September 1964, mostly about Sept 10, 11 and then 14.
This is taken from my Shoving Smoke memoir which was often built from my journal entries. Keeps me honest or fairly accurate!
***September came, still with a definite summery feel. I was half-heartedly pursuing Danny and trying to convince myself he was what I wanted. At least it served as a romance fix of sorts, the first ‘crush’ I had managed in some time. Actually, it was not going well as I was still mostly too shy but just to pass the time, I carried it on. I had noticed foreman Charlie by then but on September 8 opined he was just another cheap flirt, too much like my bad mistake, “Blondie”, and said he bugged me.
Then on September 10 we made an inauspicious
trip, loading Trinket, JB, Jennifur Junior (aka JJ) and her colt, Pete into Big
Green, our name for the big F700 truck. They were going to a dealer in Phoenix. I
am not sure now if it was Harrelson or some other guy. Going down the now
semi-complete I-17 freeway, we came around a curve and upon the scene of a very
recent accident. A clearly side-swiped pickup, possibly a state vehicle, was
off to one side and there was an object—maybe a log or long box?--laying in the
road. I think just past the pickup there was a semi, probably also involved. The
accident happened on the northbound lanes and we were going south. We saw a
state patrol car arrive as we approached the scene so we did not stop. One
quick look in passing revealed the object in the road was a work pants leg and
a boot—with a man’s severed limb inside them. The details now are very vague
for it was one of those truly horrible things your brain tries to erase or at
least hide in a very dark corner. The nightmare quality haunted me a long time.
Finally in Phoenix, when we went to unload the
animals, poor little Pete got confused and did not start down the ramp. One of
the men there shoved him off so he fell from the truck bed height. That made me
even sicker. The little burro did get up but it was clear he was hurt. To top
it off, we took in trade a dark chestnut mare, one worse than worthless in the
long run. We named her Scarlet. She seemed fairly docile but was not to be
trusted as we later learned. At any rate that was a terrible trip
with no redeeming qualities.
The whole horror story was fresh in my mind the next day when I was back riding and exercising as usual. I wanted to see Danny and tell him to be careful. I knew he was a kind of crazy driver like many car-mad young guys are. It seemed very urgent to warn him. However, I learned he had just quit and was no longer on the gang. Instead, another car, a tri-colored Dodge sedan, came out and intercepted me along the road to the depot. Someone else got to hear the tale and he was properly shocked. Yes, it was none other than Charlie, the foreman. We talked a few minutes, mostly fairly casually. He did ask me to go to the movie and I declined but he was really not flirting or even looking at me in “that way.” There was appreciation and interest but no leer. I asked him why me and he said "I know you." to which I said he knew I was the girl who rode the mules--some recommendation. As he drove off he said "Anyone who loves anuimals can't be all bad." So... Maybe he is not the return of Blondie in a new form after all. Could such a thing be real, and if so, where did this leave me? ***
Then the next day,we took the trip I report for that date. And then it was September 14:
***Two days later, I registered to vote, thrilled I would have a voice in the coming election. Dad, being pretty liberal, was very contemptuous of and much against Goldwater and his John Bircher supporters. Of course—remember the enmeshed family matter--I went along with his take and knew I would be voting for LBJ. I even made a little round sign which I pinned to my hat. It showed a stable shovel crossed by the words, “Bury Goldwater.” It got some comments, of course, mostly positive.
That day I admitted in my journal I was
‘teetering on the edge’ as far as Charlie W was concerned. I still had doubts
he was not really just an older copy of the young and restless sort of guy I
had no use for anymore but those very blue eyes got to me. I always had a soft
spot for blue eyes! Then too, his words
were always calm, sensible and seemed sincere. In retrospect, I suspect I’d
felt the energy of his interest over the past several months as they came and went until it actually
took shape in my awareness. During the next couple of weeks we talked several
times and I was soon captivated. I christened him “Dusty” (since the name 'Charlie' was far too common) and began to realize
this attraction was truly mutual and very different from my old games. It took
two years but our first real talk was the initial catalyst for one of the larger changes
in my life. Without it, I doubt I would have ever managed to "escape." I had gained an odd but special new "guardian angel." ***
Two pix--Charlie Mike on Prez but the shot shows most of the Ford F700 that was used in the trips described. Next is the Tri-color Dodge and the first picture I took of "Dusty," probably near the end of September. It was rare to get him bare-headed--he usually had his white hard hat or a cowboy hat on! I later found I had a fingerprint on the lens and a whole roll of pictures came out fuzzy!
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