Scott expected and hugged him tight once Kimmy let go. “Hey Bro’,” she said. “Missed you. How is Roni?”
“Missed you too,” he said. “And Roni is just fine, thanks.”
Amy was trying hard with the Roni thing. Amy had issues with her since she slept with Mark in ninth grade. It was a weird reality that not only had her boyfriend screwed Roni, now her brother was. But she was trying to understand.
Donna was crying, of course. “You look so thin,” she said. “Aren’t you eating?”
“I was, but then I got four dozen cookies in the mail and lost my appetite for a while,” he joked.
“Oh, I suppose that’s my fault,” she said, half-jokingly.
“He looks thinner because his head’s shaved,” Amy said. “He’s fine. They eat good.”
“You’ve never had mess hall food,” Carl said.
Wayne walked over. “Hi Bud,” he said. “Doing OK?”
“Trying to Dad, thanks,” Scott said, very glad Donna and the girls were there.
After meeting Carl, the Mitchells piled into the van and headed back off base. They were staying downtown at the Hemisfair Hilton and the plan for the night was to eat in the rotating restaurant on the top floor.
There was the usual family conversation. Scott and Amy talked a lot about college – she was going to Colorado State in Fort Collins to major in marketing. Mark had been trying to get her to go to UNC, but she knew what she wanted, and it wasn’t to go college just to be with her boyfriend.
‘He’s been getting really possessive lately,” Amy said quietly to only Scott. “He’s already trying to plan who goes where on different weekends this fall.”
“Want me to talk to him?” Scott asked.
“Oh God, no,” Amy said. “
We don’t talk about private stuff with family, you know.”
Scott shook his head. Relationship-wise, he was becoming spoiled.
“Did Amy tell you? Or did Roni?” Donna asked him.
“What Mom?” both Scott and Amy answered, together.
“Snakebite is playing the Queen’s Dance at the Rodeo,” she said brightly.
“Mom, that was kind of a surprise, but yes, Big Bro, you’re playing,” Amy said.
Mark, Scott, Kevin Fuller and a few other guys had formed Snakebite back in junior high. The three of them had always been in the band, but the rest of the line-up shifted from time to time. Scott and Mark were the primary guitarists – both could play lead or rhythm – as well as the lead singers. Mark also played piano; Scott could play a little bit of piano, but Mark did 90 percent of it. Scott had two songs on the keys.
Donnie Martin was their second drummer and had been with them since they were sophomores. He had been on the wrestling team with Scott, and was state champ at 105 as a junior for Wayne. Al Wright was a third guitarist.
And the girls were there. Joanie Cady, Betsy Collins and Teal Robertson brought a lot to the band. All three were in the class of ’75 as well. Joanie played guitar and keyboards and did her share of lead vocals. Betsy and Teal sang backing vocals. Furthermore, Betsy could play a little guitar and saxophone, while Teal played the flute and – oddly enough – the violin, which came out as “fiddle” for Snakebite. Roni even sang backing vocals on a few occasions.
They played a lot of Eagles, John Denver, Dylan, Skynyrd, Bob Seger, Kansas, The Band, Springsteen, James Taylor and music of that nature. They could play anything from hard rock to country rock and usually put on a great show. But with everyone going in their own directions, it was likely this could be their last chance together.
“Joanie, Mark and Kevin kind of decided they wanted to do the Rodeo, but they weren’t going to commit to it until they knew you were going to be home,” Donna said.
“We’re even getting a box for it,” Wayne said. “We, the Cadys and the McIntyres are getting one together.”
Wow, Scott thought. “I’m not sure Dad has really ever paid that much attention to the band.”
Scott had training Thursday and Friday, so the family toured the area during the day, then picked up Scott after 1600 hours. He stayed at the hotel with them Friday night. Saturday, they hit Breckenridge Park for a music festival that everyone but Wayne wanted to see, but he put up with it since Pearl Beer was sponsoring it.
That night it was dinner and a boat ride on the Riverwalk. Afterward, they returned to the hotel. Donna and the girls were exhausted, but Wayne wasn’t tired just yet.
“Want to go down and have a beer, son?” he asked Scott.
Why not, Scott thought to himself. “Sure, Dad.”
They sat in a booth and ordered a couple of Lone Star 24-ounce draws. For a while it was just small talk, wrestling, Army food, the Rodeo. Then it just came out.
“You know,” Wayne said, “you’re mother is still mad at me.”
“Why?” Scott asked.
“Because when you walked out the door that day and said ‘ask Dad,’ she did and I told her, and well, she’s been mad at me since,” he said.
“It was my decision,” Scott said, stiffly. “You just gave me the idea.”
Wayne shifted in his seat. “Are you still mad at me?”
Scott hadn’t expected his father’s reaction. “It was my decision,” was all he could come up with.
“I felt you’d skated for months,” Wayne said. “I didn’t want you to think you could just come home and skate there.”
“That’s just it, Dad,” Scott snapped at him. “I wasn’t going to skate. I wanted to get back into school, any school. But I also needed to feel like I was part of something again. When Connel asked me to come in and help, I felt like that again. But you didn’t want to let me.”
“I didn’t say that,” Wayne said. “I just thought a few months at the stockyards would have done you some good.”
“It might have, Dad,” Scott said, staring at his beer, “if it had been my idea. It was yours and it would have meant I wouldn’t have been able to help with wrestling. I needed that right then.”
Wayne shrugged. “Maybe you did. Do you think this, the Army, was a mistake?”
Scott stopped short. No one had asked him that question in a while, and while he thought he always knew the answer, he suddenly wasn’t sure.
Sure, he hated being taken away from everyone and everything he knew and loved. He hated the haircut and the clothes and the people telling him what to do and all of that shit.
But the Army had also brought him Andy and the guys. It had made him a stronger person in a lot of ways and more independent. And it brought him Roni.
He had wondered aloud more than once if they would be where they are right now without the Army. If she hadn’t seen his picture, then went flying back to Greeley that night to see Maggie, then wrote that letter, maybe the whole world would be different. Either way, that was something he didn’t want to find out.
“I don’t know, Dad,” Scott finally said. “A lot has happened, both good and bad. I hate where I’ve been and the things I have to do most of the time, but there have been good points, too. Maybe not a mistake, but not completely the way I wanted things.”
“But are you still mad at me?” Wayne pressed.
“I’m not really mad at anyone, Dad,” Scott allowed. “I didn’t have to do this; I could have blown you off and just stalled until wrestling was over. You were trying to teach me a lesson by getting me to work at the stockyards. I was trying to teach you one by joining the Army.
“Tell Mom I’m not mad you,” Scott added. “She’s probably not going to let up until she hears that, is she?”
“Nope, but thanks, son,” Wayne said.
****
CHAPTER 11
By the time the family left on June 13, Scott had hit the home stretch back to Wild Horse. He was excited about going home; he could see Rick and Maggie, Snakebite would be back in action, and, of course, Roni.
They kept the letter writing up on five-day intervals, but now they could talk on the phone a couple of times a week. The Sunday after the Mitchells went home, Roni came up with a plan for going apartment hunting.
Scott’s leave after basic medical started after graduation July 1 and EMT training started the 11th. Roni was working in the business office at the dealership, just as she usually did in the summer.
“What would you say to this?” asked the Master Planner. “We drive out to Manhattan on the 6th, take the whole day of the 7th to look around town, maybe look at apartments, then leave on the 8th and drive to San Antonio. Then I’ll fly back.”
“Drive what, the Sky Bird?” Scott asked. “That is way too nice to keep down here, and you need wheels.”
“Hell no,” she shot back with a cocky laugh. “You can’t have my car. You should go talk to my dad when you’re here.”
“Not the Creamsicle?” Scott asked in mock disappointment.
“No,” Roni replied. “I’m not sure I’d ride to Denver in the Creamsicle.”
The Creamsicle was Scott’s battered old orange and white 1968 GMC pick-up. He bought it at McIntyre’s the day after his 16th birthday, and along with his motorcycle, it had carried him through some great times in high school.
Scott sighed. “OK, I guess I’m the only one who loves her,” he said of his old truck. “But she was my first!”
“Yeah, you’re pretty much the only one,” Roni teased. “And as for first, do you really wish Pam Kistler was still around?”
Scott lost his virginity to Pam when he was a sophomore and she was a senior. She was a wrestling cheerleader and wasn’t bad looking, but there was a strong chance she’d been a lot of guys’ first.
“Ummm…well she had big tits,” Scott said, contemplating his options, “but, no, I suppose not.”
“You realize if I were there right now,
I’d kick you in the nuts, right?”
“Oh, yes,” Scott said. “This is one of the few times I could say I’m glad there’s 800 miles between us.”
“You better hope I forget that by the time you come home,” Roni said with a laugh.
A purple Braniff 727 was coming through a cloud bank as it headed northwest toward Denver. Out the left side window, Scott could see Pueblo, and soon Colorado Springs. He looked east; he knew he couldn’t see Wild Horse, but he also knew if the Springs were on the left, the Horse was on the right. And in the background were the mountains. Scott loved the mountains.
He’d never been gone this long. For as far back as he could remember, there was a faint line of the 14,000 Club peaks on the horizon. And when he would drive toward Denver to see his family in Lakewood or go in for a basketball or hockey game or a concert, the mountains would grow tall and protective like the craggy wall of an ancient castle. It was always a safe and reassuring sight.
The plane banked right as it closed in on Denver, and was headed straight north. The city spread itself out before Scott. He could see McNichols Arena and Mile High Stadium to the west, downtown, and snaking routes of I-25, Federal, Wadsworth and Sheridan crossing the Metro like arteries pumping blood. One last long bank turned the plane in 180 degrees. Below him, Scott saw the runway going across I-70, which is where he was headed.
“Welcome to Denver, Colorado,” the flight attendant’s voice said over the plane’s intercom.
As he came through the door of the jetway, Scott’s eyes scanned the people at the gate, looking for light brown hair, a cute butt and a pair of baby blue eyes. And they weren’t right there.
He looked out across the concourse, and near a pillar in the opposite gate he noticed a familiar pair of discus-thrower’s shoulders with sun and chlorine-bleached blonde hair hanging above them. Between the shoulders and the pillar was the unmistakable shape of telephoto camera lens with long trails of blonde hair streaming down either side. Scott smiled, looked into the lens and flipped it off. A hand reached out from under the lens and returned the favor. As it did, he felt two arms wrap around him from behind.
