The Rip Off Artist

A lot of mayhem occurred at my job with a plumbing and heating wholesaler for eighteen years. The following happened my first week of employment. I was working on the sales counter when this old man who seemed as if he could hardly walk came up to me. He had just parked one of those old station wagons with the fake wooden sides, The headliner was also falling down. He told me that he wanted to buy as many 100 foot rolls of 80 psi water pipe as I could load in my car. This presented a real challenge to me.

I instructed him to pull his car to the pipe section of the sales yard so I could load it. I began by loading the back hatch then filled the entire back seat. Then I filled the front passenger seat. I was so proud of how many rolls of pipe I had stuffed into that old clunker, I really had it bulging. Then I told him to come back to the counter and I would figure out his bill. As I walked back to  the counter he raced back to his car and spun tires fleeing our lot. It was as if he had swallowed a bottle of geritol. I was dropped off everyday at work as we only had one car. I had no way of chasing him and it happened to fast to get his license  plate number. That is one time I wish I had not done such a good job.

My Parasailing Adventure

 A few years ago my wife invited me to join her and several coworkers for a party on Lake Murray. I had no idea what I was getting into. One of the coworkers brought his really souped up boat and a parasail. We anchored our boats at Bomb (or Lunch) Island in the middle of Lake Murray. The island has a very small beach. The rest of the island is off limits as the island is one of only two roosting grounds for Purple Martins in the US. 

The plan was for each of us to have a turn parasailing around the island by taking off from the beach.
Two women went ahead of me and went soaring way up in the air like little birds.  Next it was my turn. I strapped my arms into the two ten foot sails. The sails were held up by a person on each side. Then they handed me a rope attached to this very loud gas guzzling boat. I was told not to run and to just wait till the rope got tight. They said it would just automatically pick me up. Then they started revving up the boat engine and tightening on the lines to the parasail. I started sweating bullets and yelled for them to cut the engine. They could not hear over the noise of the motor so I started running. Big mistake. My feet could not keep up so I fell. My face and knees were dragged across the sand and rocks before I was finally lifted up.

I could not believe how high it took me and how quiet it was up there. But I did realize that my knee was dripping blood and I had lost one of my sandals. We circled the island and the boat started to slow up so I could descend and land in shallow water off the beach. But a little old man wearing a thong pulled his pontoon in the precise place I was to land. Thankfully, the boat driver realized I was about to splat like a bug on a windshield. He gave it the gas and I just did clear the top of the pontoon boat.

There is more to this adventure that I will post in a future blog.

The Flare Gun

I have a pontoon boat that I enjoy using on Lake Murray.  At the end of each summer I try to make sure to put the cover over the boat. This helps protect the carpet and upholstery from the elements over the winter. Last fall I asked my youngest son if he would cover it after taking it out.  It was early spring before I went and checked on it.  I found it covered with leaves and the upholstery covered with mold and mildew. I decided to pull it  home and park it in the back yard . That way I could detail it when I had time. This was a violation of our homeowners covenants and restrictions.

A few weeks later I decided to give the upholstery a good scrubbing. I was almost finished when I  decided to detail the live well under the seats. I had been a long time since I saw my old flare gun. It was orange and had four shells attached.  I  had never fired a flare gun and decided to see if  it worked.  I assumed it would send up a flare and go out like a bottle rocket. Wrong. This fireball went way up in the air like a rocket, came down like a meteorite, and landed in my new neighbors back yard. Upon landing it set the pine straw in their yard on fire then bounced and started another pile on fire. My wife who was working in the yard heard the shot and came running.  I jumped off the boat and ran pass her toward my neighbors yard. They had just recently installed a pool and enclosed the back yard with a 6 foot fence. I could not scale the fence and ran down the side through my right side neighbor's yard.  This neighbor is my insurance agent.  I tripped and fell flat on my belly in his yard tearing my jeans. At this point my wife had seen the fire though the cracks in the fence and began to yell, "You idiot!" I jumped up and continued racing to the neighbors front gate and was praying that it would be unlocked. I had not even met these neighbors yet and it did not appear they were home. Thankfully the gate was unlocked. When I reached the backyard, my left side neighbor was already there. He witnessed what I had done, is younger and was able to scale the fence. He had already stomped out one fire and came over to help me extinguish the other one. We finally had the fires out when the insurance neighbor walked up. He told me that he would be examining my insurance premiums.

This mayhem event occurred  last spring and last week I finally met my neighbor walking her dog.  Since I had planned to post this story, I confessed and gave her my blog address.

I learned 4 lessons that day:   1.  Always introduce yourself immediately to new neighbors.                      

                                             2.  Tell your neighbors if you set their yard on fire.
                                             3.  Don't live next to your insurance agent if you have mayhem tendencies.
                                             4.  Fire a flare gun only on open water.

The Dinner Invitation

Some years ago I was visiting some old friends in Ann Arbor, Michigan. They were not old in age just old friends.  I called a close friend that worked for the same real estate firm I did when I lived there. He invited my wife and I to dinner at his house. We agreed on a time of 1:00 p.m. My wife and I arrived a little before 1:00 p.m.. We had a great time reminiscing but by 3:00 we still had not eaten dinner. I was starved by 4:00 as was my wife. I did not say a word to my friend but came to the realization that we were invited to supper. He was accustomed to  the midwest ritual of breakfast, lunch and dinner. Growing up in the low country of South Carolina, it was always breakfast,dinner and supper. My friend did not know we were confused and we had a good time. Guess he could tell the way we ate through appetizers that it was time to put the bratwurst on the grill. Now I will ask, even in the south, when invited to dinner.  Will we be having dinner or supper?

The Supper Invitation

My wife and I were living in Mt. Pleasant in 1978. She was working on her masters degree at MUSC. I was a sales representative for a wholesale heating and plumbing supply house. One Friday my wife's sister called and asked us to come over for  a quail supper that night. My sister-in-law and her husband lived in downtown Charleston in a very small carriage house. The temperature that January day was hovering around 32 degrees. There was also a slight chance of wintry precipitation. We left around 5:30 pm for our 6:00  dinner engagement. It had already started sleeting as we approached the old Cooper River bridge. When we reached the top of the bridge we realized that the descending side was covered in ice. We stopped at the top and watched as the car ahead slid down going from side to side and was bouncing off the concrete abuttments. I was petrified but finally reached the bottom.  I looked back and the cars behind me had started backing up - stranded on the bridge.

While we continued our slow trek downtown it started to snow very hard. We saw on TV when we arrived for dinner that they had just closed the  bridge. The snow and ice had made it impassable. We however did have a wonderful supper. The problem was that it snowed all night and more ice accumulated. Then the power went out. The bridge was our only way home. It remained closed for two more days. We remained guests for breakfast, dinner, supper again, breakfast and dinner again. We were finally able to leave Sunday afternoon. We ate everything consumable in those three days and finally ran out of food. Not to mention we had to wear the same clothes for three days and sleep on the floor for two nights. That was the last time I ate quail.

Valentine Roses

I was very romantic and thoughtful the first several years of my marriage. I think I still am... I remember one year in particular on Valentines Day. I had planned to stop at the store after work and pick up some roses or a box of candy. My wife was working on her undergraduate degree at Carolina. At the time we were on a very tight budget. I was working in the office of a plumbing and heating wholesaler downtown. An FTD florist van pulled up front of the office. Then the delivery man brought in a dozen beautiful red roses. They had been sent to our switchboard operator. I forgot what caused it but the price of roses had spiked from around $10.00 to around $60.00 a dozen. The switchboard operator immediately tossed the roses in the trash can. She said her boyfriend who sent them was a jerk and she was never going out with him again. Apparently they had a big fight the night before. I asked her if I could buy the roses and she told me I could have them. I seized on the opportunity and had my Valentines present. They say every rose has a thorn.  The thorn for me turned out to be the ladies' office gossip. They thought it was disgraceful that I gave my wife second hand roses pulled out the trash can. I was a scum ball. I did however tell my wife how I acquired the roses. I knew it would get back to her at the next office party if I did not.  She actually was very proud of me and reminded me how broke we were.

She was always very frugal. She drove me to the drugstore that evening and picked out a fitting card for me. Then she called me over to the card section and read it to me. Next she put it back on the shelf. We saved a lot of money that Valentines Day. I never told the ladies at the office about my card.

The Spider Monkey

I inherited a spider monkey the summer I moved to the city. I took it on trade from a couple who could not repay a loan. They also threw in the cage. In retrospect,  they got the good end of the deal.  Gretchen was her name and she was a very social monkey. She loved coming in the house and laying in the lap of whoever was watching tv. She would then hope you would rub her belly as her long skinny arms and legs dangled off your lap. I kept her cage at the back of my parents yard. She learned to climb the shrubbery and go to the top of the roof. Then she would run and dive on top of the shrubbery and ride it to the ground. Gretchen loved showing off. At the end of the summer I moved on campus at USC and did not get to spend as much time with her. The first weekend I did go home, she acted as if she was mad for leaving her. She nipped at me and then ran over to the yard of the old lady next door. She had been over there once before and I was warned to keep my monkey out of her yard. This time Gretchen climbed the tallest pine tree in her front yard and would not come down. I tried using bananas to coax her to come down but it was to no avail.  Finally I gave up and went back over to my parents. It was not long before the front door bell rang. A Forest Acres police officer was standing on the front porch. He asked for my identification. Then he put his hand on his revolver and told me that if I could not get my monkey down, that he could. I had to run down to the Piggly Wiggly at the bottom of the hill and buy some peanuts. The officer waited for me to come back and Gretchen took the bait. I still wonder if that officer would have shot her. Mama told me it was time for the monkey to go.

My soon to be wife felt that Gretchen would fare better on her family farm. We were able to leave the door open to her cage. She loved chasing the hogs and petting the cats. She would ride on top of her Dads hunting dogs heads while holding on to their ears.

The real problem started when Gretchin learned to open the screen door going into the house by herself. She would let herself  in and eat any food left on the counter or table. One weekend my wife's brother  and I were sharing birthday celebrations. We left a nice freshly baked birthday cake on the counter while we all went for a ride around the farm. On top of the cake it read "Happy Birthday - Mark and John".  While we were gone, Gretchen pulled open the unlatched screen door and got in the house. When we returned the letters on the cake spelled, "Hap    irt day   ark and Jo".

The icing on the cake happened when we brought our first son on his first trip to the farm at two weeks old.  He was sleeping in a carrier on the kitchen table while my wife and mother-in-law were talking in the kitchen. Gretchen quietly opened the door, jumped on the table, and began pulling the baby carrier.  It was teetering on the table edge when my wife grabbed it.  My mother-in-law told me it was time for the monkey to go. It was not long before Gretchen was again inherited. This time by a well driller.

Cape Hatteras Lighthouse Adventure

I have always been fascinated with lighthouses. We know seat belts save lives but I have often wondered how many lives have been saved by lighthouses. The Cape Hatteras Lighthouse is located off the outer banks of North Carolina. It was built in 1870 and is over 200 feet high. This makes it the 23rd tallest lighthouse in the world.

The National Park Service decided to move it 2,870 feet inland in 1999. This was a very controversial as well as monumental task. Some feared that it could not survive such a move. It was agreed to go forward with the project and move it. Over the years it sat closer to the ocean. This was due to changing currents and erosion. Hurricanes and tropical storms were threatening also. The move took two years to complete and the new location was dedicated in 2000.

A hurricane had passed through the week before Cape Hatteras National Park was opened to the public. The ground was still pretty saturated from all the rain. I was  walking around the old foundation looking for a whole brick as a souvenir. I had read where this original foundation used over one million two hundred and fifty thousand brick. There were a lot of bricks still strewn about the sand but most were broken. It was then that I heard someone holler. Not far from me was an older man who had stepped in quicksand.  I was the first to reach him. He handed me his camera and my wife came over to try and assist. We grabbed him by the arms and pulled with all our might. This was to no avail. His right leg was all the way under the sand and the more we pulled, the more he sank. I sent my wife to hurry and find a park ranger. Soon we had three park rangers pulling and they were not getting anywhere either. Quite a crowd was gathering so they closed the park and asked everyone to leave. That included my wife and I. I explained to them that we were holding his personal effects. They let us stay and next tried with a mud hog to pump out sand so they could pull him out. Over two hours had passed and the whole time this trapped stranger from Ohio did nothing but complain and curse. Several sheets of plywood were ordered from their supply trailer. When the plywood arrived it was placed under the  mud hog which was also sinking. Finally after almost 3 hours the man was freed. He was still ungrateful and I walked over and gave his camera back. He stated that he would never vacation in the south again. What a stupid remark!

I hate first impressions. A lady in Ann Arbor, Michigan once asked me where  in the south I recommend  they go on their vacation. I told her they would love Charleston with all its  history, beautiful homes and gardens. I suggested they start on Market Street with all the black ladies making beautiful sweet grass baskets.  There they would also find lots of quaint shops. She thanked me and I did not see her until about two months later. She told me that they had gone to Charleston like I suggested. The first day as her husband parked the car, she was putting money in the parking meter. A teenage thug came from around the corner and ripped her pocketbook from her arm. That ended their vacation and any thoughts of returning south. I never saw these individuals again but hope they did give the Carolinas another chance.

Hospital Visit

I used to love playing table shuffleboard. I had a coworker at the wholesale plumbing supply house we worked at that did also. We would stop at a bar  on the way home which was not far from our office.We would play shuffleboard for thirty minutes to an hour. I was married and my friend Dwight was still single. He could stay out as long as he pleased. One morning Dwights mom called me to tell me that he had fallen asleep at the wheel and ran off the road. She said he ran off the road, went down an embankment, and then slammed into some trees. He had to be cut out but he was using his seat belt. She said he had several broken ribs as well as a broken leg. One arm was broken and his head was cut very bad. She told me the name of the hospital where he was patient. I asked her to call me if there was anything other than praying I could do for him. I promised her I would visit with him after lunch when she said the  doctors were still doing test. That afternoon  I went to the hospital. The nurse at patient information said that he was in a recovery room in intensive care. She said I could pay a short visit. When I walked in Dwights room, he looked awful.One leg was in traction and one arm  was in a cast. His head was wrapped except for the eyeholes and his mouth wired shut. With his good arm Dwight picked up  a pen and a tablet  on a table next to him. He wrote about a page telling me all about what he remembered happening. Then he wrote a little more. I grabbed the tablet and took a seat and wrote as much as he did without looking up. When I did look up Dwight was frantically gesturing for me to hand him the tablet. He wrote, "I can hear you idiot! " Boy, did I feel dumb.

The Butchering

My high school crush and I both moved to the big city after graduating. It was then that we started seriously dating. We attended the same university and eventually tied the knot. We have been married for 38 years since then. Her family lived on a farm about twenty miles from my hometown. One weekend, she decided to take me to the family butchering. I had never been exposed to any such thing and did not have a clue what I was getting into. First we got into the hog pen and separate the one they wished to butcher. Then I being the guest had to shoot it between the eyes. Next we hung it up and removed all the intestines. We saved the tongue, the liver, the lites, the kidneys, and the head to make hash. Then we carried it over to a huge black cast iron pot full of hot water. We placed the hog in the pot and had to turn it from side to side. Then we pulled the hog out of the water onto a long table.  Next we took knives and scraped off all the hair. After a thorough cleaning, we finally placed it over a pit of hickory embers.  Next the pudding pot was fired up.  When it was time to start the hash it started raining and the pot had to be placed under a shed.  After restarting the fire under the pot, my father-in-law began to make the barbecue hash. It started to get awful smoky under the shed.  My wife's dad, grandfather, grandmother, great-grandmother, brothers and sister plus a couple of neighbors were working under the shed.  Her dad added large cans of tomatoes, butter beans, mustard, corn, and worcestershire sauce. He had cheyenne pepper in a milk carton from the previous year and it had gotten hard as a brick. Her dad headed for the house to get a new box but instructed me to dispose of the milk carton of hardened red hot pepper. When my father-in-law returned with the new pepper he was shocked that everyone under the shed was crying and eyes were watering. It was then that he realized that I had thrown the carton of red pepper in the fire.  He was furious and asked my wife, "Where did you find this idiot?"  He would not look at me for the rest of the day.  That day I was introduced to butchering and my wife's family was introduced to tear gas.

The Drag Strip

My parents decided to move to the big city my senior year. We had lived in a small town all my life. I wanted no part of starting a new school especially in the city and especially my senior year. A new plant moved to town the year before and I became good friends with the manager's son. His parents agreed to let me stay with them my senior year. I was thrilled, as they had just built a brand new home and bought their son a new car. That was my wild year.Paul and I experimented with alcohol, cigarettes, chasing women and drag racing. He  loved for us to go drag racing in his new car. One Sunday we went to the dragstrip races in his mamma's Delta 88. It was a great family car but by no means a dragster. When we arrived at the dragstrip, Paul said he was going to register for the next race.  I was shocked and went and took a seat in the packed bleachers. Paul finally pulled to the starting line next up to a really souped up and official dragster. Then the announcer said, "Boy, does your Daddy know you have his family car here today?" Then he fired the starting gun. I believe the real dragster was half way down the track before Paul even got off the starting line. Paul's dad did not know where we had the car cause if he did he would have killed us. Eventually Paul's dad had to become  very strict. He could smell the car keys and  tell if we had been smoking. Then he started checking the tire tread on all his cars for excessive wear such as drag racing. It was not long before Paul was going to a military academy in Miami. Paul's parents were some of the finest and strongest Christians I ever met. I was deeply honored to be a pallbearer at both of their funerals. i will always be grateful to them for letting me finish school in the town where I started . Paul is grown now and has kids. He turned out to be a role model as well.

A Drink That Really Bugged Me

Another one of my favorite pastimes as a teen was going to special movies at our little town theatre on Saturday mornings. They would have special showings of Zorro, Tarzan, the little rascals, westerns and the three stooges. I remember a crippled man walked up and down the aisles carrying a flashlight. If he heard someone talking out loud or causing a disturbance, he would walk up to you and shine his flashlight  in your face. Then if you talked back or got smart with him, he would escort you out the door. I think that I enjoyed the concession stand candies, popcorn and soft drinks as much as the movies. Unfortunately that still rings true today. The concession stand stayed open from beginning until the end of the movies. I remember the theatre was very dark once the movie started as they pulled the curtains leading down the aisles. I never will forget the day that, during the movie, I went to the concession stand and got a coca cola. Then I went back to my dark seat. Back then as today they gave you lots of ice. The drink was gone in no time so I proceeded to chew on the ice. I failed to realize, when I got the drink, that the movie was almost over. The movie ended and I walked out of the theatre into the bright sunshine still carrying and chewing on the cup of ice. As I walked down the sidewalk, I happened to look down in the almost empty cup of ice. Laying on the bottom of the cup was half of a huge cockroach on its back. Guess where the other half was. I learned a valuable lesson that day. Never eat or drink in the dark!

Paper Route

When I was in the eighth grade,I delivered papers for the Charleston Evening Post.  I would get up every morning around 5 am and ride my bike to the post office. There I would go inside and sit on the floor and proceed to roll roughly 100 papers. A rubber band was then placed around each paper, On rainy days you would also have to place the papers in a plastic bag. I enjoyed my paperboy role for about two months. I was bitten by dogs more than once. I was much better casting my flyrod than I was casting a paper. More than once did my customers newspapers wind up on their roof. Soon I began to beg my Mama to drive me in the car to my customers. That did not last long however. Then one Saturday morning the doctors fishing pond seemed to give me a beckon call. It was then I decided to do the unthinkable. There was a large concrete pipe that ran under the road near the beginning  of  my paper route. That is where all 100 papers were delivered that morning before I proceeded to go fishing. I did not catch anything that day until I got home; The meanest customer on my paper route was waiting in my yard for me. He was an addicted sports guru. Also waiting was my Mamma and the paper circulation manager. If that was not bad enough our home phone was ringing off the hook. We also had a milk home delivery man in our small town. Turns out someone who lived across from the paper dump site saw me and told the milk man what I had done. Then the milk man saw the sports guru who was up waiting for his paper. Then the sports guru called the paper who in turn called my Mama. I was fired on the spot and deserved to be. Our little town never needed a radio station as the news traveled fast enough.

Momma's Christmas Present

It is hard  to imagine but my best and worst Christmas days were rolled into one. My oldest sister had asked for a Barbie doll and my youngest wanted a Chatty Kathy. My brother wanted a record player and I  had a 410 shotgun on my wish list. Mama and Daddy would just surprise each other. Everyone had their spot picked out for santa to leave their gifts. Daddy brought in this huge gift wrapped box for mama  earlier in the week. We could tell he had wrapped it himself but he had tried and we were so proud of him. On Christmas morn my brother and sisters sneaked to the living room to see if our requests had been granted. Sure enough we all got what we wanted. Soon Mama and Daddy joined us to exchange their gifts. Mama gave Daddy a real nice new suit. Daddy taught sunday school and one of his obnoxious students poured glue in his chair. He sat in it and ruined his old one. He really needed it. Then we waited with baited breath while Mama opened  her big present from Daddy. Our mouths dropped as she ripped the paper from her box. Mama began to cry and we could not believe that Daddy had given her a 55 gallon trash can. Way to go Dad. I loved my new shotgun but remember wondering if my first target should have been a squirrel.

My Biggest Fishing Catch

A doctor in the small town where I grew up had a killer fishing pond. Me and my buddies would get permission and after school we would have a field day using rubber worms with a weedless hook.I would always use a Zebco push button reel as I would backlash or bird nest open face reels. Sometimes I would take along my flyrod and reel. I would wax the line and see how far I could throw a popping bug. One Saturday morning me and a buddy of mine arrived at the pond at daybreak. We decided to fish off the bank and not use the boat. My buddy started fishing on one side and me on the other. I was using the fly rod and was casting with all my might to get it as far off the bank as I could. I did not see my buddy, who had moved to my side of the pond, coming up behind me. It was when I made my forward cast that I heard him holler. When I turned around I thought at first I had hooked him in the eye. I dropped my rod in horror and ran over to him. Blood was pouring from the  the popping bug which was embedded in his eyelid. I cut the flyline and we rushed to the door of the doctor who lived behind the pond. It was still very early in the morning as we feverishly beat on the door. We finally woke everyone in the house. I  remember everyone watching as he cut the barb on the hook and backed it out of the eyelid. My buddy learned a valuable lesson. Never walk behind someone casting a flyrod. I think that was our last fishing trip together.

The County Fair

One of the highlights each year was going to to the county fair. Daddy would take off early on a Thursday and was home whenever we arrived from school that day. My brother, my two sisters, along with Mama and Daddy piled in the car and headed the eighteen miles to the county fair. This year was especially important to Mama as my brother had entered one of his paintings in the scholastic art contest. I did not think it was that great, just a wooden bowl with some fruit in it. Mama thought he was another Monet. When we arrived at the fair everyone was so excited with the sights of all the rides and the aroma of fair foods permeating the air. The deal was that we had to all go as a family to the art exhibit hall to see how my brothers painting did in the show and if he won a ribbon.

Daddy as usual walked a mile ahead of all of us. When we arrived at the exhibit hall we found Daddy standing in front of my brothers painting and pointing at a blue ribbon. We were all so jubilant. It was then that a security guard came up and tapped my Dad on the shoulder. He told my Dad he saw him pull that blue ribbon off someone else's painting and that he could be charged with stealing. That was all we saw of the fair that year. We all headed back to the car with my Mom crying and yelling and screaming at my Dad. She said he was a jackass and other nouns we had never heard of. I remember looking out the rear car window as we exited the fair parking lot. It was udder  devastation and the longest eighteen mile ride in my life. Way to go Dad.

Tragedy At The Underground Fort

Across from my house was a vacant lot we loved to play on. One weekend me and four of my buddies started digging a deep hole which we would later cover with a sheet of plywood. We left an opening so we could crawl down into the hole thus having our underground fort. One week it rained for several days in a row. When it finally stopped raining we returned to our fort. Much to our dismay we arrived to find that our fort was full of water. One of my buddies picked up an empty paint can and filled it full of muddy water from the fort hole. Then he poured it over my head thus soaking me. This kids mom was my fifth grade teacher. I picked up the rusty detached paint lid and threw it at my teachers son like a frisbee. It split the side of his head wide open and was bleeding profusely. He staggered to the nearest friends house and was rushed to the hospital. It took something like sixty four stitches to close the wound and the Doctor said if I had hit over another quarter of an inch that it would have killed him. Again I wanted to quit school especially since his mom taught me. I was forced back to school and his mom forgave me. I vividly remember several days later her son returning to school and getting out of the car. His  whole head was bandaged like a mummy except for mouth and eye holes. Naturally everyone wanted to know what  happened to him. I heard my name a lot that day and was very remorseful and sorry for what I had done. Glad he finally healed and fully recovered but bet he still has scars. If there could be a good side I do not ever remember the skinny kid being bullied again. Some actually moved to the other side of the hall.

The Dance

 I  will never forget the fourth grade maypole dance. It was held in the same packed gym that my Mom pulled my pants down for the Santa pageant. We had been practicing for weeks. My partner is still a dear friend and we worked hard to get the steps right for the maypole waltz. Our class started out the evenings performance with the maypole dance. About ten steps into the waltz, I stepped on my partners skirt thus causing her hoop to come loose. Our moves turned from grace to some sort of dyslectic shagging twist. We made it through the waltz thanks to my partners heroic efforts to keep the hoop from hitting the ground. We both however wished we could disappear .

Waited Too Late

  I had about thirty  students in my third grade class. We sat in this old metal desk in rows of six with five students in a row.There were no bathrooms in the classrooms as they were located down these long hallways. I took a pill every day to help control my wheezing from asthma. Whenever you had to relieve yourself, all you had to do was raise your hand. Still suffering from trauma from the Santa debacle, I hated standing out and would not raise my hand. The next thing i knew it was running down at the side of the desk and puddling in  the aisle. I just sat there until a bully across the aisle noticed and pointed and got the whole class laughing at me. It was then that i bolted out of the class and out of the school. Then I proceeded to run all the way home which was only a block away. I wanted to drop out of school.

The First Grade- Santa Claus

 
When I was in the first grade, I suffered from severe attacks of asthma.  I probably weighed 60 pounds soaking wet. I had to get a shot every week and was in and out of the hospital under oxygen tents. I was bullied a lot by a few jerk classmates about being so skinny. But by some cruel fate I was picked as the Santa Claus for the Christmas play in front of the whole grammar school. My mother came up on the stage before the play started and unzipped my pants and let them fall to the floor. She then proceeded to transform me from an anemic Santa by stuffing the pants with a pillow. She could have pulled me behind the curtains as the bleachers were already full of cackling students. Mama is dead now and I am fat. I never forgave her.

Birth Of Mayhem Sanders

I have been married to my high school sweetheart for the past thirty eight years. Last year we were attending a coworker of my wife's wedding at the Lace House at the Governors Mansion.  I was actually chauffeuring the newlyweds from the reception to the Hilton in my 1953 Bentley R type. While I was meandering through the food tables, a coworker of my wife whom I had never met, came up to me and asked, "Are you Mayhem Sanders?" I never knew that my wife of 38 years was relaying to others a lot of the Mr. bean fiascoes and antics which have happened to me since grade one. These mayhem episodes have continued and festered through midlife. I decided, now that I am a baby doomer, to share different episodes through my blog site. Some of these are funny and some are stupid and some are sad but they are all real mayhem.