MY SISTER WAS AN ONLY CHILD

THINGS IN MY LIFE I HAVE LEARNED

Over the past seventy years I have made plenty of mistakes. Here are some of the most memorable. In looking back, I think the biggest mistake I made, and kept on making was to not think a decision all the way through. If I had, I would have never married Jane. I did that to punish Nancy. Nor would I have married Betty. I did that, for the most part to please my mother. I had fun with Betty and we loved each other in our own way, but there was never any romance. My mistake Betty, not yours. The biggest mistake was ever selling Chandler Lane. It split the family, cost Sidney, me and the children untold pain. And, who knows, if we had stayed in Corpus, King Alonzo ?? We truly were the uncrowned king and queen of Corpus and I just didn’t think it through. Sorry Sid, but you know that.

I learned that if I didn’t drink I wouldn’t get drunk. I also learned that not drinking and getting sober were worlds apart. Oh, I smoked some weed over the years but I believe that I smoked more the last week of my drinking/using days than I did in the entire 27 years I’ve been sober. I feel that it wasn’t until 2006 that I really got sober. Really working the Sixth Step saved my ass and doing the same with the Seventh Step saved my soul. When I really worked the Twelfth Step, I discovered that my ass and my soul were irrevocably joined.

Time was one enemy I just couldn’t even break even with. I felt I was immortal or at least bullet-proof and invisible. Case in point, were all the changes in my life. It seemed that I could always do better, time was on my side. The real answer was best summed up by a verse from a Robert W. Service poem. “There’s a race of men that can’t stand still so the break the hearts of kith and kin and roam the world at will. If they went straight, they might go far, for they are the strong, the brave and true but always tire of things that are and search for the strange and new. They say, if I could my proper groove what a deep mark I would make. But they chop and change but each fresh start is just a fresh mistake”. There’s more, but you get the point. I do.

Over the years I’ve learned a lot about responsibility. I learned a lot of it from London. Captain, Nifka, and Speedo, my sweet and wonderful cats and dogs. One time in Denver I was in a deep funk and suicide seemed the only way out. I thought if I were going to meet my maker I might as well be naked, just the way I came into this world. I stripped, went to the balcony, looked down fifteen floors and had one leg over when Captain came out and had both paws on one leg and was meowing as loud as she could. The thing was she never made a sound before. She had always been as silent as a tomb I took it as her saying get off the rail you silly bastard, I don’t know how to open a can. That opened my eyes to a lot of things. One was I was responsible for their well being. They not only can’t open cans or doors to go out or even dial the phone to call the vet if one was sick. All they could really do was love me. And realizing that made me realize that the price of love was responsibility, I started being more responsible. Over the years it has become second nature.

Another thing is that I’ve found that the world judges me on my actions and I judge myself on my intentions. No wonder I had so many ruptured relationships, lost opportunities, broken marriages and on and on. I am learning to have my intentions and my actions to meld as one these days.

Lying is something else that plagued me over the years. An old saying states that a word spoken often enough becomes truth. At times I would have rather told you I was going to SavOn than I was really going to Rite Aid. No reason. Nothing gained, just a lie. It took years to discover just how far from the truth my life was.

I have been fairly successful in business over time. What I have learned is I make a living by what I get but I make a life by what I give. Working with the homeless addict/alcoholic in Denver and being a drug and alcohol counselor in Los Angeles has brought that fact home and done it in spades. To help those who truly can’t help themselves is an honor and a blessing.

These are some others I’m working on. I’ll fill them in some day soon.

Listening
Laughing
Friends are more important than money
Religion and spirituality are vastly different to some.
I want everything I’ve got.

THINGS I'VE LEARNED ALONG THE WAY

MY SISTER WAS AN ONLY CHILD 1996-2007

MY SISTER WAS AN ONLY CHILD 1976-1995

MY SISTER WAS AN ONLY CHILD 1963-1975

MY SISTER WAS AN ONLY CHILD 1959-1963

Let’s Get Married - Twice
Long story short, after spending a fortune on the telephone, I asked her to marry me she said yes and I picked her up at Miami International and in no time we said I Dos at a Lutheran Church in Coral Gables. The real storey came later at the reception.

The reception was held out at my Cousin Charlie Cabell’s place. It was a large estate out on Red Road which was the boonies in the 1960s. Wine, women and song plus Roger Makin skydiving naked into the party. Oh, we also were racing sports cars down the long driveway. It was quite a party. I think Betty was longing for Mississippi about then.

The facts were: we were married, I went back to school, Betty got pregnant, along came Pamela Gillespie. On June 27th of 1960 I took Betty to Jackson Memorial Hospital sometime in early evening as she was in labor big time. The only socially redeeming quality about Jackson Memorial was on the top floor was the Stork Club. A watering hole where expectant dads, such as myself could wait out the storm. Along about 5:00am the nurse called me down to see my newborn. She was a pretty little thing and the nurse asked if we’d picked a name. I said yes, “Pamela”. She asked further, “A middle name”? I was half in the bag and more than a little irritable when I snapped back, “For God’s sake, Lady, its dawn. Pamela Dawn Gillespie entered the family.

We moved back to our two bedroom apartment in Homestead, Florida. It was actually a serried of four-plexes that housed mostly married students. We got down and dirty bringing up a new baby. I remember one day after changing a particularly messy diaper that I had gotten a letter from Pam’s God-father and my dear friend John Rosson. I had written him earlier about the horrors of diaper changing. In part, the letter said, “The time will come when you will be able to change a diaper with one hand and spread mustard on a ham sandwich with the other”. He was right.

What with school, being a father, again drinking too much, a hairs being broken over my back by an irate wife and, don’t forget a night in the Dade County Jail, we were all glad to leave Miami and go back to Texas for the Summer. One day when I came in from playing golf Mother said I had a letter from Mexico. It was my acceptance to the Universidad de Mexico.

We spent the next few months getting ready to immigrate to Mexico. Dad had one of his me in the Trim Shop make a large rectangular bag to fit on the roof of our Opel station wagon so we go bring more of our stuff. That bag almost killed us in the mountains above Mexico City. That bag, full of our stuff made the little Opel top heavy and going around those sharp curves got us up on two wheels a couple of times. When I looked over the side I saw what looked like about a 5,000 foot fall. Needless to say, we made it.

We stayed a 345 Rio Lerma. Diana the Huntress was aiming her arrow right at our fifth floor apartment. She took on more significance when I discovered that drug stores down there really meant drug stores. Now I was getting loaded and getting drunk, too. Remember Diana? Well, after a particularly strange combination of drugs I could swear she was shooting arrows at me. I remember our maid Gerlinda coming out on the balcony to see what was the matter. I was under the table ducking arrows that was all.

After six months of drinking, drugging and generally wasting time and money, decided to head back North to Texas and Corpus Christi. Once there, as a family man, I needed to get a job. Incidentally, Daddy had cut me off making the choice to go to work even easier.

I read the want ads one day and saw an ad asking “Do you want to make $375 per month”? I did, applied and was hired by Southland Life all in one day. Within a few months I became one of the leading salesmen in the area.

I had an office downtown and on the way would stop at a drive in and have a few beers. I played golf every day and would drink during the round and then get serious about it at the 19th Hole.

We bought a cute little house out by Parkdale and I settled into the life of the working, father, and husband – for a while. I went to work, sold insurance and played golf and gin rummy almost every day except Sunday. That’s when I went with Betty and little Pam to the Church of the Good Shepherd.

While on the outside things looked alright, I was drinking in the morning, at lunch, on the golf course and made Daiquiris at home at night. I take off for Bandera or Nuevo Laredo too often.

Through family connections I was able to sell a large policy that kept my job and marriage alive for a while. But finally the dam broke and I was sent off to Menninger’s Foundation in Topeka, KS. Mom, Daddy, Betty and me off to see the Wizard.

I was there for several months and the peculiar thing about that stay was that at no time, by no one was alcohol or drugs ever mentioned. The main thing I can remember was that I was convinced this was all Betty’s fault. Drinking and drugging were not the issue. I could stop whenever I wanted.

One time when the family came to get a report and to visit me, I remember Daddy asking how long this treatment would go on. The reply was probably another year or so. Daddy said the insurance would run out in a few months. They said, “He’ll be ready by then”.

What a place. I forget how much it cost but it was a fortune and there’s nothing significant that I can write about. Just talking with doctors, going to Handicrafts or Ceramics (I made an ashtray) eating, sleeping and then doing it all again. They did keep me pretty well doped up.

One of my doctors was an Italian Count. Dr. Alberto Malioka, MD, PhD and I met each day and usually went for a walk on the sculptured grounds. One afternoon Dr. Malioka was particularly resplendent in his cape, Bat Man sun glasses and complete with a silver tipped cane. After some question/answer period he stopped, tapped his cane on the sidewalk and said. “Mr. Gillespie, the only thing not phony about you is the way you breathe”. That about said it all.

The Day arrived. Daddy came to Topeka and got me. Instead of taking me back to Corpus Christi I was taken to John Sealy Hospital in Galveston, Texas. Specifically, I went to the Randall Pavilion, Seventh Floor. Talk about a lock-up, the only way down was either the keyed elevator or the locked fire stairs. Daddy checked me in, gave someone my file from Menninger’s and hugged me. It was the first time he ever did that it was also the first time I saw him cry.

John Sealy was a whole lot different than Menninger’s. Patients at Menninger’s were mostly neurotic. The ones at Sealy were mostly psychotic. There were a couple of dopers and boozers like me there among the screamers, droolers, rockers and other assorted flip-outs.

One friend I made was Jerry Mc Dermott. He came from a wealthy family in the Hill Country of Texas. His problem was the same as mine – too much, too fast, and for too long. We both agreed that we needed a drink or two. The question was how to get off this floor?

The answer came about a week later. Jerry came up to me and told me he had the key to elevator. Since we were only a block from the beach and the Balinese Room was on the pier on the beach and we were both members of that lovely spot, we were only a few yards from a drink. The reason the Balinese was so important to us was in those days you could buy Scotch and you could buy water, but you couldn’t buy a Scotch and water except in a private club. The Balinese Room was one such club.

We waited until no nurses were around and in the key went and down we went. We were dressed in our gowns with butts hanging out and bathrobes when we ran up the pier to the doors of the Balinese. As we walked in, Peter the bartender said “Good Morning, Gentlemen”. Peter had a hefty tip coming.

We ordered double Beefeater martinis for the next hour or so. Then, as luck would have it, I looked over my shoulder and there sat Dr. Brittain, my doctor along with several other staff from Sealy. There were no cell phones in those days but the good doctor lost no time in getting to the House Phone. I told Peter to just fill two Old Fashioned glasses with gin as just as we downed those two, in came the Men in White. Talk about drunk, we were the Poster Boys for Inebriation.

The next thing I knew, I was scheduled for a series of ECT or electroconvulsive therapy better know today as shock treatments. The procedure was to be strapped to a table, get an injection of curare and get a metal spoon placed in my mouth while someone counted to three. At three the lights went out for me and I woke up with a nurse giving me a huge glass of orange juice.

The straps were to hold me down. The curare was a drug used by Jivaro Indians of the Amazon Basis to kill small animals with their blow guns. It was used to keep me from going into convulsions. The spoon was to keep me from swallowing my tongue.

When the family came to visit, I couldn’t recognize them. Daddy would take me to play golf and I would ask him where the next hole was. A golfer doesn’t forget a golf course in a week.

When they released me to go home I just didn’t remember people, including my wife Betty. It must have been pretty hard on her, too.

I’m not clear on what happened next but I knew she was pregnant, and it was time for me to go. I left for parts unknown and sometime later she gave birth to my oldest son, Henry Carter Gillespie IV.

The next call was to Cy Cyrus.

Although we’ve been apart for over three decades, the sweet talking Southern lady is still
on my Speed Dial.

MY SISTER WAS AN ONLY CHILD 1956-1959

MY SISTER WAS AN ONLY CHILD
1956-1959
Let’s Get Married - Once
That seemed to be the phrase I used in lieu of let’s go to bed after I got out of high school. Case in point; after I would leave Nancy I would go and either climb in the window of Jo or I would visit the Jane. This one night Namcy saw my car parked at the Jane’s home. When I climbed out of the window there she stood. She called me everything but a white boy, never call, never come by, never think of me you ##@#&#**#.

Well Jane saw an opportunity and morphed into a combo of herself and Jo. What’s a poor boy to do I said “Let’s Get Married”. Now Mom and Dad had gone to a football game in Austin so I fell into their big bed and passed out. The next morning Otis woke me up with, “Miss Jane is calling. “Now, I asked”? She came up the stairs and said “Aren’t we getting married today”. We did with driver’s license I forged on the steps of the Bee County Court House as she was only 16.

When Mom and Dad got back it was a quick call to Cy Cyrus for an annulment. That tool care of Miss Mouth and the US Marine Corps took care of me. From July 29, 1956 to August 13, 1958 I was in the care, custody and control on Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children.

Tattoos and booze and then it was over. No big deal just living in Laguna Beach with a new purple Buick Invicta, booze and loads of beach bunnies. Back to being a prince again.

When I got home from the Marines, Mom in her own fashion, had found the perfect girl for me, Betty, a Mississippi Queen. We had a few dates and then it was time for me to go to Europe. The next thing you know I was on the way to NYC with Mom, Dad, and Angel.

I left on the USS America bound for Bremerhaven, Germany. I went cabin class which meant coat and tie for dinner. I had three roommates but I can’t remember anything about any of them. The trip took five days and I spent almost all that time in the bar. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember any roommates.

Daddy had arranged from me to go to the Opel factory and get a station wagon. Really fun deal. I reverse hitch-hiked all over Europe. You were standing there with your thumb out and I stopped and asked where you were going, “Barcelona, you’d say” I would say gas is probably $40 and we could split it if you want. Away we’d go. Nice chicks, too. Mainly Dutch. When I found out you could get all the hash you wanted in Amsterdam, off to Holland I went. I was in Hog Heaven.

I finally made it to the South of France and stayed in a small pension named La Cigone, the stork The owners, Philippe and Jacqueline Macci took a liking to me and offered me a job as a waiter in the evenings, and I jumped on that like a duck on a bug. The job wasn’t difficult as Jacqueline had the dinners on the blackboard. She’d coach me before dinner time so I could get used to the sounds. Veal was Veaux and so on.

One morning as I was in my surfers and my La Cigone jacket in came two good looking English girls with a Guide Michelin in one hand. That was a book for tourists with various phases to ask directions, order food and more. The blonde says Garcon, donnas moi un vase du vin rouge. Bring me a glass of red wine I did and one for the other lady as well. Merci, said one as I walked back to the bar. A Little while later it was Encore, sil’vous plait Hit me again. After a few more hits their conversation turned to the waiter. They were complaining why they weren’t staying here instead of up the street. That was my queue. I grabbed a new bottle and another glass and sat down at their table. I said,in my best Texas drawl, when are we going to quit talking about it and start getting it on. I’ll help move your things. “You speak English? I said, “They taught it every day back in Texas. They moved to La Cigone. Wow. First time for everything.

I had a great time but not much cash. So, I sent Daddy a telegram saying I lost my ticket and need $397 to leave from Le Haurve. Four days later there was my telegram for $400. A Few weeks later I sent another saying Tourist Class was sold out and an upgrade to Cabin Class was another $450. Four days later there was my cash. The next time I tried it I went to the post office and there was my telegram. I opened it but instead of the money I had requested I had a one word reply, “Swim”. Daddy was a joker at times.

Then one August day I was called to the phone. It was the only call I had ever gotten and I was curious. My curiosity was sated when I heard the sweet, Southern voice. It was Betty and she told me Daddy had a heart attack but was much better. She suggested I come home.

A few weeks later I passed the Statue of Liberty and headed into New York harbor. It took a few hours to get my car off the boat and then I was on the road to Texas. Daddy was playing golf, Betty and I dated a short while but I had been accepted at the University of Miami. I had gotten a new Buick Century convertible. It was fire engine red and we made a good pair, me and that convert. I was gong Mach 2 with my hair on fire as I left for Miami.

I hadn’t gotten to Bay St Louis, Mississippi when I knew I had made a big mistake. I missed the Southern voice. She wasn’t bad to look at, not bad in bed either, for that matter.

The drive from Corpus to Miami took 25 hours. I went thru Orientation without sleep, got my dorm Assignment and moved in. here were four of us R.E..Lee, Marty Fleckman and Charles Dawson.. I remember them well ‘cause we lived together for nine months.

School was boring but right down Dixie HWY was the Campus Canteen or the Can as we called it. It was the watering hole for U of M. I spent more time there than anywhere else. Small wonder my GPA was 2.5. I did 4.0 in high school with no books. But there was no Can in Corpus.

One Friday I fell off my stool and was lying on the floor in some pain. I heard a voice outside the crowd that had formed around me saying “let me through, I’m a nurse”. When she got through, she unzipped my fly. The Can was a place of many talents.

One day someone got the idea of going to Cuba for the weekend. About ten couples of us caravanned down to Key West. There we caught Q Airlines to Jose Marti Airport in Havana. Q Airlines had a fleet of two DC3s that took us the ninety miles to Cuba for the whopping price of $10, one way. My date was a lady known far and wide for her sexually proclivities, the lovely Barbara Dudash.

We got two suites at the Tropicana ($125 each) and headed for the pool. After a bunch of Cuba Libres and some great Cubanos we all decided to nap or what have until dinner at about 9:00pm. We ate in the grill and took cabs to Habana Viejo, old Havana to see some shows. Our driver said the best in town was Superman so that’s where we went. We were about an hour early for the show which gave us tables by the stage. After more Cuba Libres the lights dimmed and the first act came on stage, the Goose Woman. She pranced around and in awhile out came a goose. The Goose Woman had stripped down and was on an inverted bench. The goose mounted here and I don’t know who had the best time.

After the stage was cleared out came the star. He was about 5’4” and had red boots and a silver cape. Out came his co-star and she laid on a sort of couch. He opened his cape and for all the world to see why he was called Superman. His private parts were the size of my forearm and he proceeded to get warmed up he got on top of his co-star and after about ten minutes of moaning and groaning, Barbara jumped up on stage and said I have to have some of that. When she got thru with Superman they could have called him Superboy. Barbara Dudash, what a lady!

Back at school I was having a rough time. It was partly because I was I was drinking and partying so much and partly because I was in engineering school. What a dumb idea! I couldn’t even make a slide rule calculation. I transferred to Business Adminstration, slowed down on the drinking, got my GPA up to a more respectable level and spent more than a few nickels calling Corpus Christi to that sweet talking lady from Okalona.