Another "Bridge" for the fall 1964 era.

           Kinda long but bear with me!! I know some of you will be having a few questions and concerns as the story begins to develop. They echo some of my own that I express or at least hint at in the journal entries. I am not trying to exonerate myself because that is probably not possible but I also do not want anyone to draw the type of conclusions my parents did which were pretty harssh and damning. There were many extenuating facts to balance the imperfect aspects. In essence, this is what existed on say September 19, 1964 and into the future:

When Dusty and I met, his marriage of about eighteen years was irrevocably broken and he was essentially living apart though trying to keep regular contact with his children, especially his son, then eight. He later told me that had he not met me when he did, he would have been with some of his crew that got into serious trouble (drinking, fights etc.) and were all fired by AT&SF and very likely would be single despite everything once he became jobless. He had reached the point of giving up, merely existing one day at a time as he kept slogging along. Why even seek a reason to try? He felt he had no one to look up to or strive for, nothing that ‘mattered’ beyond a hope to keep contact with his young son and earn the child’s respect, which the boy’s mother strove constantly to destroy. The teenage daughter was already basically alienated.

His wife was a devout Catholic and absolutely refused to consider divorce, saying she would take the boy and disappear if he ever filed. Yet she really did not want him to be a big part of her life or that of the kids--except pay the bills. She also did not believe in birth control but wanted no more children, so they had not been intimate for some time. When he went “home” on a number of weekends, he stayed in his son’s room. 

It was complex and slow to achieve, but he finally did arrange a legal separation agreement with some peculiar caveats to let him stay in contact and spend time with his son as it was not “a divorce” to her. He kept them on his insurance and paid substantial support under that agreement. In time, once the boy was older, perhaps he could go ahead and complete the break if there was a reason. The first germ of the idea had been planted, no more than a tentative plan when we met.

He was miserable as conditions were and never expected to consider another marriage or be more than superficially attracted to or involved with anyone. He said he felt he was too old for that sort of thing. (He was 41 at the time.) I only came to learn all of this gradually over a number of months though he did tell me early on when I asked directly that he was separated though still legally married. For the first year, he continued to wear the plain gold ring which no longer had any meaning. An injured knuckle made it nearly impossible to take off the ring. It was also a small safety token to ward off the railroad and construction groupies. There were plenty, and he wanted no part of them. I was never one, which he soon recognized.

For several months we never did anything but talk, essentially simply as friends. The attraction and emotions were soon growing but never overtly expressed. We were both lonely and struggling with difficult and complicated personal situations which we could not resolve in a quick, painless or simple way. We did both need a friend, a real non-critical and trusted friend, who cared about us when most of the world seemed harsh and cold.

Before long, Dusty admitted he would have bet a week’s pay I would not accept his ‘dates’ from the first and he would have been disappointed if I had because he already knew I was not one of those groupies or local floozies. He said he just wanted some company like to see a movie but I still refused. Instead of going out, I told him how to reach the pasture and he soon came there often and saw the work I had to do and grew to understand at least part of my troubled life. 

In some ways he may have set me on a pedestle just as I made him my real "handsome hero" as our friendship grew. His support and care was more valuable the next two years than I could ever explain. More than once he kept me from some sort of self-destruction and eventually helped steer me toward leaving home and starting college. For now I will leave the ending which finally came in 1971. 

Unfortunately, all my parents would ever believe was that he was married and cheating on his wife and I was abetting. I could never really explain it in a way they would accept. I became a ‘scarlet woman’ and a ‘home wrecker’ to their view and caught a great deal of harsh criticism and both overt and covert abuse, especially from my father. Factor in the emotional incest situation to realize how ugly this could get. To Dad, his "vestal virgin princess" was committing The Ultimate Sin, so no punishment was really adequate, however harsh or brutal.

One vicious trick (occurred later but as an example of what I endured): . Mom and I got home from the pasture and came in to rest a minute. Almost gleefully, Dad began to relate what he had (allegedly) just heard on the radio. A Santa Fe employee had a domestic violence issue in Kingman, perhaps Sunday, to which the cops were called. The man shot at one cop and took two bullets himself, dying on the spot. I knew to the roots of my soul that was a blatant lie but it still began to chew at me. I went on about my business with almost no response.  I hung on grimly until Charlie Mike got home from school and as we saddled up, I told him. He went up town with me and I called Prescott. B&B 6 and its foreman were there, and the man I spoke to said he would give Mr Watt my message. I made it something innocuous, going weak with relief. I had not and could not believe it but had still pictured him dead. The senseless and blatant cruelty of that incident was something I can never forgive. I don’t recall any reaction from Mom at all and we never spoke of it. 

So, judge me as you will. Even then "celebrities" were allowed whatever leeway they chose to take in their life and loves but I was not a movie or a rock star, not yet even a published writer so the old tradtional values were the yardstick I was supposed to meet.  And I did fall short when that gauge was applied.

This photo is of course many years later, actually in 2017. But that bridge in the middle right is Bridge #35, or one of the biggest ones on the Clarkdale branch, over the notorious SOB Canyon. Dusty's B&B 6 crew did work on it at times as well as most of the others between Clarkdale and Perkinsville. Pic just included so there is something besides text  here!