almost 12, sixth grade, September 1961

hurricane Carla
 

1961 was a really bad year for me.  It was even worse for my mother.  In fact, I would have to say it was the darkest I ever saw her. 

In April 1961 Terry disappeared for nearly three days to chase a female dog in heat.  It was only by luck that I heard the sound of the dogs barking down the street.  The worry I experienced during those three days was sheer agony.  Convinced Terry was gone for good, the pain I felt during his Call of the Wild adventure was unbearable.  Unfortunately, every time he escaped, I was terrified I would lose him forever.  Considering his escapes always came on my mother's watch, I wanted to murder the woman for the misery she caused me with her carelessness.  The worst part came the day I no longer believed her when she said it was accident.  One is an incident, two is a coincidence, three is a pattern.  We were up to a dozen incidents.

It was bad enough with those damn Greek sailors she brought home, but this stuff with Terry was more than I could bear.  I could not believe my mother would take chances with my dog.  I accused Mom of doing it deliberately, but she always denied it.  Now I didn't trust her any more.  My mother knew damn well that dog was the most important thing in the world thing to me, but she let him out the door anyway and then blamed the dog for running away.  Her excuses infuriated me, but what could I do to stop her?  I did not have a forgiving nature, so over time the bitterness grew to the point where I became very cold to my mother.  Finally I came up with a better solution.  Terrified of losing my dog, I got in the habit of never letting Terry out of my sight when my mother was home.  When I went to the restroom, he came with me.  When I went to the bedroom to study, he came with me.  This added vigilance did the trick.  Five months had passed without another incident. 

Mom had a new boyfriend.  His name was Fred.  Fred was black, but so what?  I didn't care one way or the other.  Fred made Mom happy and that was all I cared about.  In fact, I liked the guy.  Even better, Fred had a house of his own, so Mom spent the night over there when the urge hit.  Perfect. 

In September 1961, a monster Category 5 hurricane named 'Carla' was headed our way.  I was nearly 12 at the time and had just started the 6th Grade.  Our TV was on non-stop.  Together Mom and I listened to the weatherman's dire warnings with growing apprehension.   As I would come to learn, most hurricane warnings do not amount to much.  I believe more often than not the weatherman manipulates our fear so we will stay tuned through the commercials.  However, I had a hunch these warnings about Carla were no hype.  Sensing genuine concern in the weatherman's voice, he made me believe this hurricane was more dangerous than the rest.  The man was right.  Carla was the most powerful hurricane to ever hit Texas.  In fact, Carla is considered one of the ten worst hurricanes in American history. 

During its approach, the experts labeled Carla the storm of the century.  Get to safety.  Heeding the warnings, my mother decided to take Terry and myself over to Fred's house ten miles east of our apartment.  His house was near Texas Southern University in a black section of town. 

I was not happy about her decision.  I strongly preferred to ride out the storm at our own apartment.  It may have been run-down, but it was protected from the wind by large structures on either side.  I pointed this out, but Mom disagreed.  She said she did not want to be alone in this dangerous storm without a man for protection.  I rolled my eyes.  What utter bullshit.  Why not tell me the real reason for our visit?  However, I didn't protest.  I was scared enough that for once I gave her the benefit of the doubt. 

As predicted, Hurricane Carla was something else.  Carla made landfall near Victoria 120 miles to the southwest of Houston.  Our city was mercifully spared a direct hit, but we were hit by the dirty side of the hurricane.  That meant lots of rainwater and powerful winds.  Carla was quite a storm.  The winds howled and heavy rain pounded on the roof mercilessly.  However, I admit I did feel safe inside Fred's house.  The storm abated somewhat around 10 pm that night.  The worst was over so I calmed down and decided to take a bath. 

Wouldn't you know it, Terry realized my mistake.  I had forgotten to bring him in the bathroom with me.  Terry immediately began scratching at the door.  This was his signal to go outside, so Mom inexplicably opened the door.  Sure enough, Terry took off straight into the swirling darkness.  He wanted to explore the dangerous and exciting climate outside in the worst way.  I had just gotten in the bath when I heard the screen door slam shut.  I froze.  I had a bad feeling about that sound.  I jumped out of the tub, grabbed a towel and raced into the kitchen.

"Where's Terry?!!!!!"

Mom shrugged.  "Oh, I let him outside.  He'll be back in a minute."

My eyes grew wide as an overwhelming panic overwhelmed me.  Less than 30 seconds had passed since the door shut.  Without hesitation, I burst out the door despite the wind and torrential rain.  I was drenched in an instant, but I didn't care.  There I was soaking wet, practically naked, and screaming like a banshee in the night.  "Terry!  Where are you?!?  Please come back, please!"   

Alternately between screaming and crying, I stood there crying my heart out for minutes on end.  The torrential rain and strong wind did not even register on me.  I was so terrified of losing my dog, I paid no heed.  Standing there in the dark, I screamed his name over and over again.  I peered vainly into the gloom, but there was no sign of Terry.  Finally I accepted the horrible truth.  Knowing my dog like I did, Terry had no intention of returning until he was good and ready.  In his mind, no doubt this was the best adventure ever!  Only Terry could love a hurricane.  Even though I had no clothes or shoes, I would have chased him.  I would have run naked in the rain if I thought that would bring my dog back to me.  That's how much I needed him.  But I didn't know which way Terry went and it was pitch black.  There was no way I could chase him, not at 10 pm with this drenching rain and these dangerous winds whipping debris in every direction.  Realizing that pursuit was hopeless, I gave up any hope of finding him and reluctantly went back in.

My mother was nowhere to be seen.  I suspect she was cowering in Fred's bedroom knowing full well I wanted to murder her.  Numb with grief, I sat at the kitchen table for ten minutes with nothing on but the wet towel covering my lap.  There was a giant puddle on the floor caused by my wetness.  I was too miserable to care.  Ten minutes passed and I could not take it anymore.  I went back out there and called Terry's name again for a good five minutes.  With the memory of the pain I felt during the Three-Day Escape, the entire time I thought to myself, "Terry, please come back to me, I beg you.  Please don't do this to me again."

That damn dog!  I was certain that Terry had planned this.  Terry knew I would chase him to end of the earth, so he waited... that's right, he waited!  Terry deliberately waited till he had an opportunity to con my mother.  Terry had no respect for my mother.  Fat chance of her chasing him, right?  Hell, Terry knew I would have chased him!  Damn right, hurricane or no hurricane, I would have chased Terry to the end of the earth.  But Terry was nowhere to be seen in this windswept darkness, so finally I gave up my vigil.  I went to my room and buried my face in the pillow.   Oh no. Not this again. Where in this god-forsaken night was my dog?  My heart was numb.  I was paralyzed with the fear of losing my dog forever.  How was Terry going to find his way to Fred's house?  He had never been here before. 

With that thought, a fury overtook me.  Determined to confront my mother, I pounded on her bedroom door and insisted she come out.  When she appeared, Fred was behind her.  That was probably a good thing.  Incredulous at what she had done, I immediately lit into her.

"Mom, Terry is my dog!  Why would you do something like that!?"

I really lost it.  I became angrier at my mother than any time in memory.  I screamed, "Goddamnit, Mom!  You have absolutely no right to let my dog outside without me around!!  How many times have I told you this?  Do you not understand that Terry is in danger of getting hurt or lost!?!"

Those were strong words from an 11 year old kid.  Ordinarily my mother would have lashed back, but this time she was strangely silent.  I stared at my mother in total disgust, then realized I wasn't done yet.  Full of raw emotion, I let her have it with both barrels.

"Just how stupid can you be?  I'm sick of this, Mother!  We've been through this too damn many times.  Did you even bother to think how I would feel if Terry doesn't return?"

"Don't worry, he'll be back in minute, you'll see."

"Oh, bullshit, Mom!!!  You know damn well Terry took off for good.  You were careless and thoughtless and now I am scared to death I have lost my dog forever!  Do you ever even think?  How could you do this me?"

The anger within me was rising to a dangerous level.  Fearful of losing control and begin crying, I whirled in disgust and went to my room.  What was wrong with my mother?  She knew the tricks that dog was capable of, so why wasn't she more careful?  This was an unknown neighborhood 10 miles from our apartment in the middle of an intense hurricane.  What if the dog got lost and couldn't find his way back to Fred's house?  Seriously, for an intelligent woman, there had to be a wire loose somewhere!

I am not much for praying.  Although I believe in God, prayer has never come easily to me.  Tonight I prayed.  I prayed all night long for Terry's return.  But it was no use; Terry did not return that night.  I did not sleep.  I was sick with terror that I would never see my dog again.  I went nearly insane with worry.  Every fifteen minutes I went back outside and called for my dog.  Fred had given me an umbrella, so I stood there calling for my dog and wailing into the rain.  Sick beyond belief with worry and grief, I was a pitiful sight.  How would my dog ever survive this wild night??  How would he ever find his way back to Fred's house in this strange neighborhood?

The hurricane's force was finished by morning.  The moment there was light, I began walking around the neighborhood calling for Terry.  The foreboding dark sky was the perfect reflection of my mood.  I could not believe the devastation.  Water was everywhere.  Huge trees had fallen to the ground.  Tree limbs, leaves, and a mountain of debris covered the landscape. 

Many of the streets were flooded and impassible.  Not that it mattered.  With the city still hunkered down, there wasn't a moving car in sight.  I was the only person moving around in this deserted world.  As I feared, Terry was nowhere to be found.  Noticing the nearby bayou was swollen past its banks, I worried that my dog might have drowned.

Would I ever see my dog again?  Under the dark cloudy skies, I continued wandering in different directions around the neighborhood.   Hours on end I covered miles and miles without any shred of luck.  I would check back at Fred's house every now and then to see if Terry had returned in my absence.  No luck.  Then I would leave and try looking in a different direction.  No luck. 

My fruitless search had lasted for 12 hours, 7 am till 7 pm.  It was getting dark now, so I decided to give up.  After an entire day of disappointment, my heart was heavy with dread.   Even if he survived, Terry had to be lost.  My best friend in the entire world was gone and I doubted I would ever see him again.  Forlorn, grief-stricken, I had very dark thoughts for my mother.  Needless to say, this incident was typical of my childhood.  Terry was my dog!!!  Knowing my dog loved to escape, my mother had no business putting my dog at risk.  All she had to do was wait five minutes and I would take Terry outside myself.  But no, like a thoughtless idiot, Mom opened the door and out he went.  Why would she do something so utterly thoughtless? 

When I returned empty-handed, Mom said it was time to surrender.  Since his escape at 10 pm last night, Terry had been gone for 20 hours.  Mom said there wasn't much point in waiting any longer for his return, so let's go home.  I didn't want to go, but Mom said that if Terry did show up, Fred would take him in and give us a call.  Fred nodded his assent so reluctantly I gave up the search.

I noticed my mother was quiet, shaken, regretful.  I think Mom was just as upset as I was when Terry failed to return that day.  She knew this time she had gone too far.  It was incomprehensible that she would risk Terry's safety like she did.  Seeing that Mom was crestfallen, in spite of my fury I stopped chewing her out.  What good would it do?  It wouldn't bring my dog back, would it?  I cried softly all the way home.  I did not expect I would ever see Terry again.  How would I ever survive this loss? 

When we pulled up to our apartment, I was shocked to see Terry sound asleep on our porch.  This was insane!!  Not once this entire day did it ever occur to me Terry might have come here.  Elated at first, a new fear overcame me when Terry did not look up as Mom pulled in.  What's wrong?  Is he hurt?  Is he dead?  Panic-stricken, I rolled down the window and screamed "Terry!!" at the top of my lungs. 

To my relief Terry lifted his head.  It took him a while, but he slowly got up.  Good.  I was glad he was sore.  Served him right.  That damn dog was totally exhausted from his big adventure.  The moment I got out of the car, Terry came back to life.  He launched himself off the porch into mid-air and I caught him up in my arms.  Terry was not a small dog, so he practically knocked me down.  I didn't care; I was overjoyed that he was safe.  It was a powerful reunion.

Oh, did I cry.  I cried my eyes out.  When I finally calmed down, I took a good look at him.  What a mess!  Terry was really bedraggled.  His hair was matted and tangled up with an assortment of grass, mud, twigs and leaves stuck in his thick coat.

Terry was ravenous.  As I put his food down, the joy I felt was indescribable.  I couldn't stop crying with relief.  But then I got mad at him too. Through profuse tears, I chewed him out fiercely for putting me through that ordeal.  "How could you do that to me, you stupid, terrible dog!  You are by far the worst dog on this planet!  Do you hear me?" 

I continued to sob giant crocodile tears with relief as I watched him eat.   That damn dog could not have cared less about the agony he had caused me, so I yelled at him some more

"You stupid dog!  You are the worst dog ever!  I am so mad at you!  I'm going to make you sleep in the yard tonight on the muddy wet grass!!  I hope you are miserable!  Plus I have some bad news for you.  This time I've made up my mind for sure.  Tomorrow I'm going to have you fixed.  No more running around for you.  Serves you right!!"

Of course I didn't mean it.  I just had to get it out of my system.  After his meal, it was time for a bath.  Terry licked my face to apologize and I started to cry all over again.  Terry slept in bed with me that night with my arms wrapped tightly around him.  The thought of losing my dog had been the worst pain I had ever felt in my life.

I was almost as exhausted as Terry.  There was no way I was going to school, but then the TV said all schools were closed.  So I took Terry for a walk instead.  I laughed because he was so stiff.  I wasn't about to give that damn dog a single compliment to his face, but privately I was incredulous at Terry's accomplishment.  Our neighbor said Terry had been sleeping there on our doorstep all afternoon.  I was amazed.  After all, our apartment was ten miles away!  Heck, I could not have found this place on my own, so how did Terry do it?  Wasn't I supposed to be smarter than him?   Wrong.  I would not have even known which direction to head.  So how did Terry know which way to go?

It had to be animal instinct.  What else could it be?  I was so impressed.  Terry had accomplished something that I could never match.  Yes, using a map or asking for directions, I could have done it.  But without help, there was no way I could have found my way home from where we had spent the night, much less during a hurricane.  Ten miles is quite a distance under the best of conditions, but Terry's journey had taken place in the dark of night amidst a blinding, drenching storm.  Where did this homing instinct come from?  How did he ever find his way back under those conditions?  Obviously my dog had powers I had not previously known about.

Collies are known for their intelligence.  Back when I cut my eye out with a knife, for some reason they bandaged both of my eyes.  While I lay there blind in the hospital bed, I asked Aunt Lynn to continue the book I had been reading, Lassie Come Home.

It was a story about a collie that crossed Scotland on her own.  A poor family had sold Lassie to a man who took the dog to his farm a hundred miles away.  He proceeded to mistreat the dog badly.  Lassie missed her boy and his family, so she escaped and began the long journey home.

I cried buckets as Aunt Lynn read the story.  Hearing me cry, poor Lynn didn't know whether to stop or continue.  She tried to stop, but I begged her to keep reading.  I could not bear not to know what happened next.  I did not realize it, but Aunt Lynn was also sobbing the entire time.  She couldn't decide whether her tears were for me or for that poor lost dog in the book. 

At the time, Lassie's story seemed ridiculous to me.  Good story, but total fantasy.  No dog can possibly travel a hundred miles without getting permanently lost.  However, after what Terry had done, I changed my mind.  How my border collie found his way home in that storm is one of the great mysteries of my childhood.  Terry made me believe every word of that book.

Terry was the smartest dog I have ever known.  There has never been another dog like him.  Terry was the main reason I held on to a spark of decency during the tough times ahead.

age 12, sixth grade, October 1961

mom hits rock bottom
 

Needless to say, following Terry's hurricane escapade, the frost that existed between me and my mother now rivaled the Ice Age.  I felt a real hatred towards my mother for putting Terry in danger and causing me so much anxiety.  As usual, we never talked about it.  Talking about problems was not one of my mother's strengths.  Nor mine either.  We barely spoke.

Oddly enough, the Carla incident marked the last time my mother ever let Terry out.  I can only suppose she knew she crossed the line this time.  More than likely, she was just as surprised to see Terry survive the night as I was and learned her lesson. 

Sometime in October, she and Fred broke up.  Mom took it hard.  Sometimes Mom would be in the bedroom crying uncontrollably.  I would stand outside the door riddled with insecurity.  Here I am, 12 years old, 6th Grade.  What am I supposed to do?  I had no idea how to console her nor did I have anyone to turn to.  There were no relatives, no close friends, no neighbors to call for help when Mom had one of her crying jags.  I knew my mother was a giant mess, but she and my dog Terry were all I had.  Consequently I spent much of my time in constant fear she would go off the deep end.

Despite my terrible resentment towards the woman, if I lost Mom, my worst nightmare was getting stuck with my father.  Ironically, that was probably his worst nightmare too!   I had already figured out my father did not have a nurturing bone in his body, but the worst part was that witch he had married.  I hated Stepmother with a passion, so the thought of being placed with the two of them make me sick.  I was almost certain the first thing Stepmother would do was order my father to remove me from St. John's.  Considering my father already considered my school was a waste of money, that was a given.  Then Jezebel would force me to abandon Terry.  She hated animals.  Then she would systematically begin to poison me. 

Seriously I would have died if I lost Terry, so my only hope was that my unstable mother would somehow pull through.  No matter how bad things were at home, it doesn't take much imagination why I strongly preferred to be with my mother.  She wasn't much of a mother, but at least she cared about me.  I had no similar illusions about my father.

Like me, my mother was prone to depression.  All year long something was wrong with her and she couldn't seem to shake it.  To this day, I have no idea why she went off the deep end, but her dark mood just kept getting worse.  I prayed Mom would find a way to keep it together, but she wasn't inspiring any sense of security. 

One day in October Mom had a breakdown.  Mom couldn't take it anymore.  No job, no boyfriend, and her only child hated her.  Once Mom started crying, she could not stop.  Recognizing she was badly out of control, a real foreboding took hold of me.  It did not help that the world was made gloomy by a torrential rain.  Suddenly without warning, my mother jumped off her bed and rushed from our apartment without a word.  I was so frightened I was not about to let her leave in that condition.  I told Terry to stay in the apartment, then left to tail Mom.  I was so worried about my mother it never occurred to me to fetch an umbrella.  I was instantly drenched, but I wasn't going to let that stop me, not with Mom totally out of control. 

As I followed Mom in the rain, I could tell she was deep in crisis.  Mom walked to the edge of a swollen bayou and stared at the swirling water for a long time.  I hid behind a nearby tree and watched.  I trembled with fear that she was going jump.  If so, I was ready to jump in after her.  After a suspenseful five minutes of debate, she changed her mind.  Instead she threw herself face down in the wet grass.

Covering her face with her hands, Mom sobbed her head off while I stayed hidden.  Her mind and soul were so wracked with pain, Mom did not care that she was soaked from head to toe.  So was I for that matter, but I was too paralyzed with fear to worry about it.  What should I do?  Should I go try to comfort her?  Or should I continue to monitor the situation?  For fear of embarrassing her, I opted to stay hidden and keep watching.  However, if she moved one step closer to that dangerous bayou, I was ready to tackle her. 

Her crying jag lasted fifteen minutes, but it felt like an eternity.  Finally Mom rose to her feet.  Mom was so wet and muddy she resembled a Swamp Monster.  Thankfully she seemed a little stronger.  Still hiding behind the tree, I was gratified to see her look back towards our apartment.  After a moment of indecision, she walked home.  The heavy rainfall washed most of the mud off her, so she didn't look quite so gruesome anymore.  Once I saw Mom enter our apartment project, I figured it was safe to assume she was coming home.  I took a different route and sprinted back to beat her.  I was in the shower when I heard the door shut.  I finished quickly because I knew she would want to take her own shower.  By hiding my wet clothes under the bed, Mom never knew I had been spying on her.  I preferred to let her to keep her dignity.  I know she would not have wanted me to see how forlorn she was.

Although my mother's life was in crisis, she never confided in me what the issues were.  Bills, loneliness, self-esteem, problems finding challenging jobs, problems keeping jobs, you name it.  She was overwhelmed.  Whatever she was doing, it wasn't working.  She could not seem to cope.  If I had to guess, the bills were driving her crazy.  She was heavily in debt.

I do have one vivid memory to add.  Years later Mom told me she had once considered suicide.  I asked what changed her mind.  Without hesitation, she said the thought of forcing me to live with my father was so horrible that she couldn't bear to do that to me.  I have to believe she was referring to this incident.  Mom wasn't much of a mother, but she sure beat the alternative.  Basically my mother had made a complete mess of her life since the divorce.  I alternated between concern for my mother and fury at her incompetence.  I fully admit I grew up twisted and bitter, but you know what?  I had my reasons!  The saddest thing of all is that we both cared about each other, but were totally unable to express it.

age 12, sixth grade, December 1961

BLUE CHRISTMAS
 

December came and Mom still had not pulled out of her tailspin.  Since she did not confide in me, I have to assume the issues were loneliness and a stack of unpaid bills.  Mom was constantly full of despair.   In December, Mom was crying all the time and could not seem to snap out of it.  Despite the fact that I was still angry at her, I was also worried.  Three days before Christmas, Mom made a startling announcement. 

"Get packed, we are driving to Dick and Lynn's house in Northern Virginia!"

I was instantly alarmed.  Uncle Dick was Mom's brother.  In 1959 I spent the summer with Dick and Lynn while my parents finalized their divorce.  They had been incredibly kind to me.  As much as I would love to see them again, a shudder ripped through me.  This was a very bad idea!  For one thing, our ancient car was in terrible condition and Mom knew it.  I was not even sure our broken-down car could make it that far.

I replied, "Does Uncle Dick know we are coming?"

"No.  It's a surprise."

My eyes bulged.  I seriously did not want to do this.  It was freezing cold outside and we had the worst car imaginable for winter driving.  It was an unwieldy giant convertible that resembled a German tank.  The canvas roof was hardly going to be able to keep us warm.  Even worse, the floor board in the back was so rusted out that I could see the street pavement through the cracks.  The cold air blowing up from below was sure to make us miserable.  I was really scared, so I decided to see if I could talk my mother out of this.

"Mom, our car is in bad shape and it's freezing cold out there.  Don't you want to rethink this?"

"No.  My mind is made up.  We are going.  Are you packed yet?"

"Mom, Christmas is two days away.  We will never make it."

"Yes, we will, but not if you continue to argue with me.  Get packed and get in the car like I told you."

What a shame I did not have a map available.  This was a trip of 1,350 miles in a beat-up car, no money, and freezing cold.

"Are you sure about this, Mom?  What is so important?"

"Richard, did you not hear me the first time?  Get packed before I lose my temper!"

My mother rarely spoke to me in a threatening way, so something was wrong, something was very wrong.  But what could I do about it?  Mom had a look of despair that said she was determined to take this trip despite the odds against her.  Sick to my stomach, I reluctantly gathered every blanket in the house and stuffed them into the car.  

Mom said driving at night was the best way to make good time, so Terry and I jumped in and we left at 1 am, December 23.   Mom had a choice between going through southern Louisiana or northern Louisiana.  Just our bad luck, she chose the northern route.  We did indeed make good time, but that changed dramatically at 7 am the next morning.  The moment we crossed into Louisiana we saw snow flurries.  In practically no time at all, the flurries changed to heavy snowfall.  The roads were covered with snow and slush in no time.

At this point I asked an obvious question.  "Mom, did you check the weather before we left?"

"No.  This was a snap decision."

Heavy snow does not fall in Louisiana very often, but we had run smack dab into the worst winter storm in the past twenty years.  A simple weather check would have revealed this disturbing obstacle, but we still had time to turn around and head back to Houston.  Unfortunately Mom refused to listen. 

"Mom, if you won't turn around, will you at least pull over?"

"No.  I don't want to waste any time.  We will barely make it by Christmas as it is."

I stared at my mother incredulously.  I had never seen her like this.  Mom was in a trance!  At this rate, she was going to kill us both.  As the snowfall increased, I continued to beg my mother to stop and ride out the storm at some roadside diner.  She disagreed.  Mom was determined to continue, even when the car began to skid badly on the sleet covering the highway. 

Fortunately the early morning traffic was very light in this blizzard, but I was really upset by Mom's increasing inability to control the car.  Our unwieldy car with its old tires could not hold the road.  We kept weaving back and forth.  The car frequently drifted across the median line for brief moments despite Mom's best efforts to control the vehicle.  The fact that Mom had so little control over the car scared me to death.  This went on for an hour and I was absolutely terrified.  Plus the visibility was terrible.  My eyes ached from straining to see through the thick snowfall to spot oncoming traffic.  I complained bitterly, but Mom would not listen to reason. 

Finally I couldn't take it anymore.  I was afraid for my life, so I got in the back seat with Terry.  The moment I reached for the seat beat, I regretted my decision.  I had forgotten our front seat had seat belts, but not the back.  Too embarrassed to crawl back in front, I stayed put.  Soon I was freezing to death from the winter air blowing up through the rusted floorboard.  When I complained, Mom said the heater had stopped working.  The car was colder than a refrigerator icebox.  Freezing and frightened, I clung hard to Terry and shivered with cold and fear.  Every time the car skidded into the oncoming lane, I wondered if this was how I was going to die.  Or maybe I would die of permafrost.  My mother was taking an enormous risk. 

Meanwhile Mom had started to cry.  She knew this was a bad mistake, but she could not force herself to turn around.  I looked at the woman.  Poor Mom.  Her face was white with fear.  Something had come over her.  Mom had gotten it through her head that this suicide march was something she had to do.  Hypnotized like a mindless lemming lurching towards a cliff, Mom was determined to plow forward no matter what.  Mom would not listen to me.  She lacked the presence of mind to stop or turn around while she still could. 

It was about 9 am.  We had been driving in these blizzard conditions for about two hours.  As huge snow drifts accumulated on the side of the road, the car got harder to control on the ice and slush.  Even though Mom was barely driving 20 miles per hour, one time we skidded much farther into the next lane than ever before.  Seeing an oncoming truck, my heart stopped at the danger we were in.  Mom was barely able to get us back in our lane before a giant truck whizzed past us.  The driver beeped at us to signal his anger at the near collision.  This had been a really close call.  God only knows what might happen the next time.  Shouldn't this be warning enough?  Surely this close call was enough to snap my mother out of her insanity. 

"Mom, please stop the car and pull over before it is too late!  This is crazy.  You cannot keep doing this; we will be killed!"

Mom shook her head no.  That is when I knew the woman was out of her mind.  Swerving into the other lane every four hundred yards or so, the car was a death trap in these icy conditions.  The only thing that saved us was the sparse traffic.  A few minutes later, we came to a small town.  This was a perfect chance to stop, so I spoke up again. 

"Mom, I beg you to pull over and wait out the storm until the roads can be cleared!  Please do this!" 

Mom shook her head again.  Nothing doing. 

"Mom, what is wrong with you?  What is so damn important that you have to risk our lives?  Will you just talk to me?"

Mom did not say a word.  Staring grimly ahead, she just kept driving.  Her life had to be in serious crisis to take such desperate chances.  As she kept plowing ahead, Mom was determined to follow her dangerous path even though it meant risking our lives.  She was completely out of control. 

"Mom, look, there's a diner.  It's 9:30, time to eat.  Let's get something to eat.  Please??"

Nothing doing.  Mom just kept rolling down the highway.  My heart sank as the town disappeared in the distance.  I felt doomed.  With the snowfall continuing unmercifully, the icy road was in the worst condition imaginable.  Our worn-out tires could not seem to grip the road for long.  As the car constantly weaved back and forth on the snowy highway, I experienced more fear than any 12-year old kid should ever have to face.  This was D-Day fear, this was the fear that death could come at any moment.  I felt so helpless stuck here with this insane mother.  She was struggling to control this weaving car, but not having much luck.  I was certain we would be killed at any moment.  And then it happened. 

Our car skidded badly across the road!

Seeing a giant oncoming truck, I was certain that death was imminent.  I screamed bloody murder and squeezed my dog to my chest in terror.  Our car had so much momentum in the wrong direction, there was no time for Mom to regain control.  Instead she just kept driving in a straight line across the road.

My life flashed before me as our car passed directly across the truck's path.  It was an insanely close call.  Somehow the truck missed hitting the back of our car by inches. 

Unable to stop, our car plowed into a ditch on the other side of the road.  We landed with a thud.  Fortunately, the thick snow accumulation in the ditch softened the blow of the crash. 

Mom's gutsy move had saved our lives.  However, now we were stuck.  The car was face down in a snow drift.  To my great relief, the car was still running.  The car had survived intact.  Then came the bad news.  Mom tried to back out, but there was no traction.  It was hopeless.  We were trapped.  

Mom broke down in another one of her miserable crying jags.  I was crying too.  I was trembling uncontrollably at our brush with death.  I did not know how we were ever going to get out of this mess, so I just sat there in quiet desperation.  Thank God I had my dog.  I buried my face in Terry's fur just like I used to when I was a little boy.

Mom could not seem to snap out of it.  She just kept sobbing.  However, after ten minutes of crying, she stopped long enough to tell me I needed to do something. 

"Richard, I want you to get out of the goddamn car and go get us a tow truck!"

What??  Surely my mother wasn't serious... but she was.  A sick feeling came over me. 

"Mom, please do not make me do this.  I am twelve years old.  I am just a kid.  We are stuck in the middle of nowhere.  What exactly do you expect me to do?"

"I expect you to do what I said!  Go stand on the side of the road and hitch a ride back into that town we just passed.  Get to a station and ask a tow truck to bring you back.  Terry and I will wait till you return."

Despite my desperation, I half-snickered at my mother's promise to stay in the car.  As if she had better things to do?

"Mom, I'm scared.  I don't want to go by myself.  Why don't all three of us go?"

"Maybe it's time for you to grow up!  Get out of the car and flag down some help."

"Why can't all three of us go?"

"Because no one will pick up two people and a dog.  However, they might take pity on a kid."

I stared at my mother as if she was out of her mind.  That's when I realized she WAS out of her mind.  Mom had been out of her mind ever since we left Houston.  I could not believe my mother was sending me out on my own like this, but maybe she was right.  I couldn't think of a better solution, so on the spot I decided to do this.  I got out of the car and climbed out of the ditch onto the road.  Then I stuck out my thumb just like I had seen Richard Kimble do on The Fugitive.

Mom was right.  A shivering kid on the side of the road in a blizzard is a pitiful sight, especially since the car in the ditch screamed emergency.  Sure enough, almost immediately some man saw me standing there and slowed down.  When he pulled over, the man seemed safe enough, so I accepted his offer for a ride to town.  Ten miles later I was in the nearby town and bringing back a tow truck.  I was filled with relief to discover this risky move had turned out a lot better than I expected. 

To my amazement, the tow truck was able to get our heavy tank out of the snow drift.  The truck took us back into town whereupon Mr. Fontenot, the station manager, checked out the car.  There was no damage.   We finally caught a break.  However we were not out of the woods, not by a long shot.  Those tires were no good in these conditions, so Mr. Fontenot insisted Mom get some snow chains.  After what we had been through, Mom wasn't going to argue.  If there was any silver lining to the accident, my mother's trance-like defiance was long gone.  I suppose our white-knuckle close call had jolted her back to her senses. 

Mom let Mr. Fontenot put on the snow chains without telling him she could not pay.  She gambled the manager would be reluctant to take the chains back off once she told him the truth.  You should have seen the look on his face when Mom told him she was broke and asked if he would accept a check.  I was surprised too.  I did not realize how meager our funds were, so I was deeply embarrassed.  Mr. Fontenot had been so nice to me that I cringed when Mom admitted she did not have the money to pay the towing fee or purchase the snow chains.  This man had gone to considerable trouble to help us and I did not like seeing him deceived by my mother's lack of candor. 

Mom told Mr. Fontenot what little money she had left was for gas.  My eyes widened when she said we didn't even have money for meals.  Maybe that is why she had refused to stop for breakfast.  Then she added, "But if you will trust me, I will write you a check.  Once we get to Virginia, my brother will give me money to cover the check.  All you have to do is wait one week before cashing it."

My mother had a lot of nerve, but what choice did she have given the jam she had gotten us in?  Well, actually she did have a choice.  She could have said something first before he put the chains on.  Mr. Fontenot stared at my mother long and hard.  You should have seen the frown on his face.  Mr. Fontenot was hopping mad.  Fortunately, to my undying relief, Mr. Fontenot eventually nodded and said okay.   The kindness of this stranger was a true blessing, a Christmas Miracle indeed.   

I knew why Mr. Fontenot had agreed to help my mother.  When the manager had first listened to my story, he asked if I had been scared during the accident.  I told him how I had screamed in terror, then added I was still shaking. 

"And you hitched here by yourself?" he asked.

When I nodded, the manager smiled.  "I am very impressed by your courage, young man.  I have a son your age and I cannot imagine asking him to hitch a ride in a storm like you just did.  You took a real chance, but then I suppose you didn't have much of a choice."

While Mr. Fontenot was making up his mind about Mom's lack of funds, he glanced at me.  It was a covert exchange that suggested he was asking if he could trust my mother.  Standing behind my mother where she could not see me, I nodded imperceptibly.  With a faint smile of acknowledgment, Mr. Fontenot nodded.  He turned to my mother and said okay.  When Mom started to cry at his gratitude, she excused herself to the restroom. 

In her absence, I took the chance to thank the manager.  "Mr. Fontenot, we are in great debt to you.  My mother is lost right now, but she is a good person and I am sure she will make that check good." 

I felt a little guilty saying that.  To be honest, I wasn't so sure we would even live long enough to make it to Virginia.  However, if we did survive, I imagined Uncle Dick would help her out.  At that, Mr. Fontenot did a crazy thing.  He reached in his pocket, handed me $20, adding in a husky voice, "Just in case."   When Mom returned, I handed the money to her and pointed to our benefactor.  Mom was so astonished, she burst into another round of tears and impulsively hugged the guy.  Mr. Fontenot began to smile at my mother's heartfelt gesture.  Personally, I think he liked doing a good deed.  His unexpected act of kindness meant the world to my mother's flagging spirits.

The snow chains made a huge difference.  We took it slow and there was no more weaving.  To my undying relief, we stayed in the correct lane all the way to Mississippi.  That night Mom used some of that $20 bill to buy a warm meal of spaghetti at a diner in Vicksburg, Mississippi, on the state line.  I think that meal tasted better than any meal I have ever had in my life.  Claiming I was still hungry, I asked for extra spaghetti.  When the waitress wasn't looking, I wrapped the food in some napkins and hid it under my coat.  Mom had enough money left over to get us a room in an inexpensive motel next door.  As I watched Terry gobble down his spaghetti, I was so grateful to still be alive.  The three of us slept in the same bed.  I was so insecure I squeezed Terry tight the entire night. 

Fortunately, the road conditions were much better in the morning.  The highways had been cleared and the snowfall was more flurries than anything else.  We no longer had to drive in constant fear for our lives.  After an hour of driving, Mom stopped at a gas station and had them take the chains off.  We were in the clear after that and started to make good time. 

Since there was no money left for meals, Mom drove straight through to McLean, Virginia, a 900 mile trek in 21 hours.  Where she got her stamina I will never know.  We pulled into Uncle Dick and Aunt Lynn's neighborhood at 4 am on Christmas Day.  However, to Mom's dismay, her car could not make it up the steep hill due to the icy street.  She tried and tried, but the car kept sliding back down.  Disgusted, she parked the car and told me to get out.  Carrying our luggage, the three of us trudged up the snowy hill hoping the street above was the one we were looking for.  Thankfully, Mom had guessed right. 

When we got to their house, Mom didn't want to wake the family, so I offered to look around.  In the back of the house, I found an unlocked door to their basement.  I walked in and found another unlocked door that led to the downstairs den.  After summoning Mom and Terry, we plopped down on a couple of sofas.  The warmth of that room was heavenly.  Safe at last.

To my surprise, a plump, friendly dog came waddling down the steps to investigate.  The dog was a Lassie-lookalike who greeted us with her tail wagging.  Her named was Beauty according to her dog collar.  Beauty wasn't much of a watchdog, but she was a great welcoming committee.  As for Terry, it was love at first sight.  Beauty was in love too.  She was so excited to have a boyfriend, the two of them immediately began to play in the den.  I had to calm them down before they made a racket and woke everyone up.

Seeing how happy the two dogs were, I rolled my eyes and said a sincere prayer of thanks.  I was not particularly religious in those days, but I had a strong feeling someone had been watching over us.  After what we had been through, that was the only explanation that made a bit of sense.  I was so relieved to be here I almost began to cry again.  This had been the worst ordeal of my life.  It was unbelievable to see it turn out well. 

Dick and Lynn never knew we were there till the morning came.  Surprise Surprise!  It was Christmas Day and look who Santa put under the Christmas tree.  It had been Mom's plan all along to throw herself on her brother's mercy.  As Mom hoped, Uncle Dick was incredibly generous to her.  He bailed her out of what had to be a serious financial jam.  In addition, Uncle Dick had some long talks with his sister.  I think those talks did her a world of good.  I believe Dick and Lynn saved my mother's life that Christmas.  In addition to helping her financially, even more important they restored her will to carry on.  I will always love Dick and Lynn from the bottom of my heart for their kindness.

We stayed at Dick and Lynn's house for a week.  The entire family was so incredibly welcoming.  I met my cousins Rick, Dale, Tami, Todd for the first time and slipped effortlessly into a Big Brother role.  To their credit, none of them seemed to mind that I hijacked their mother for an entire week at Christmas.

While Uncle Dick was counseling my mother, Aunt Lynn was doing the same thing for me.  Lynn lavished me with attention.  For a lonely kid like me who was dying to be noticed and appreciated, it was more than I could handle.  I will be quite frank.  I was so vulnerable that I fell deeply in love with Aunt Lynn that Christmas.  This was the first time I understood what people mean by a mother's touch.  Lynn made me feel special, important.  Best of all, she cheered me up. 

After the New Year, we drove back to Houston without incident.  However, my mother and I barely spoke on the way home.  A wall had grown between us that would never come down.  I am not a forgiving person.  Back when the car was stuck in the ditch, my mother had screamed at me it was time I grew up.  So that's exactly what I did.  I no longer had a bit of confidence in my mother.  Between her thoughtlessness to let my dog run free during Hurricane Carla, her near-suicide at the swollen bayou, and now this suicidal death march to Virginia, things would never be the same between us.  Due to my ever-growing list of resentments, my mother's authority was gone forever.  If she asked me nicely to do something, I would invariably cooperate.  But the day had come when my mother could no longer order me to do something.  I had been forced to grow up much too fast.  So the question is what kept me from going off the deep end.

The answer is Kindness.  Uncle Dick, Aunt Lynn, Mr. Fontenot.  And William Powell, my English teacher.  We will meet him shortly.

RICK ARCHER'S LIST OF SUSPECTED SUPERNATURAL EVENTS
 

A SIMPLE ACT OF KINDNESS:  THE CHILDHOOD YEARS

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