It was late May 1959, yes I had split knowing full well I was missing the last three weeks of school and would have to make it up. I sat in the car and listened to the radio until I saw a little red Pontiac pulled up at the curb, my mom got out and walked towards the stairs, I climbed out and exclaimed "Mom!" She turned around, stared for a second and exclaimed, "Howard!" We held on to each other on the front sidewalk and kissed. We went upstairs to sit and chat and for me to explain what had happened to bring me to run away from Selma, school and Hazel (last but not least).
Hazel, my grandmother, had agreed to take me in when my mother and father got a divorce after some 10 years of marriage. I was nearly 8 years old in June of 1951 when I and my mom came to Hazel and Harold's farmhouse a couple of miles north of the little town of Selma, California. Then she left for San Diego. I missed her so badly for some months that I cried myself to sleep each night and mourned her quick smile and laugh each day. I developed anorexia in 1962, lost much weight and found it hard to keep anything down in spite of Hazel's excellent home cooking. My trial by starvation lasted thru 1963. In November she took me to our family doctor who sent us onto a psychiatrist in Fresno who knew the magic and over a long while finally, I could eat, I was 10 years old and weighed 55lbs, the skinniest kid in school.
We lived for three years on the ranch until Kermit, my step-great-grandfather by Harold died at 94 years of age. The ranch was soon sold and they bought a house on "E" Street in town. Harold worked at Libby, McNeil, and Libby, a canning plant as an electrician. Hazel became sick after a time. A cancer of some deadly kind had taken root and the illness and the side-effects of the drug therapy took ill of our relationship. She became angry and stern of me and my misdeeds as I grew older. She hurled anger and hairbrushes at me with great regularity and threatened many times to send me to my mother. I grew to resent her, talked back, and we argued constantly in a war of words as I entered my teen years in 1956. My grades, previously exceptional were beginning to drop precipitously. Harold had his own troubles and remained distant and unconcerned at either my problems or her's with me. I was alone.
Now I was in San Diego and they wondered of me and the situation that they were in as well as my own. I spent days reading fishing magazines and whatever other reading materials there were. My mom began coming home at noon to check on me and make me lunch, something Italian or Greek. Her last name now was Swanner, her husbands family name. She called him "Bud". I got along with him less well than I would have liked. He was abrupt with me and I paid particular attention to not being messy about the house and cleaning up after myself...thoroughly. The house had a spacious veranda off the living room that gave a great view of the runways at San Diego International. Airplanes often flew over the house when landing and it was a thrilling sight. I would sit for hours and watch the action at the airport and watch the aircraft as they headed for their landings. I had been there a week when one morning as Bud was drinking his coffee he asked me if I'd like to work and make a little money. I said, "sure!". He was pleased with my answer and said he'd take me to "the docks" the next day and to wear "old clothes" (of which I had none!).
