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                          Chapter 1

                   Glenn W

Here are the plain and simple facts: you ain’t never gonna

meet a happier person then this old guy right here. That’s right;

I’m cursed with a smile that just won’t go away. I would like to say

that it is because I am just so dang happy with the world and how

things turned out, but I’m gonna slap you with the truth: bourbon

and beer! Believe me, there ain’t nothing in my past that is worth

smiling about, but then again, why waste a perfectly good day

worrying about it?

Here is some of the nasty that soiled my spirit from a very early

age. I was born in Charleston, North Carolina, in the summer of

1956. Now Momma was a mean woman, but compared to Daddy,

she was a pussy cat. Daddy had a temper and boy oh boy, when it

flared up, you ran as fast and as far as your little feet could carry

you. Let me tell ya, thinking back like this, I am having a hard

time believing this stuff myself. Let’s focus on Daddy first, that

crazy son of a bitch. He actually took a belt buckle to me once

because my brother walked past the TV and knocked the antenna

wire loose. When that TV picture went all fuzzy, Daddy’s blood

boiled faster than grits in a pan. “But, but Daddy,” I scream as the

belt buckle leaves its mark, over and over again. The more I fought

or argued the longer the whopping lasted. I took the beating for my

brother’s actions because I was the one standing closest to Daddy,

which meant he could lash out at me without moving from his

chair. He was just a mean man who had the devil in his soul. He

would beat Momma when she got pregnant and would continue to

abuse her until after the birth. This went on with my brother, me,

and my little sister. Yup, he was just down right mean.

Momma didn’t have a say in anything. If she tried to speak,

Daddy’s backhand would muffle her words before they could pass

through her lips. He thought that women and children were in this

world to serve him, not to be loved, and especially not respected.

Daddy also cheated on Momma, a lot. His cheating ended up being

his downfall, and fall he did. One day the girl he was with made a

huge mistake. She spoke out of line, something my father had no

tolerance for. Well, her words sent Daddy off into a fit of anger.

Did he beat her? No! Did he cut her off from the privilege of his

company? No! He just took out his pistol and popped her one in

the side of her head. She was dead before she hit the ground. That

brought Daddy to the only sane moment he ever had in his life.

He realized what he had done. He saw the scope of his situation.

He was in serious trouble. There was no one to blame but himself.

There was only one thing that crazy bastard could do, and he didn’t

waste any time doing it. He put the pistol to his own head, falling

right next to his cold and lifeless one-night-stand.

I was eight-years-old when Daddy killed the devil. Sis was

really too young to remember any details. My brother was 11 or

maybe 12. He took it real bad. It messed him up, sending him over

the edge. He ran away from home and thumbed a ride south to

Florida. He was so depressed about what Daddy had done, while

stopping at a truck stop just outside of Tallahassee, my brother

committed suicide by running out onto the highway, right into the

path of an 18-wheeler. He was killed instantly. Now it was just

me, my little sister, and Momma. My mother struggled trying to

hold down a job and take care of us at the same time. When I think

back, I can remember hearing Momma, each night as she finally

lay down to sleep, saying in a soft whisper, “Thank you, Jesus.” I

never knew exactly why she was thanking Jesus, and I was never

really interested in asking.

School was a lot of fun, but Momma needed me more and

more, to help out around the house, cooking, cleaning, and taking

care of Sis. By time I was entering 7th grade, I barely had time

for friends because of my family responsibilities. Momma worked

and made the money, and I pretty much did everything else. There

was only one thing I could do to hold it all together. I didn’t want

to end up thinking about running in front of busy traffic. Doing

that would have solved my problems, but then what would have

happened to Momma and Sis? Nope, the only thing I could do was

drop out of school and focus all of my attention on the household.

So, did I go to school? Yup, and I almost finished 7th grade, just

enough learning to get me by but not enough learning to succeed.

My sister didn’t finish school either. When she reached high school,

she discovered boys or should I say boys discovered her? Sis was

too busy messing around, making babies to be worried about book

learning. She had her second baby at the age of 15. Sadly, Sis

ended up living a hard life, eventually passing away from diabetes.

She never even got to see her 40th birthday.

With Momma working, making less than poverty level income,

I had to find ways of making ends meet. I would break into the

school after hours and steal food from their kitchen. Not enough

to be noticed but enough to feed my family for a few days. I was

able to keep this up for a long time. I really didn’t like stealing. I

knew it was wrong, but my choices were limited. I finally became

smart and found work as a day laborer. No more stealing for me. I

was going to pay my way from now on. And that was exactly what

I did.

After time passed, Sis was out living with a boyfriend

somewhere, and Momma was stuck in her own little world. There

was nothing else holding me in Charleston, so I decided to hit the

road to see what adventures were waiting for me. The year was

1976, and I was finally free from all responsibility. I didn’t drink,

except for the occasional beer, and I didn’t do drugs like most

of the people were doing at that time. It was just me, my mind,

and my country, all heading out on a journey—a journey into the

unknown.

Well, I hitchhiked down into Florida and picked up the odd

job here and there to help finance my trip. After Florida started

becoming tiresome, I shook off the Florida dust and thumbed my

way west, through the panhandle and landing in New Orleans.

Now there was a town that knew how to party. I was always the

kind of guy who liked to have a plan: something to guide me—a

destiny I guess you could call it. Vietnam was over for some time

now and the country was finally at peace. This was a perfect time

for me to join the military and let the Navy teach me a trade. My

plan of action was to head to New Orleans and enlist from there.

After that, the world would be laid at my feet. My goal was clear,

and I was acting on it with determination.

Well, as I hitchhiked west, an old panel truck pulled up and

offered me a seat in the back. I jumped in and was surprised to

see the van was packed full of hippies, all dressed in their long

hair and bell bottom pants and tie-dye shirts. I also climbed right

into the middle of the thickest cloud of pot smoke. I didn’t even

have to smoke any in order to get high. Within 15 minutes, I was

laughing and talking up a storm, acting as if these were my long

lost buddies. When they heard my plans of joining the Navy, they

all started educating me on the evils of the military. I smoked. I

listened. I pondered. I was informed that there was plenty of work

out there, where someone like me could be in charge of their own

destiny, without swearing an oath to kill other humans. By the

time we reached New Orleans, I was actually starting to believe

all that hippy stuff myself. I never did join the Navy. My plans

had been modified by me and the hippies. One of them, I think his

name was Sunshine or Sunbeam, or something to do with daylight,

introduced me to his uncle who ran an ice cream business. I was

offered a job immediately. I was now driving an ice cream truck up

and down neighborhood streets, ringing the bell, causing all of the

kids to come running. I actually really enjoyed the job. I made so

many people (kids) happy and made a decent wage as well.

By now I started drinking more and more, probably as a way

of dealing with my past. I just wanted to forget Daddy and the

ugliness that he caused. I was hanging out at the French Quarter

every night, pounding Hurricanes with beer chasers. My day went

something like this: an egg with toast for breakfast then off to work

for four hours. At lunch time, a hot dog at the pub with a beer or two

would hit the spot. Then back behind the wheel of the ice cream

truck for another four hours finishing my work day around five pm.

Then I would take the bus to the French Quarter and remain there

until I passed out in some gutter. I would then find my way home,

which happened to be nearby and flop down on my bed. Once the

alarm clock went off, I would crawl into the shower, prepare my

egg and toast and do it all over again.

I never saw it coming; the alcohol just snuck in there and took

control of everything, including my priorities. Within months, I

was at a point where I shouldn’t be driving. My boss noticed my

condition and finally the day came when he had to pull me from

the trucks. He offered me work on the loading dock, but the hours

were minimal and so was the wage. I just smiled and thanked him

for the work and walked off into the sunset, never looking back.

The adventure continued.

It was time for the Big Easy and me to go our own separate

ways. With thumb outstretched and backpack filled with my

worldly possessions, I continued my journey west. Texas seemed

like a promising place, so I thanked my ride for the lift, hopped

out and gave the Texan lifestyle a try. I tell ya, everything is bigger

in Texas. I felt right at home. I loved the people, and I loved the

music. I was raised with country and western songs on the radio, so

Texas and all of the music it had to offer was no disappointment. It

was either country and western or gospel. I really liked the gospel

too. I had been on the road long enough and had seen enough

during my childhood to realize that there had to be a higher being,

out there, somewhere. Why else would Daddy have killed himself

if God didn’t make him do it? I think my Daddy was the battle

ground between God and the Devil (good and evil) and just like the

Bible says, “God always wins.”

I started working various day jobs, some lasting only a day

or two and others going on for weeks or even months. I spent

a lot of time in Texas, all over the state, fillin’ my pocketbook

and killin’ my liver. Then, like every other time before, I started

getting restless as the urge to move on started taking over. That

urge was as powerful as my addiction to booze. When it spoke, I

listened. But for some reason, God was tugging me in a different

direction. He had my backpack loaded and my thumb sticking out

like a beacon. Before I knew it, I was on my way again. My final

destination was to be Sacramento, California. Thinking about it,

I still laugh. Sacramento! Who in their right mind would want to

go to Sacramento? Ahhh, “right mind,” I never really had one of

those; so I guess Sacramento made some sense after all.

God’s purpose is not for me to question and so I just followed—

what ended up being like the sheep to the slaughter. This was where

I met the woman of my dreams—or should I say nightmares. She

was a big girl, and I loved her. I also thought she loved me, but I

learned over time that to her, I was just a boy toy. I was a possession

for her to control. Together we had two boys. I guess now one

would be twenty-three and the other would be close to twentyseven

years-old. Our marriage lasted for 16 years before I built up

enough courage to make my escape. Man, I tell you, she was like

the spirit of my daddy all rolled up into the core of this woman.

Now looking at me, you can see that I am not a big, muscle-bound

kind of guy. I’m a little man who just loves to love and wishes that

we could all simply get along. If you take the world leaders and put

them in a room and lock the door, then place a bottle of bourbon

on the table, I guarantee you that an agreement would be signed

before the bottle was dry.

Well, after I finally escaped from that she-devil, I decided to

thumb my way south to Tucson. I had heard some great things about

Arizona and how kind the people were. I think it was probably all

of those hippies that settled down there in the 70s and 80s that

made Arizona such a friendly place. It took me over ten days to

thumb down here from Sacramento. I stayed sober during that trip;

man, that was the longest ten days of my life. Nobody wants to

pick up a drunk on the highway. Maybe they’re afraid that I would

throw up in their car or get out of control. I’m just not that kind of

drunk. I am the guy that likes to have a drink, sit with friends, like

you, and have a long conversation about all kinds of things, like

the meaning of life or world peace.

Speaking of world peace, if I had a wish, I mean if I could

have anything I wanted, I would wish that the entire world, every

single person in it would be happy, like I am right now. Sure I am

probably happy because of the drinking; I had my first sip today at

sun up. But you know what, at least I am happy. I sit here day after

day, watching people rushing all over the place, and I can see the

anger and unhappiness on their faces. In some ways, I am so much

better off then they are. Yup, I’m happy and I wish everyone could

smile, like I do.

If I were to look back and try to think about my life and pinpoint

any regrets, I guess the main thing I am sorry about is dropping out

of school. I don’t like being the dumb guy in the crowd. But then

again, who cares what they think? If I were to try and pick what

was a golden moment from my past I would have to say getting as

far away from my demonic family as I could. That was the smartest

thing I ever did, and I never looked back.

Do I think there is a God? Absolutely! He is what has kept me

going through all of these years. God is the only one out there who

looks out for me, especially when I am going through times when

I am not capable of looking out for myself. Praise God! Now, all I

need to do is focus on my new dream. I need to find a wife; a wife

that would love me for who I am; a wife who loves to laugh, loves

to cry, loves to love. If I found a woman who could put up with me,

then maybe I would be able to quit drinking and find a job. Then I

would have everything.

Am I a great catch? Well, if you saw some of the other fish in

this sea, you would agree that I am not that bad of a catch. I get

a Social Security check every month. Well, it isn’t really a check;

it’s more of a direct deposit. This gives me just enough to cover

my needs. I smoke cheap tobacco, drink cheap liquor, wear cheap

clothes, and eat cheap food. So I guess you can call me a cheap

date. I think I am ready for the next chapter in my life: finding

a wife so I can settle down. I still sleep in parks under trees but

would love the warmth of a bed, with a wife. Would I love her?

Well, like they say in that old song, “What’s love got to do with

it?”

I need to get going now. I have to make my rounds. First, I

need to go by the bank and get a few bucks. Then I will pick up

some cheap tobacco, some cheap liquor, and who knows, maybe

I’ll stumble onto a cheap woman at the same time. Just kidding ya.

If you know of anyone out there who can handle a handsome guy

like me, bring them by. Who knows, maybe you’ll be dancing at

my wedding.

But tell me one thing before you leave. Have you ever

met someone who smiles as much as I do? I hope you have an

awesome day and don’t forget to laugh, at least once. Remember

my number one rule: be happy today because you might not be

happy tomorrow..

           Will Work 4 Food         

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