This day was at the leading edge of some very unpleasant times. It was actually the last Friday entry I wrote in any journal for about six weeks. I will explain next time when I put in the Thursday before and some lead-in detail and explanation.
June 10, 1966, Fri
We didn’t even attempt to ride today. More talks--this time mostly directed at Mom but riles me all the same. Charlie Mike and I started to write “hate sheets" but Mom wouldn’t let us. We staggered through the various chores, went up to the store for some groceries etc. The Boss played an ace card when he wrote Charlie Mike and me ‘farewell letters’ and gave us each a $100 check, worthless, of course. That just pulled the pin with me. I ran down to the canyon and then up the river to the dam scrambling through the brush and waded into the swimming hole up to my midriff. I stood there a long time. I backed a bit farther and felt the sand slipping away beneath my feet. Suddenly I did not want to drown. I fought my way back to the shore and wandered up the road weeping. Mom and Charlie Mike came looking for me in the pickup and found me up by the depot. I doubtlessly gave them both a turn. Even myself, thinking back on it all. I still think of such drama as a bear trap. This suicide threat bit is a damn nasty and sneaky trick and I’m not proud to use it but one must fight fire with fire it seems.
The damn drama and histrionics were getting very difficult. I am sure Dad was having some kind of mental breakdown at this point. He did improve some over the rest of the summer but essentially got gradually worse over the next year and a half or so. He was institutionalized for a few months; that is another story for later!To this day I cannot pin down the whys or really make anything logical out of this particular event. True, he had been on my case constantly for weeks about Dusty but now Dusty was nowhere around and it had to be obvious I was not being with or seeing him. I had also said many times, though mainly to Mom, that I was not going to run off and "shack up" with him. I told her we both did not feel that was right. He never urged or asked me to do so. He really was a decent person though they would never believe that.
"Hate sheets" was the Old Man's term for a written lists of complains and issues we felt needed to be fixed or addressed. He frequently asked us to do them. I guess to explain why we were often surly, grim and cold. However, if we did, they would only trigger more tantrums and outrage. It was always a lose-lose situation. This day he seemed to be most outraged at Mom for what reason I do not remember if I even knew. So we kids got "farewell letters". I do not remember what, how or where he intended to do or go. At times we almost wished he was a druggie or drunk as that would at least be understandable to a degree. As for the checks, an alleged inheritance or ??? Maybe we were to leave? It was all too scrambled. About that point I just lost it, in frustration, confusion and helplessness so I went off with no thought or plan. Just had to get out!
After I climbed out of the river, I sobered up and realized what a cheap trick and nasty emotional blackmail such threats are. I basically vowed to myself I would not do such again and other than one time, a few years later when I was drunk myself and pretty scrambled in a very different situation, I never made such a threat or action again. I was in shorts and sandals so my legs were dusty and scratched up. I probably looked a fright. Certainly I felt one! I guess my overworked Guardian Angel was still trying to take care of me. They always did--and I use that pronoun since they are two or actually both genders in one entity.
Photos: Marginally relevant? Just two views of the dam on the Verde River at the northern edge of Clarkdale. Once it diverted water to Peck's Lake and I think has recently been removed. These two shots were in 2017 and 2006 I believe. I do not think it was muddy the day I waded in as described above--it would have been a few yards upstream where it was not quite so deep. Having a pathological fear of water, it also fascinated me in some ways. When in that sort of mood, drowning was almost alluring. Mentally unwell? Yes!
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