Memoir Monday, Septermber 7, 1968 Saturday

 I actually returned to Flagstaff the next day, a Sunday. Dad and Alex drove me to Holbrook and I took the bus from there. I was glad to be back.

As for the last week in Grant County, NM, more of the same as prior. I stayed home when the rest were off at school and got most stuff unpacked and put away, cooked meals and when they were there, talked some--mostly fairly easy stuff because for the moment everything seemed to be going well. "Business as usual" was enough for each day as it was lived. 

Given that I have no more good photos to share and really not much to discuss,  here is an alternative for this week.  I've mentioned writing stories in some fairly recent  past posts. I had backed off from my YA book efforts for a time but still had ambiitons to find something commericial that I might be able to publish. I wrote several  stories, late that second year of college. Each one was different. I was trying to find a voice, a style and maybe a genre that would work for me. I was still a very rank amateur but my skills and abilty had developed a lot with maturity. Just for fun, I will share here one of my 'steno notebook ranch romances' from 1956-58 and an effort at at a western tale that I might have slanted toward the actual Ranch Romances magazin in 1968.  Warning!!, between them it is about 3500 words. so longish.

The Guns that Won The West by Gaye Morgan (c: 1957)

On the sprawling porch of the old adobe ranch house, Janet sat. The dying glow of twilight filled the western sky with a rainbow of color. Janet’s raven black hair gleamed in the soft light and her blue eyes looked eagerly down the long road. It was plain she was waiting for something. Finally that something came into view. It was a tall young cowboy on a big bay horse.

“Hi, Mike,” Janet called, gladness clear in her voice.

“Hi Janet,” he replied. There was a tender light in his dark blue eyes as he rode past on his way to the barn and looked down at the young woman.

After he had unsaddled and fed his horse, he walked back to the house and climbed up to the porch to sit by Janet. “Jan, dear,” he said slowly, “I have something to talk over with you.”

“Get busy,” she said lightly.

“I have a duty to do for our country with the war starting. The cavalry commander is asking for volunteers. I want to join but I hope you’ll promise to wait for me no matter how long I’m gone.”

“I promise,” Janet whispered. “I’ll wait. I’ll be proud to wait.” The look in her eyes promised too as she gazed up at him. The next morning Mike disappeared down the road for the last time.

After that, the days dragged for Janet. Weeks slipped past. Then a dashing dark haired, brown eyed young cowboy rode in one stormy night. Janet’s father hired him at once since cowboys were getting scarce with so many off fighting. Janet soon found that Martin was fun and gradually he began to take Mike’s place in her life as well as the ranch work.

Martin had been there several months before he got the wandering urge and decided join the cavalry also. That night they sat together on the porch as Mike and Janet had sat almost a year before.

She noticed that he was wearing a fancy double holster. He took one of the pistols out and showed it to her. “Janet,’ he said, “Look at these guns. I put them up while I was working but I could be a gunfighter. Maybe it’s time to put them to work again. They were given to me by a Texas Ranger. I wasn’t able to save him but I got him to help, hoping he’d make it. He gave them to me when he knew he wasn’t going to survive. Someday they’ll be called the guns that won the west.”

Janet touched one with the tip of one finger and then drew back. She knew guns were needed but she did not really like them very much.

Martin went on. “Will you wait for me until I complete an enlistment and come back again?”

“Just a minute,” Janet said. “I already promised one guy that I would wait for him. How can I wait for two?”

“Well, if he doesn’t come back I will get you, anyway,” Martin said, a little hotly. He gave her a hard, fast kiss before he leaped on his horse and galloped off into the night.

After that, Janet often looked down the road and wondered if someone would ever come riding back and if so, who it would be. Time passed more slowly than ever and it seemed nothing ever happened.

But the same was not true far away on the battlefield.  Both Mike and Martin  were busy indeed.  It happened that they both ended up in the same company and became friends. Together they fought many successful battles and only oncc did they have to retreat.  Someday, they both hoped, the war would be over and they could return to the girl who had promised to wait for them. They never talked much about her, not even her name, so they never guessed it was the same girl.

Finally nearly three years had passed. One summer evening Janet sat, as she always did, on the porch as evening fell. She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw a rider approaching. Could she be dreaming? The big bay horse with two white stockings looked very familiar.  Yes, it was really him!

“Mike, Mike,” she cried as she leaped up and ran to meet him. She met them at the big log gate. As Mike rode through, he swung her up to ride in front of him.

“Oh Janet.” “ Oh Mike.” They both spoke at once. “I’m so glad to see you. It’s been so long.”

Together they unsaddled the bay and fed him. Then they walked slowly back to the house and sat down side by side. Suddenly Janet noticed the guns and holsters that Mike wore.

“Mike, where did you get those guns? “

“It’s a long story,” Mike said. He took a deep breath and then he began. “Over a year ago a new man joined our company. His name was Martin and we became friends and fought together. One day he told me how he’d gotten this special gun outfit from a Texas Ranger. He said after the war, he was going to move on and win the west with them. Then in our last big battle, Martin was shot.

“I got him back behind the lines but he knew he was dying. He told me to take the guns and use them for good and always to remember him and how he got them. I cleaned them before I put them away until I mustered out. In the barrel of one I found a gold button. It reminded me of the ones on a dress you often wore, the blue one I liked so well.”

“It may have been,” Janet admitted. “Not long after you left, Dad hired a cowboy who rode in one stormy night. We got to be friends. The night he left he showed me his guns and told me the story. It must be true because he told you the same one. I’m not sure how he got the button but I did find I had lost one off that dress. He wanted me to wait for him but I told him I was already promised. He said then that if you did not come back he would return to me, but it was him who never returned.”

She heard Mike sigh and felt a little worried. “I didn’t really forget you but I was lonely and he was nice. Can you forgive me?”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t? “

“I don’t know. I never stopped loving you but I did get lonesome.”

“Maybe this will convince you that you’re forgiven.” Mike took her in his arms and kissed her eagerly. He didn’t stop with just one, either.

When he lifted his head, they were both breathless. “I guess it does,” Janet said with a small laugh.

“Most gals get a certain reward for waiting for their guy,” Mike said. “Could you wait about a week for that reward?”

Janet looked at him, confused. “A reward?”

“I mean getting married if you’ll have me.”

“Oh! That’s the best reward I could hope for. But please, don’t go out with those guns on looking for any trouble. The west is about won already.”

“I won’t go anywhere without you and I wouldn’t put you in any danger,” Mike promised. “I love you too much for that.”

Just an aside--this is almost a very condensed novel. I did not develip the characters much or really give it a strong plot but a whole tale is there, for what it's worth--an effort, an experiment!!

The Fighter by A.A.Ransom (c: 1968)

            He walked rather slowly, with a firm, deliberate step. He was a tall man, rather stooped and thin, slow spoken and easy going, calm and slightly withdrawn. Somehow the western clothes he wore sat a little strangely on him and under his sunburn was still a hint of indoor pallor.

He stepped put of Bryan’s General Mercantile and shouldered the box of supplies. At the end of the block, his team waited, fidgeting from the sun and the flies. He carefully  placed the last of his month’s purchases in the buckboard, bracing the crates together against the roughness of the road out to his little homestead in the foothills.

Unwinding the lines from the hitching rack, he vaulted up to his seat and clucked to the bays. A slight shake of the reins started them down the road at a brisk single-foot.  They were good horses, about the only good thing he had now. But his health was improving and his little band of cattle was growing. If the rustlers and the big ranchers would just leave him alone, he might get somewhere. So far, he was beneath their notice.

He drove as he walked, not forcing the horses, but with a purpose and decisiveness. He savored the growing coolness that heralded the coming of evening and absorbed the vivid pattern of the sunset, touched for a moment by a pang of loneliness that he had no one there to share the beauty with him. It reached a hidden sensitivity, buried beneath his placid and matter-of-fact exterior.

It was nearly dark when he got home. Unharnessing the team, he turned them into the little pasture along the creek and began to carry his purchases into the adobe hut that was home. He sensed an unfamiliar presence in the room but it was not until he lit the lamp that he saw her. She seemed to be asleep, huddled in his rawhide laced chair, bent over a tightly clasped bundle with her bright hair spilling down over her face. She seemed slight and small, her dress torn and dirty and her moccasins were shredded as only miles of walking could do.

As he looked at her wonderingly, she stirred and awoke, coming suddenly to her feet, her eyes wide and fearful. Looking into the light he knew she could only see his bulk and could not read the gentleness of his face

“I won’t hurt you,” he said softly. “You’ve no cause to spook and shy. Just sit down now, and tell me who you are and how you got here.”

She dropped obediently back into the chair but did not speak. He set the lamp down on the table and pulled up another chair for himself.  “Did you run away from home? Won’t your folks be worried about you?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got no folks, not anymore. I sneaked a rid on the stage from Socorro after my money ran out, but the driver caught me and put me off.” Her voice was soft and low-pitched. “So I just starred walkin’. I got off the road ‘cause I didn’t want nobody seein’ me, and I finally got h ere…kinda late. I was tired and thirsty and figured maybe I could rest a bit, but I didn’t see nobody around. I came in to make sure and then I just sat down a minute. Reckon I fell asleep.”

He still doubted her, so strange just appearing there. “Where were you going and where did you come from?”

I cam from El Paso just now and I ain’t going anywhere particular except as far from there as I can get. Oh, I was raised up down by San ‘tonio but I left home last year ‘cause I couldn’t stand my new Ma. I ran away with this man then, but that didn’t turn out too good, so I’m running from him now.”

It was an almost incredible story, told quickly and a little jumbled, but some inner sense told him she was not lying. Under the dirt she was pretty in a wild sort of way, like a stray filly he saw once. Her face was sharp and finely boned, and bore the shadows of half-healed bruises. That someone had used her roughly seemed unquestionable and she appeared scarcely more than a child.

“How old are you?” He asked it suddenly, like he’d question a horse trader to surprise out the truth.

“Going on eighteen,” she answered. She studied his face, openly now instead of from beneath the fringe of black lashes as she had at first. “”Let me stay awhile,” she said, suddenly. “I can cook and tend a garden and do a lot of useful-type chores. This place is kind of off the trail and I don’t reckon you get much company. It’s unchancy he’d look for me here.”

“It wouldn’t be right,” he protested, though half-heartedly.

“Oh\, foot! What I’ve done ain’t been right in a long time. It’s righter here than with him. ‘Cause I’ll lay a bet you won’t beat me up if I do somethin’ that doesn’t suit you.” She was defiantly persistent yet humbly imploring at the same time. She came top him and knelt on the rough plank floor, clasping her hands over his. “Please.” she begged. “I promise I won’t be no trouble, and if I am, you can send me off anytime.”

He drew a slow breath, weakening, remembering those lonely hours with no one to talk to but the horses, remembering the dismal feeling of coming home at night to the silent darkness of the adobe. “What’s your name?” he asked, stalling.

“Sarah Jane,” she replied. “The last name…I don’t think the folks would want me using theirs no more and I sure don’t want to use his.” She said “him” and “his” like they were cuss words.

He stood and pulled her to her feet. “All right, Sarah Jane, you can say for awhile, until those blisters under your moccasins heal and you mend that dress. After that, we’ll see.”

“You won’t be sorry, Mister. I promise that. I’ll earn my keep. I really will.”

“My name’s Wesley.” he said, a bit gruffly. My friends back home used to call me Wes. Mister sounds pretty strange to my ears.”

 

The blisters healed and he bought her a new pair of moccasins. The dress was almost beyond repair. He bought a length of calico and she made a new one and then made curtains for the window with the leftovers. Days became weeks and weeks became became months. He knew he could never send her away. She earned her keep and more. She filled the empty spot that had long haunted his life, and pity turned to liking and liking deepened into love.

On the long evenings she told him of her childhood, of her mother’s death and her father’s new wife, of the gambler with whom she had run away, still only ‘him’--never a name. Her tale reflected her fear, her hate, and she painted him in shades of villainous black on every  story. But even her new security did not lessen her eagerness to please, her efforts to prove to him he worth.

What her words did not say was said by shining eyes and a thousand little chares and favors and finally a warm and willing body that he could no longer resist claiming. She refused just one thing, to wear a ring or share his name. No amount of coaxing or even mild threats could change her adamant refusal. Finally he gave in, satisfied she no longer watched the road or hid when hoof beats sounded or a spiral of dust proclaimed someone was coming, At last she would even go to town with him.

It was spring then, and the cows were calving. He was busy, granding each new arrival as soon as he found it, stretching new fence, and finally trading a cow and her calf for an old mare, a trained cowpony, heavy in foal. She tended the garden she had created and a afew chickens and alwayshad a hot meal for him when he got done and came in. For awhile he had not really looked at her but finally she could hide her secret no longer. When she confessed he was proud and humble and as awed as most fathers-to-be. He wanted to shelter her, but she insisted on maintaining her routine.

One summer evening when he got home, she did not come running to meet him and no tempting scent of dinner waiting floated on the still air. He left the mare saddled and ran too the cabin. As when he had first seen her, she was huddled in that old chair, a piece of paper crumpled in her hand, her face frozen as in fear. She looked up at him with eyes drowned in anguish.

 His voice came, rough edged in fright. “Sarah, what’s wrong?” He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. “Tell me, Sweet, tell me so I can help you.”

She unfolded the paper, a letter, and let him read it. Then she told him of the stranger who had brought it. “I’ll go,” she murmured. “If I don’t, he’ll come get me. There is nothing else to do.”

“No! You will not go.” His words rang defiantly in ears. Her heart ached with pride at his love but froze with the terror of the consequences inevitable at his defiant defense.

“I must,” she said desperately. “I can’t see you killed over me. If I don’t go, he’ll come for me, for revenge or spite or --whatever. You can’t stop him, stand against him. He’s a gunfighter, a killer, You don’t even have a Colt.”

“I’ve got the carbine and the old shotgun.  I won’t let him take you. Somehow I’ll manage it. Trust me, Sarah. You’re mine now and he can’t take you away.

She stayed. She thought of trying to run away again, but he kept close all the time, almost always in sight of the cabin and the carbine was always at his side.  She couldn’t leave him, especially now that she carried his child. It would be a horrible theft to take that unborn baby. She did not have much longer to go, she knew, and she prayed “he” would wait until it was born. But her luck ran out.

No one could say which of them saw the dust first, a slow spiral far down the road. He reached the cabin before the sound of hoof beats broke the stillness and fond Sarah standing, white and tensed, in the doorway. She ran to him and reached for the rifle but he caught her in the other arm and held her.

“Don’t fight, Wes, she begged. “Please, just let me go. I promise I’ll send the baby back to you as soon as it is big enough. He won’t want it. Maybe he’ll even let me stay until it comes.”

“I want you, Sarah, you and the baby, but you first and most. Get back in the house now. He’s coming fast.”

The huge black horse was foam flecked, tossing his head, open mouthed at the bite of the cruel Spanish spade bit. He almost sat on his tail at the rider’s signal. Wes stood with his feet apart and the rifle loose across his arm to look for the first time upon the man, the villain Sarah so feared. He saw that her stories had not been exaggerations. No human should have eyes that cold and dead. They bored into him while they swiftly skimmed the area,  searching around.  The voice matched the eyes, chill and flat. “Where is she?”

“She’s safe and she’d where she is going to stay,” Wes answered, thankful his tone stayed calm.

He felt her close behind him, peeing through the door. Without a word, he sensed she had never loved him more than in this moment which she clearly felt would be his last.

The deadly stranger looked through and past Wes as if he had not hard. “Sarah Jane, he called, his voice louder but still flat and cold. “You’ve got thirty seconds to get out here.” He shifted slightly in the saddle while his right arm flexed, hand dropping slowly. Wes heard a muffled sound behind him and swung the rifle up. The roar and she smoke and the sharp tearing pain were all one. He knew his shot had been wild, too late after the other man’s bullet found him and yet in the last instant before blackness closed in, he saw the mounted man suddenly spill out of the saddle inn an explosion of scarlet.

Sarah shut her eyes for an instant and bit hard on her lower lip to fight the wave of dizziness. The double barreled shotgun slipped from her numb hands and clattered to the rocky earth outside the doorway. Her eyes sprang on]pen at the sound and she moved, dashing to where Wed lay. She ripped off a handful of her petticoat and crushed it into the wound to stop the blood.

The black horse sidled, emitting a nervous snort as it shifted away from the crumpled bloody mass that had been his master. The mare whickered temptingly, edging back with her reins still trailing. The horse answered and started toward her.

Wes opened his eyes, felt the throbbing hollow in his shoulder and tasted the salt of Sarah’s tears as she bent over him. He smiled past the pain and slowly tried to struggle up. He sensed the shot was safely high; he could recover. Sarah moved to help him and then tucked her shoulder under his good arm. Halting yet together, they stumbled into the cabin. It was going to be hard but they would manage, together. The fight was over.

Again, dancing around the idea of building 'real' people and putting them in 'good trouble' where they can grow and develop and earn their happy-ever-after.  I was not there yet but finally made it, My first novel was published in 2001, 25 years ago in August. That was Powerful Medicine. I suppose I could improve it today but I am not unhappy with that story, I did learn to be a good story-teller if not a great writer..

 

 

Memoir Monday, August 31, 1968

August 31, 1968, Saturday

I had one more week left before my planned return to Flagstaff.  Almost surprisingly, I found I really liked this part of the state, enough to build different ties to Grant County over many subsequent years, made several nd lost a few friends, and even lived there for a short year decades later. Even with school, the family did a bit of sight-seeing and I dimly recall going up to Emory Pass, visiting Gila and Cliff, traveling along the edge of the first nationally designated Wilderness Area, the one that honors naturalist Aldo Leopold, and around the Mimbres and the Santa Rita mine and Tyrone, the mine's town. 

The family actually lived in the county two different times, separated by a few years when they were up at Farmington for a while. I can recall visiting San Lorenzo at least three times during the academic year. Each was a bus trip; no passenger trains came close! At that time, the main Southern Pacific transcon passed through Lordsburg and Deming but I never rode one of their trains. There was no connection to Flagstaff or even the Verde.

At this early stage, no livestock had been acquired but it did not take long. Dad would never abandon that interest and effort. At either my visit for Thanksgiving or surely by Christmas there were two mules, two older 'mollies' who came to be called Blackie and Brownie, based on their colors, I assume.  They actually came into my life for a while and lived in Bisbee a couple of years with us after Jim Walton and I were married. Of course a number of other mules and horses were bought or traded for right up until Dad's accident and death in 1988. I just shake my head. It was what it was.

I was happy for Charlie Mike. He finally had a pretty good year of school as a senior at Cobre. He rode to Bayard with mom, who was teaching at the nearby middle school, but was not burdened by the family issues and political mess as at Mingus his first two years or in Sacramento as a junior with the kerfuffle of Morganism. I know that was a bad year for him, almost equal to the two at Mingus. Of course the second one there was the worst. 

Pictures? A few of some of the places in Silver City, adjacent communities and the scenic spots in the area. First is the dumps for the mine and the distant Burro Mountains. Next is the plaque about the 1st designated Wilderness area. Next is the Gila Wilderness and the vast range of mountains encompassed in it. It is 'big country'. Then the chapel of the Miners Shrine at Fierro. There are many more sites but too many to feature!

 

Memoir Monday, August 24, 1968

 I-and the family-ended this week on New Mexico.  For the next several decades the state  figured frequently in my life to some degree, often powerfully. I actually lived there at one point, many years later. I love the scenery and generally the climate which is so similar to Arizona but there are some things I never quite cared for, mostly an element of the people....not the long term native ones, though.  I have called it the Land of Disenchantment at times and meant it. I remember back in my young days--like up to age 10 or so--, many kids were very disparaging about New Mexico and considered it an enemy or an wicked sibling sort of place. Now I laugh. The two states are irrevokably linked.

The last few days in Sacramento passed very fast. Somehow everything that had to be done got done and on August 20, which was a Tuesday, we hit the road. At about 11:00 AM,  our caravan pulled out of Aunt Roxie's drive. Dad drove the Chevy, towing the U-Haiul trailer and Charlie Mike road with him, I suspect not by choice or too happily but that was how it went. Mom drove the Volvo and Alex and I rode with her. We had the immediate things in the back--it had a fairly commodious trunk space--so changes of clothes, needed medications, toiletries etc were secured there. I know Mom was never a real happy driver although she was the main one who taught me but I think she took a Driver's Ed class in Sacramento and got her California license. Charlie Mike was now over sixteen and should have been driving legally too, at least with a training permit, but I do not think that ever happened. I still did not have a license but was a reasonably capable driver. We both had to manage that on our own

The first night we reached Barstow, CA. I know we stayed in a motel but I have little memory of that. By the next night, we were in Flagstaff.  Mom and Alex came to the apartment with me, which apparently miffed Carolyn, maybe to have a 'strange male' in her space for all Alex was a very quiet and innocent nine year old! Mom and he used the double bed and Carolyn had her folding single that her boyfriend had provided so it was no big deal. I took the couch. Dad and Charlie Mike got a room at the Monte Vista, what number I never knew! 

From there we doubled back slightly to go to Prescott where we got some of the stuff that had been in the old green Ford. The folks had some trepidations but there were no problems at all. That night we got into Silver City after taking some back roads and a roundabout route. (Not sure why the keeping off the Interstates.)That was a very long day. We stayed at The Drifter, then a fairly new motel on the far east end of town. It is still there today but more in the middle of town now. It  seems different from what I noted that first time but memory can be flawed. I've even gone back and stayed one night in the early 2000s.

We woke there on Friday morning and had to get on with business promptly. By Sunday, August 25, the folks had rented a house in San Lorenzo, where Dad would be rteaching in their small two room school. It was a decent house although I called it a  "Bryant house" as it was similar to some Charley Bryant and his wife had lived in. However it had electricity, running water--including hot--and a roof that definitelydid not leak. Propane appliances it seems. I cannot remember whether there were two or three bedrooms. It sat on a little semi-farm with some out builiings and a small orchard. It was really not a bad place at all. Too bad they did not stay there too long.

I stayed until September 8 and did my best to help set up the household and took care of all I could since both parents went to work almost at once. It seems like school started August 26, or at least their preparations did. Alex would go to the San Lorenzo School while Mom was teaching at the middle school in Bayard (forget the name) and Charlie Mike enrolled in Cobre High as a senior.

Pictures: The first is the place at San Lorenzo viewed from the hill above, some time during later 1968 or early 1969. The next is as it appeared when I detoured past on a trip down to NM and AZ from Colorado about 2014. Last two are The Drifter as it appears fairly recently, about 2015. It is larger and much spruced up from what it was in 1968 though it was not bad then.  I last saw it about 2020; thought I kept a photo but can't seem to locate it!

Memoir Monday August 17, 1968

 The third week of my time away was a jumble. The date of our departure from Sacramento was coming close and there was still a lot to be done, especially by Mom and Dad.  I know Charlie Mike was eager to see that period end. He probably had no real trust that life would be better than it had been before the family's departure from the Verde Valley but since his arrival the prior fall  he had been jerked three ways from peace almost all the time. Aunt Roxie demanded many things and forbade others;  Uncle Dan demanded those and more and had a new plan or advice daily; and when The Boss or The Old Man arrived in January, he was his usual self, especially when he did not think he was witnessed. He had treated his older son like crap for literally years and never backed away from that. Why he seemed almost from the first to resent and dislike his namesake eldest son mystifies me. I never understood.  Alex was still just a "little kid", nine years old and in about fourth grade. For the most part,  he was always a very innocuous and cooperative child,  bright and a bit odd but no trouble... not like Charlie Mike and me!!The faamily had two dark sheep. 

I mentioned earlier the folks had the Volvo sedan or coupe. I am not sure if Alex coined the name or Cousin Steve, who had a droll and sly sense of humor,but it was know as "Funny Car." There was also the green Chevy pickup, which was probably a late 1950s model or early 60s at the newest but mechanicaly sound and road worthy. It soon was obvious that those two vehicles would not handle the entire load that needed to go so an arrangment was made to rent a mid-sized U-Haul trailer.  A standard half-ton pickup, I am not sure what size engine the Chevy had but  the load did seem to  tax it a bit. I remember that trailer being pretty well filled. and  a lot of household stuff is heavy as well as often bulky. It was maybe a 12 or 16 foot trailer. Forget the normal sizes. Not huge but not small. Same cube as the smaller standard rental truck, I think.

In planning, the folks did not leave a lot of slack in their schedule. I believe school started in Grant County, New Mexico no later than the day after Labor Day. I am guessing around September 3 but [ossibly earlier.  The trip would take about three days and once there, they had to find a place to rent,  get utilities and other business taken care of. and still manage to be ready to go to work. Thankfully they had adequate finances, the source of which I really do not know.  I suspect the California family were generous there as well. Pay checks did not begin until there was work being done. The generosity and charity of dad's siblings was no small thing but I did not feel dad was nearly as grateful and even humble about it as he should have been. I felt  more than a little guilty  at times and tried to be grateful and courteous to them.  Narcisists with a large ego and arrogance seldom are! (Yes, that is a meow!) Charles McCormack Morgan was not a 'nice' guy although he could fake it very well  when he chose to. 

What was I doing or thinking? I wrote next to nothing so just have to recall myself and how I might have been feeling. I was not in a serious time crunch because the NAU fall smester began on September 15 and I would need only a few days to handle the academic and pesonal details. I already knew most of  that drill pretty well. I had  an estabished home to go back to and was almost guaranteed my funds from the scholarship and grant would be available in a timely manner. Even my small emergency cushion was not seriosuly depleted. Therefor, I planned and expected to spend a week or so in New Mexico to help the rest of the family get organized. I actually returned to Flagstaff on September 8. That little aparment at 17 South Agassiz looked prettyfine! It was to be home to me for a year and ten plus months more.I cherished having it to call 'mine'. 

Pictures of the vehicles. FIrst is at the Port of Sacramento--the Volvo coupe. Then later that fall, me with the green Chevy and still later, the next May, Charlie Mike dressed for High Shcool graduation with the same Chevy. Another picture he wore a white shirt and a tie, not a western shirt, but same jacket. And that was not the hat I gave him but a recently bought Stetson,  New Mexcio style. The last two were very old film developed by Alex in a photography class in the late 90s. so very inferior qualtiy. Imight use AI or somethingn to improve them but--not now.

Memoir Monday, August 10, 1968

Although the event I will relate was just a 24 hour thing, it was one of considerable significance to me.  I had heard of the Tevis Cup Endurance Race a number of years before and was very much intrigued by the idea.  Imagine, a 100 mile ride from the foothills above Sacramento  to Lake Tahoe,  over a big block of the High Sierras. One horse, one rider and 24 hours to make the trek. I had long dreamed of taking it with a mule, maybe the first person to do that. Just like on the Iditarod, there are check points along the route and veterinarians examine each horse before it can go on  and can force them to be rested, withdrawn or get treatment. Most have been conditioned very well, however. The entrants take it seriously to say the least. 

Linda Tellington was one of the founders of the event and now a VIP. Another Northern California Elite member high in finance and real estate etc. was Wendell Robie, who was also an avid horse lover and fan of the endurance idea... My uncle was at least slightly acquaintd with him as Doctor Dan Morgan now fancied himself part of the elite, too. He was doing very well as a trauma surgeon sought by many, They got at very cross purposes a few years later but I am sure it was not over horses or this event. Anyway, need some back story, I had been dreaming of taking a mule on the ride, maybe the first to do so  and was so intrigued by the idea. At the time almost desperate to get away from the Verde Valley,  I had written Ms Tellington and asked about a job. She actually  telegraphed me and said if I could get to her place, which I think was on the eastern side of the Sierras, she would take me on a trial basis. But about that same time the near-sure fact I would be going to NAU emerged  and I never acted on the invitation.  I have often wished I had although I am reasonably sure I made the best decision. 

So meanwhile, Uncle offered to take Dad and me up to where the race started as they assembled,  to observe, take photos or network. I am sure it was a Saturday and quite likely August 10. I am not sure what vehicle we used, probably Uncle's SUV.  I do wish I had kept a record of this day especially. Recalling a month later, I gave no details at all. I am thankful that I at least have photographs. I did see Mr Tellington but she was in the middle of everything and I did not get to speak to her. Not that I could have said anything important by now! I didn''t particularly want to speak to Mr Robie but I think Uncle did; I am not sure about Dad. The riders got to Tahoe early to midday the next day and we did not go up for that but I read about it in the newspaper and later Western Horseman. .

Pictures!! I cannot identify most of the people but note a wide variety of tack was used on the horses and evryone was orderly, excited but very calm and controlled This was not an amatuer hour event! First picture:  The lady with the long braid near the horse's head I think is Ms Tellington. In the 2nd note the officer's version of the McClellan saddle--light gear was an advantage! In the 3rd shot, the very tall guy was the senior veterinarian and the small man to his left I think was Mr Robie. I do not believe he was riding but he may have. It was cool to be there, anyway. 

 

Monday Memoir, August 3, 1968

 August 1968 went up in smoke or sunshine or simply stepping out of  my regular life for a good four plus weeks. My normal--or even semi-normal-- daily record fell by the wayside at this point,  The narrative has to be patched together from memory and the notes I scribed after I got back to Flagstaff. early in September

This first week found me in California, just a little bit sooner than I had planned. I left on July 29th as nearly as I can reconstruct. .I'd  come to a point where there was nothing to gain by waiting and I left several personal issues still up in the air.  I suppose the folks had finally written because  I now knew they planned to go to New Mexico by fall and teach there. July 29 would  have been a Monday. The next journal entry is dated September 8 so I will just wing it for the interim and rely on a mixture of notes covering the period in that belated entry and my often shaky memory!

By this time the San Francisco Chief was a familar journey and I knew the route well. I had photos of several depots and sights. This was actually the last time I made that trip. Other travels to Noerthern California happened in different ways as will be revealed in time. The current schedule saw me into Stockton, the last stop,  fairly early/ The folks were there to meet me in the little white Volvo. I am not sure how everyone was settled in Aunt Roxie's three bedroom house. She still had her room and the boys were at Davis or elsewhere but there was Mom, Dad, Charlie  Mike, Alex and then me.  It worked, one way or another. Maybe a cot or a rollaway to one side? Or someone slept on a couch in the living or family room 

The folks were finishing their summer school classes--mostly necessary stuff to get certification to teach.. I am not sure how California credentials served in New Mexcio but apparently they did. I guess they were all pleased with their cowboy hats. I did get some pictures.  I thought I had one of dad but cannot find. it. Again I read, watched TV and probably ate and slept too much. I did need the rest and it was welcome, though. I happily forgot my school and unsettled issues for awhile.

For the first few days I don't think we did much. I spent time with my brothers and the family talked a little about the future and the planned move . They began to assemble the things needed to start a new household since they had virtually nothing. All the California  Morgans pitched in, Linens and bedding, dishes and cooking utensiles, assorted equipment and furnishings, basic furniture like beds and chairs. They already had the Volvo sedan which Uncle Dan had given to them earlier in the spring,. It was theirs when I went over in June. He also provided an older Chevy pickup which they used for quite a long time in New Mexico. These first few days take me to the second full week which ran from  August 4 through 10. It did hold one major trip or event of interest to me, which I'll talk about next time.

Pictures: Charlie with the new hat behnd the Volvo in Aunt Roxie's drive. Then me in the same spot, hippie-western casual as usual. Finally the front view of the house and then the back yard. The address was 6220 Kiernan Drive in the Sacramento suburb of North Highlands. Last is Alex, sans the hat, with the Volvo on a trip up in the Sierras

 

Monday Memoir, July 27, 1968

  July was sliding away like it was greased. All at once I was not a student for awhile and happy at the temporary 'freedom'. The rainy season began and  I wasted some time on hobbies and creating things, had a mysterious semi-sick spell, and  took stock of where I was.

July 21, 1968 Sunday

The time sure does get away. Here it is Sunday again already. For the time being,  I'm not a student and I think that is lovely. I've got 85 semester hours now, not counting the incomplete DaPr course which I will be dropping. I just can't get that project done. Not bad for two years when most people do well to have 60! Though I 'cheated' with summer sessions! It is all with a GPA that is nothing to be ashamed of though not as perfect. as I might like.

Looks like the rainy season is here. It has rained two afternoons in a row now in the usual pattern. I felt a little tough today with cramps but anaged to get my laundry done, hike the railyard, bake a casserole for dinner and make a dress. Yesterday I baked a cake and also made a dress. I think both sewing projects came out pretty cute or will be when I finsh a few details. I am now quite tired and waiting up for Carolyn and possibly her friend Karen, Hobby's girl. I may wind up sleeping right here on the couch if she does show up. Tomorrow Karen will move to Wilson Hall anyway. Remember last summer there...and not fond of that end of campus. Seems too far from everyhting. 

I bought hats, three of them, in fact. There was a littile one that looked about Alex's size and two matching ones for Pop and Charlie Mike. I hope they will be pleased. I'm taking my General Math and Biogenetics books to Mom and probably a couple of dresses so I'll have presents for everyone. although I don't think that is necesasry for me to be welcome from what they haev said. Anyway I have a couple of weeks to "make merry" before time to go. Some merrymaking --a trip to the dentist, for example. Oh well, que sera, sera.  Mayhap I can get a few things done anyway. I'll wear out the sewing kick pretty soon and then I'll have to try to write a bit. I'm in kind of a quandry about Cindy 2 but maybe I can go with Pony and the Dark Horse for a while. 

Dear old Dale has disappeared again. If Greyhund had hostesses, I'd say that is what but he probably picked up some little trollop in Phoenix or El Paso or Los Angeles. So maybe I'm well rid of him. He served a purpose, I guess, and helped me through the spring a bit easier than I might have done alone. And I served him well, too. He'd be Skid Row Sam by now or almost there if it were not for me. Think I will go shower and  turn in for the night,My left earlobe  is giving me trouble. I must have ripped the piercing hole accidentally or something. Fudge.

July 24, 1968  Wednesday

Carolyn dropped a bomb on me at dinner last night. Now that Karen is back, she wants to live with her next fall. For a minute I literally pushed the old panic button, but although I got a bad case of indigestion from my thinking. I came up with some ideas. First I am writing to JoAnn Kedndall to see if she would like to live with me. Second, I am writing to Dean Falk about an assistant resident job. And last but not least, I really could stay here alone and pay my rent but only if I took 16 hours or less a semester and got a part time job. It would be 'easier' and I could almost live in luxury! Twenty dollars a week at $1.00 an hour would pay my rent and electricity. So it is really not the end of the world like it seemed that first half hour or so.

This morning I will close my VNB savings into my checking account so I can pay for August and September rent as they come due. Then I'll take my AzBk account to buy my ticket (to CA) ad have a  litle cash. Carolyn will probably move before I return so that adds several small chores to my list of  must do's before the 2nd of August.  Really I am not too unhappy about the turn of events when seen in the light of day. Depending on the outcome, I may sort of have my fate decided for me.  Like if JoAnn comes, I'll go back to the rodeo club and  devote the year to having a good time. If I get an assistant job I'll have to turn over a new leaf and be prim and proper like I was BD--before Dusty--or Dale LOL, maybe even more-so.  If I stay here alone, I'll probably work as a waitress or something, dye my hair red and swing. No matter what, I think I'll only take 15-16 semester hours. I can't finish in the next year unless I take a super heavy load, although 17 hours each smester would let me finish with only one final summer session. We'll see. And also about changing my major. If I stay here alone, I may not--just get on through and try to hire on with Santa Fe or some other company as soon as I have my degree, Just be bullheaded and run my own show!!

I'l go ahead and go over to visit the folks and bear my gifts and be a cheerful little pussycat for a month or so but come September it's back to Flag for me and somebody will have to pay my way although I think I'll only pay the landlady (Mrs Warner) $50 on August 20 so that I'll have my return transportation if needed. No telling really what the folks are gong to do. They are doing a damn poor job of keeping me informed, but that can be a two-faced coin, by golly!

July 26, 1968  Friday

Friday already and one week of my lazy days has flown. Well, I've done a thing or two, made two dresses and a bathing suit. I think they came out quite nice, really. The dresses fit well and the bathing suit is really sexy. I sure haven't felt well though. I know I am the #1 hypochondriac because every day is a different misery. Maybe it will do me good to get away for awhile even iif it is just to be with the folks. What I really need is a genuine honest-to-golly hombre muy macho. But they aren't hiding under ever bush I pass. Actually I'd better learn to live with myself before I try to tackle living with anyone else. For awhile I was doing pretty good but somewhere along the line, something just sort of slipped. Maybe I was just kidding myself. 

I do hate not knowing aboutthings. That is the ugly part. Maybe before next Friday I will have made some decisions on the basis of things I find out between now and then. I really would hate to go back to the dorm now as it has been so nice to have my own little hidey hole here. Perhaps that is what ticks off Carolyn --it is more mine than hers and she and Karen are almost like sisters anyway. Que sera. Maybe JoAnn will come and I think we'd be okay except I think she is awfully innocent, but pehaps that is really good. I'm pretty sure I can get along easy with her. 

July 27, Saturday

Have sure been bitched up today. My left shoulder and side ache like a sore tooth and a dozen knives stab into me with every breath and twist. I haven't really done much--wrote a few letters and hiked the railyard this morning. For awhile during the afternoon I was tempted to throw a few things in my suitcase, try to cash a check, and just catch train 1(SF Chief) but I realized that was impracticaL. The folks still have not written aye or nay. I fancy they are mad at my delays etc. but then I tell myself I am just being morbid and they are busy wth finals etc. Perhaps I'll hear on Monday. I did hear from Judy, anyway, a good long letter. and from Kit Lewis the other day. She and Richie are such nice people. I have kind of adopted them as honorary grandparents . I really will try to get down to see them in the fall and perhaps get in a little riding. Would Lyno remember me?

 I've taken six Excedrin since lunch. They dull the pain a little but not much. A heating pad makes it worse. It is weird. I can't figure out what has caused it except possibly lifting and tugging when I moved all the furniture on Tuesday. It was the next day that I began feeling ill. Perhaps the worry and strain combined to produce some especially potent effects. I wrote a short story last night. I am getting rady to type it so I can send the carbon to Judy along with a ten page letter I finished before supper. 

I am striving not to be hostile to Carolyn. I've been semi-consciously blaming her for all my discomfort but she is going home on Wednesday for two weeks so probably won't be together any more after that. Have to admit I'm a bit fed up on her. She probably is with me too. I haven't been easy to live with the past year, I might even have clashed with Mary if she had been here. Haven't heard from her in ages, by the way. Guess I'll have to write her again and remind her. I've written to all my other pals alraady to let them know I am going to California for a month etc. Damn this weather. I am sure it isn't helping me any. I am almost tempted to go to New Mexico with the folks but I've got to hang on to my independence. I will lose it forever if I give it  up now. "I'll never have that recipe again."

Carolyn is the only roommate I had no picture of. Well, no;  none of the first Carol either nor of Lynn and Colleen--all were "short termers".  It is odd that the roomates I had the longest time were Carol and Mary and then again,,Mary and Carol (this comes later)  It is  almost like me and Jims--way too many of them. Do names have a certain vibration or energy that creates some sort of magnetic attraction? Five Jims and two each Mary and Carol. Charles too, though most of them were relatives.

Pictures--Just the house that was my home from June 1968 through July 1970. Taken in all, I had good times there and it truly was "home" for that time. I know I lucked out! These pix were in 2013. I hit Flag on a trip tp the MUSH reunion.  The first is a street view and the other shows two window of my actual apartment. Nostalgia...