by Ed Nelson
The Richard Jackson Saga
Book 1: The Beginning
by Ed Nelson
Copyright August 2019 by E. E. Nelson
Eastern Shore Publishing
7545 Lovey Lane
Parsonsburg, MD 21849
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places , events are either a product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely conincidental
Contents
The Richard Jackson Saga
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter -11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
This is dedicated to my wife Carol for her support as first reader and editor. Also Bellefontaine High School class of 1962, just because.
"That is exactly how it happened, give or take a lie or two."
James Garner as Wyatt Earp describing the gunfight at the OK Corral in the movie Sunset
Copyright August 2019 by E. E. Nelson
Eastern Shore Publishing
7545 Lovey Lane
Parsonsburg, MD 21849
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used ficititiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely conicidental.
Chapter 1
“Your homework for your first day of English class, due tomorrow is one on your summer vacation,” said Miss Bales.
This should be interesting I thought should I tell the truth or make up the usual crap, like we went to the beach on Lake Erie or to Columbus to the zoo.
I guess I should explain why I am even thinking of making something up. I have proof of what happened, but I don’t know if I want all the nonsense that will go with it when it comes out. It will become public anyway after that last bit in Philadelphia, so I might as well go for it.
It all started late May of last year. I had just finished 8th grade, and my dad Jack Jackson and I were discussing what I would do for the summer. Dad was a child during the great depression and had been in the Civilian Conservation Corp, as a youth out in Idaho, killing coyotes. He was in the Army during World War II, where he met my English mother. I think I was the reason they got married but this wasn’t discussed, but I could do arithmetic.
My name is Richard Edward Jackson, known as Rick or Ricky; I am large for my age at five-foot ten inches and one hundred seventy pounds. From my Father, Cousins and Uncles sizes, I still had a lot of growth left. I am fourteen years old, turning fifteen in October. I am known as Ricky to friends and family.
Anyway, Dad said, “By the time I was your age, I had been all around the country. Hell when I was twelve. I ran away with the carnival, but your grandmother had the Sheriff chase me down. Later, she swore she should have just let me go.”
“You wouldn’t mind if I traveled around a bit?”
“Not at all, but your Mother might care.”
“If I mention it to her would you say it is okay?”
“That would be better than running your paper route and sitting around reading all the time.”
Now Dad was happy that I worked and had been doing so since the fifth grade. He didn’t mind that I read all the time, which was easy because the library was a stop on my paper route. What he minded was me sitting on the porch swing for hours at a time reading and getting a little pudgy.
Taking my life in my hands; I broached the subject at dinner that night. My two younger brothers and sister had not acted up, and Dad hadn’t gone on a toot (what he called a drinking spree) for a while so there wasn’t any tension at the table. Additionally money must have been okay, because Dad had moved up from the extra board as a switchman on the railroad to become a conductor.
This wasn’t like a conductor on a passenger train. His job as a supervisor was making up a freight train by having the cars put in the correct order. The switchmen and brakemen had to take their direction from him. This irked two of my Uncles, who did those jobs.
I asked, “Mum would you care if I saw a little of the country on this vacation?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I only go up to Indian Lake, about ten miles, with you and Dad. Would you care if I rode my bike or even hitchhiked up there?”
In those days, hitchhiking was quite common and not considered a bad thing.
“I might even get to Cincinnati to see a ball game!”
”That sounds ambitious; I doubt that you would have the nerve for that, it is one hundred miles there.”
“I won’t know if I don’t try.”
Mum looked at Dad and asked, “What do you think?”
“Well I sort of put it in his mind, so I am okay with it.”
Mum then gave me a look and said, “You can do it. Now tell me what you really have in mind?”
I should have known I wouldn’t get anything past her.
“I would like to hitchhike out west and see as much country as I can during the summer.”
“I thought it was something like that. Actually, I don’t see anything wrong with it. You have the size, seem to have common sense. I certainly did more adventuresome things when I was your age.”
“Like what?" I asked.
“Well you know we lived in Grays, a small town on the Thames River between Dover and London. We used to make rafts to cross the river. You don’t know fear until an Ocean Liner is blowing its horn for you to get out of the way when you are on a homemade raft. So I do understand. Just be careful of who you take rides with.”
And so my summer vacation started. I saved forty dollars from my paper route which I no longer had. This was almost a grown man’s week’s wages in those days.
I had a thin sleeping bag, ground cloth, shaving kit and an old army rucksack to carry several changes of clothe
s. Plus the Barlow pocketknife which was required of all boys my age, and a comb.
What I did have that was unusual was my American passport. Since Dad was a GI and Mum British, I had dual citizenship. My parents thought we could afford a trip to England several years ago, which didn’t work out, but I did end up with an American Passport. It was very handy for impressing the girls.
It was the only ID that I had on me, other than my library card. Mum gave me five dollars to be used in an emergency and told me I had to send a post card every few days, so they knew about where I was at.
I had already learned in life, what parents approved one day might change the next. So I was up early May 31. The school calendar was easy to follow those years. School ended the day before Memorial Day and took up again the day-after Labor Day. The dinner conversation was on Thursday night May 30, and school was over for the year. I passed eighth grade going on to the ninth.
I was up at day break and packed, Mum had breakfast waiting. It was my favorite bowl of cereal, Quaker Oats puffed rice. While I ate she made me two baloney sandwiches for lunch. Dad had left an Army surplus canteen for me. He was at work, but both figured I wouldn’t waste time once I had permission.
After a hug from Mum, I walked the five blocks to Main Street, which was also US 68 in Bellefontaine, Ohio. From there I started walking south. It didn’t take long before Ernie Nevers slowed down. He was an older paperboy who could drive. He offered me a lift. He thought I was heading out to the fairgrounds south of town.
When I told him, I was heading towards Springfield, he really questioned me. I explained my summer mission, seeing the West.
He scoffed, “You will be home tomorrow, but since I’m heading to Urbana, I will take you that far.”
We spent the half-hour drive talking about going west. The truth was neither of us knew much. If I went to Springfield and followed US 40 to the Ocean, then turned left, I would get to LA. In those days the Interstate system was just being built, and US 40 still went all the way to San Francisco.
Anyway, Ernie dropped me off in the center of Urbana at the roundabout, and I started walking south. It took me about half an hour to get to the edge of town and stick my thumb out. Of course, the first person to stop was a county sheriff’s deputy.
He was polite and wanted to know who I was. Where I was going and the usual things, a cop might ask, like had I run away from home. I in return politely gave my story.
He laughed and said, “Few people do that anymore. I tried it just before the war. I got clear to Indianapolis before I got homesick. Good luck and have fun.”
Things were different in those days.
At about that time an old farm truck slowed down, and the Deputy flagged him over.
“Hey Bill we got a young man on his way west. He needs to get to Springfield to pick up 40.”
“Well hop in youngster! I remember those days; I used to ride the rail when I was your age. We would jump a box car to Dayton; then go south to Cincinnati to watch a ball game at Crosley Field. We were thirteen and would drink Hudephol Beer. The kid who sold it to us probably was ten. It was a dime a bottle.”
The old farmer regaled me with the fun stuff he did as a kid half way to Springfield. He let me out at his turnoff and wished me luck.
My next ride took forty minutes and was an insurance man going to his office in Springfield. He wanted to know where I was from, and did my parents need insurance. I couldn’t really answer him so it was a quiet ride. He let me off downtown Springfield on the main drag which was route 40.
Chapter 2
Since it was Memorial Day, a parade was lined up on 40 getting ready to head west. The floats were lined up along the street. One float, the Future Farmers of America had boys and girls my age.
One of the girls a cute brunet said, “Hi,” as her float was slowly going by.
Of course being nobody’s fool I said, “Hi” back.
She got a funny look and said, “Oh I am sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
This gave me the opening to ask, “Who did you mistake me for?”
I continued to walk along beside the float.
After that a more general conversation ensued with me telling her and the other kids on the float of my big trip. This resulted in getting an invitation to ride the float out to the edge of town. All the kids thought it was neat that my parents would let me do that. We weren’t cool in those days, just neat.
I felt like I was King of the World on that ride. Then reality caught up with me as we reached the cemetery at the edge of town for the Memorial Day ceremonies. I went my way, and they went theirs.
I stood by the road with my thumb out for half an hour according to my glow in the dark Timex watch. This became boring so I started walking, putting my thumb out whenever a car comes by.
It took me the rest of the day to reach Dayton. As it was getting dark, I left the road and camped in a small wooded area. My food was long gone. I was tired hungry, lonely and a little scared of being out alone. I was jumping at every little sound.
I managed to get through the night and if there were any tears, you will never know. Day light comes like it usually does, so I did my morning duty and headed out. Being fourteen I didn’t think what my hair would look like, so for some reason no one wanted to pick me up.
Later at a small gas station after looking in the mirror, I wouldn’t have picked me up either. After cleaning up as best as I could, I bought a couple of candy bars and a Coke to hold me until I got to real food. The station also sold outdoor goods, and I found a small metal mirror. This way, I could use my comb and avoid looking like some deranged killer.
Not too far down the road was a small diner. I paid seventy-five cents for a couple of eggs, bacon and hash browns along with my first cup of coffee ever. Everything but the coffee was good. I had to kill the taste with so much sugar and cream that the waitress was laughing at me.
I made fifty miles that day. At this rate, it would take me two months to get to California. I kept trudging along. I did learn that the Burma Shave signs were further apart than I had thought; furthermore, the Mail Pouch Tobacco advertisements painted on the side of barns weren’t really put on that well. The fancy work from a distance was pretty sloppy hand painting when viewed up close.
I realized I was far from home when I had to reset my watch when I was west of Indianapolis. I dialed my watch one hour from Eastern Daylight Savings Time to Eastern Standard Time.
A week later, I was leaving Indiana for Illinois when I saw a farm truck with a flat tire. The driver was an elderly lady (at least forty). She was just sitting in her truck.
I asked if she needed help, and she told me that she couldn’t handle the spare. I changed the tire for her, and she gave me a lift down the road as far as her farm. She then invited me in for lunch she asked about what I was doing. Her husband came out of the field to eat with us.
He laughed at my story and said, “I bet you would like nothing better than a bath right now.”
I told him he was correct.
“I thought that would be the case, I was all over Europe with Patton, and a bath was the goal of every soldier. Home and girls were the dream, but a good soak was the goal.”
While I cleaned up, Mrs. Whaley washed my clothes. They had some old things I could wear while mine were on the clothes line. By then it was getting late, and they invited me for dinner and the night. I wasn’t shy. It was so good to be under a roof.
During dinner, Mr. Whaley asked if I would mind staying for a couple of days to help with some chores. He had some fencing to replace, and it was a two-man job. He would pay me five dollars for the two days plus meals and a bed. I immediately took him up on it.
The next day I was asked if I had let my parents know how I was doing. Of course, I was in the middle of my second week and had not done so. Mrs. Whaley gave me a post card and one of the new four cent stamps. Postage had actually gone up since my trip had started.
On June first, i
t went from three cents to four cents. The way prices were raising we would all starve, at least according to Mrs. Whaley. I wrote several lines saying I had just got into Illinois, and that I was fine. I put it in the mailbox and raised the flag for the mailman.
After two days of fencing I was ready to move on. Mr. Whaley paid me my five dollars and we shook hands and I was off again. Mrs. Whaley had packed me a little something for the road. If I was careful it might last for three days.
By this time I was getting my road legs. I choose to walk with my thumb out rather than stand and wait. Walking became easier and that pudginess was going away. This got me feeling all virtuous, so I decide to do pushups and sit ups every morning. In the back of my mind I probably thought it would last several days as I had tried this before, but it actually took and it became part of my morning ritual every day.
I hate St. Louis. It took me an entire day to walk across town. It was side walk all the way so my feet were killing me by the time I hit the western city limits. By this time several problems were becoming apparent. I was half way through my money and my shoes were wearing out.
I had put cardboard in the bottom of the shoe but the hole in the sole was getting too large. I stopped at a farm store and bought a stout pair of Mason work shoes. They should last. They did but were really hard to break in. By the time I had hitched and walked to the Kansas border I had blisters.
I was ready to stop for a while so I bought a loaf of bread, boloney and mustard and band aids at a local IGA. I then found a secluded dell and took two days off. On the third morning I woke up feeling like a new person, so I hit the road again after performing my new morning ritual.
After many different rides I was dropped off just over the Kansas state line in Colorado by a Mr. Serling.
He had to say, “Toto we aren’t in Kansas anymore.”
