The Richard Jackson Saga

Book 1: The Beginning

By Ed Nelson

 

 

Dedication

 

 

 

This is dedicated to my wife Carol for her support and help as my first reader and editor.

 

 

 

 

Also, the Bellefontaine High School Class of 1962 just because.

 

 

 

Quotation

 

 

“That’s the way it happened, give or take a lie or two.”

 

 

 

 

James Garner as Wyatt Earp describing the gunfight at the OK Corral in the movie Sunset.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2019

 

E. E. Nelson

All rights reserved

 

Eastern Shore Publishing

7545 Lovey Lane

Parsonsburg, MD 21849

 

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

 

 

 

 

Contents

The Richard Jackson Saga

Dedication

Quotation

Copyright © 2019

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

 

 

Chapter 1

“Your homework for your first day of English class, due tomorrow is one on your summer vacation,” said Miss Bales.

This should be interesting I thought should I tell the truth or make up the usual crap, as we went to the beach on Lake Erie or to Columbus to the zoo.

I guess I should explain why I am even thinking of making something up. I have proof of what happened, but I don’t know if I want all the nonsense that will go with it when it comes out. It will become public anyway after that last bit in Philadelphia, so I might as well go for it.

It all started late May of last year. I had just finished 8^th grade, and my dad Jack Jackson and I were discussing what I would do for the summer. Dad was a child during the great depression and had been in the Civilian Conservation Corp, as a youth out in Idaho, killing coyotes. He was in the Army during World War II, where he met my English mother. I think I was the reason they got married but this wasn’t discussed, but I could do arithmetic.

My name is Richard Edward Jackson, known as Rick or Ricky; I am large for my age at five-foot-ten inches and one hundred seventy pounds. From my Father, Cousins, and Uncles' sizes, I still had a lot of growth left. I am fourteen years old, turning fifteen in October. I am known as Ricky to friends and family.

Anyway, Dad said, “By the time I was your age, I had been all around the country. Hell, when I was twelve. I ran away with the carnival, but your grandmother had the Sheriff chase me down. Later, she swore she should have just let me go.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I traveled around a bit?”

“Not at all, but your Mother might care.”

“If I mention it to her would you say it is okay?”

“That would be better than running your paper route and sitting around reading all the time.”

Now, Dad was happy that I worked and had been doing so since the fifth grade. He didn’t mind that I read all the time, which was easy because the library was a stop on my paper route. What he minded was me sitting on the porch swing for hours at a time reading and getting a little pudgy.

Taking my life in my hands; I broached the subject at dinner that night. My two younger brothers and sister had not acted up, and Dad hadn’t gone on a toot (what he called a drinking spree) for a while so there wasn’t any tension at the table. Additionally, money must have been okay, because Dad had moved up from the extra board as a switchman on the railroad to become a conductor.

This wasn’t like a conductor on a passenger train. His job as a supervisor was making up a freight train by having the cars put in the correct order. The switchmen and brakemen had to take their direction from him. This irked two of my Uncles, who did those jobs.

I asked, “Mum would you care if I saw a little of the country on this vacation?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I only go up to Indian Lake, about ten miles, with you and Dad. Would you care if I rode my bike or even hitchhiked up there?”

In those days, hitchhiking was quite common and not considered a bad thing.

“I might even get to Cincinnati to see a ball game!”

”That sounds ambitious; I doubt that you would have the nerve for that, it is one hundred miles there.”

“I won’t know if I don’t try.”

Mum looked at Dad and asked, “What do you think?”

“Well I sort of put it in his mind, so I am okay with it.”

Mum then gave me a look and said, “You can do it. Now tell me what you really have in mind?”

I should have known I wouldn’t get anything past her.

“I would like to hitchhike out west and see as much country as I can during the summer.”

“I thought it was something like that. Actually, I don’t see anything wrong with it. You have the size, seem to have common sense. I certainly did more adventuresome things when I was your age.”

“Like what?" I asked.

“Well you know we lived in Grays, a small town on the Thames River between Dover and London. We used to make rafts to cross the river. You don’t know fear until an Ocean Liner is blowing its horn for you to get out of the way when you are on a homemade raft. So I do understand. Just be careful of who you take rides with.”

And so my summer vacation started. I saved forty dollars from my paper route which I no longer had. This was almost a grown man’s week’s wages in those days.

I had a thin sleeping bag, ground cloth, shaving kit and an old army rucksack to carry several changes of clothes. Plus the Barlow pocketknife which was required of all boys my age, and a comb.

What I did have that was unusual was my American passport. Since Dad was a GI and Mum British, I had dual citizenship. My parents thought we could afford a trip to England several years ago, which didn’t work out, but I did end up with an American Passport. It was very handy for impressing the girls.

It was the only ID that I had on me, other than my library card. Mum gave me five dollars to be used in an emergency and told me I had to send a postcard every few days, so they knew about where I was at.

I had already learned in life, what parents approved one day might change the next. So I was up early May 31. The school calendar was easy to follow those years. School ended the day before Memorial Day and took up again the day after Labor Day. The dinner conversation was on Thursday night May 30, and school was over for the year. I passed eighth grade going on to the ninth.

I was up at daybreak and packed, Mum had breakfast waiting. It was my favorite bowl of cereal, Quaker Oats puffed rice. While I ate she made me two baloney sandwiches for lunch. Dad had left an Army surplus canteen for me. He was at work, but both figured I wouldn’t waste time once I had permission.

After a hug from Mum, I walked the five blocks to Main Street, which was also US 68 in Bellefontaine, Ohio. From there I started walking south. It didn’t take long before Ernie Nevers slowed down. He was an older paperboy who could drive. He offered me a lift. He thought I was heading out to the fairgrounds south of town.

When I told him, I was heading towards Springfield, he really questioned me. I explained my summer mission, seeing the West.

He scoffed, “You will be home tomorrow, but since I’m heading to Urbana, I will take you that far.”

We spent the half-hour drive talking about going west. The truth was neither of us knew much. If I went to Springfield and followed US 40 to the Ocean, then turned left, I would get to LA. In those days the Interstate system was just being built, and US 40 still went all the way to San Francisco.

Anyway, Ernie dropped me off in the center of Urbana at the roundabout, and I started walking south. It took me about half an hour to get to the edge of town and stick my thumb out. Of course, the first person to stop was a county sheriff’s deputy.

He was polite and wanted to know who I was. Where I was going and the usual things, a cop might ask, like had I run away from home. I in return politely gave my story.

He laughed and said, “Few people do that anymore. I tried it just before the war. I got clear to Indianapolis before I got homesick. Good luck and have fun.”

Things were different in those days.

At about that time an old farm truck slowed down, and the Deputy flagged him over.

“Hey, Bill we got a young man on his way west. He needs to get to Springfield to pick up 40.”

“Well hop in, youngster! I remember those days; I used to ride the rail when I was your age. We would jump a boxcar to Dayton; then go south to Cincinnati to watch a ball game at Crosley Field. We were thirteen and would drink Hudephol Beer. The kid who sold it to us probably was ten. It was a dime a bottle.”

The old farmer regaled me with the fun stuff he did as a kid halfway to Springfield. He let me out at his turnoff and wished me luck.

My next ride took forty minutes and was an insurance man going to his office in Springfield. He wanted to know where I was from and did my parents need insurance. I couldn’t really answer him so it was a quiet ride. He let me off downtown Springfield on the main drag which was route 40.

 

Chapter 2

Since it was Memorial Day, a parade was lined up on 40 getting ready to head west. The floats were lined up along the street. One float, the Future Farmers of America had boys and girls my age.

One of the girls a cute brunet said, “Hi,” as her float was slowly going by.

Of course, being nobody’s fool I said, “Hi” back.

She got a funny look and said, “Oh I am sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

This gave me the opening to ask, “Who did you mistake me for?”

I continued to walk along beside the float.

After that, a more general conversation ensued with me telling her and the other kids on the float of my big trip. This resulted in getting an invitation to ride the float out to the edge of town. All the kids thought it was neat that my parents would let me do that. We weren’t cool in those days, just neat.

I felt like I was King of the World on that ride. Then reality caught up with me as we reached the cemetery at the edge of town for the Memorial Day ceremonies. I went my way, and they went theirs.

I stood by the road with my thumb out for half an hour according to my glow in the dark Timex watch. This became boring so I started walking, putting my thumb out whenever a car comes by.

It took me the rest of the day to reach Dayton. As it was getting dark, I left the road and camped in a small wooded area. My food was long gone. I was tired hungry, lonely, and a little scared of being out alone. I was jumping at every little sound.

I managed to get through the night and if there were any tears, you will never know. Daylight comes like it usually does, so I did my morning duty and headed out. Being fourteen I didn’t think what my hair would look like, so for some reason, no one wanted to pick me up.

Later at a small gas station after looking in the mirror, I wouldn’t have picked me up either. After cleaning up as best as I could, I bought a couple of candy bars and a Coke to hold me until I got to real food. The station also sold outdoor goods, and I found a small metal mirror. This way, I could use my comb and avoid looking like some deranged killer.

Not too far down the road was a small diner. I paid seventy-five cents for a couple of eggs, bacon, and hash browns along with my first cup of coffee ever. Everything but the coffee was good. I had to kill the taste with so much sugar and cream that the waitress was laughing at me.

I made fifty miles that day. At this rate, it would take me two months to get to California. I kept trudging along. I did learn that the Burma Shave signs were further apart than I had thought; furthermore, the Mail Pouch Tobacco advertisements painted on the side of barns weren’t really put on that well. The fancy work from a distance was pretty sloppy hand painting when viewed up close.

I realized I was far from home when I had to reset my watch when I was west of Indianapolis. I dialed my watch one hour from Eastern Daylight Savings Time to Eastern Standard Time.

A week later, I was leaving Indiana for Illinois when I saw a farm truck with a flat tire. The driver was an elderly lady (at least forty). She was just sitting in her truck.

I asked if she needed help, and she told me that she couldn’t handle the spare. I changed the tire for her, and she gave me a lift down the road as far as her farm. She then invited me in for lunch she asked about what I was doing. Her husband came out of the field to eat with us.

He laughed at my story and said, “I bet you would like nothing better than a bath right now.”

I told him he was correct.

“I thought that would be the case, I was all over Europe with Patton, and a bath was the goal of every soldier. Home and girls were the dreams, but a good soak was the goal.”

While I cleaned up, Mrs. Whaley washed my clothes. They had some old things I could wear while mine was on the clothesline. By then it was getting late, and they invited me for dinner and the night. I wasn’t shy. It was so good to be under a roof.

During dinner, Mr. Whaley asked if I would mind staying for a couple of days to help with some chores. He had some fencing to replace, and it was a two-man job. He would pay me five dollars for the two days plus meals and a bed. I immediately took him up on it.

The next day I was asked if I had let my parents know how I was doing. Of course, I was in the middle of my second week and had not done so. Mrs. Whaley gave me a postcard and one of the new four-cent stamps. Postage had actually gone up since my trip had started.

On June first, it went from three cents to four cents. The way prices were raising we would all starve, at least according to Mrs. Whaley. I wrote several lines saying I had just got into Illinois, and that I was fine. I put it in the mailbox and raised the flag for the mailman.

After two days of fencing, I was ready to move on. Mr. Whaley paid me my five dollars and we shook hands and I was off again. Mrs. Whaley had packed me a little something for the road. If I was careful it might last for three days.

By this time I was getting my road legs. I choose to walk with my thumb out rather than stand and wait. Walking became easier and that pudginess was going away. This got me feeling all virtuous, so I decided to do pushups and sit-ups every morning. In the back of my mind, I probably thought it would last several days as I had tried this before, but it actually took and it became part of my morning ritual every day.

I hate St. Louis. It took me an entire day to walk across town. It was sidewalk all the way so my feet were killing me by the time I hit the western city limits. By this time several problems were becoming apparent. I was halfway through my money and my shoes were wearing out.

I had put cardboard in the bottom of the shoe but the hole in the sole was getting too large. I stopped at a farm store and bought a stout pair of Mason work shoes. They should last. They did but were really hard to break in. By the time I had hitched and walked to the Kansas border I had blisters.

I was ready to stop for a while so I bought a loaf of bread, baloney, mustard, and band-aids at a local IGA. I then found a secluded dell and took two days off. On the third morning I woke up feeling like a new person, so I hit the road again after performing my new morning ritual.

After many different rides, I was dropped off just over the Kansas state line in Colorado by a Mr. Serling.

He had to say, “Toto we aren’t in Kansas anymore.”

I laughed and wished him well in his writing. His delivery of that line was sort of spooky.

I got lucky and caught a ride with a long-distance hauler who took me to Craig, Colorado. In those days Craig was a small town that was little more than a crossroads.

When Chet the truck driver let me off he joked that I should be careful, not get lost in town. With a grin and a wave, he took off like all the other people in my life recently.

 

Chapter 3

My first goal was to exchange my last and only money in the form of a twenty-dollar bill to smaller bills and change.

The First Bank of Colorado was right there so I went in. I was fifth in line, and the tellers were really friendly. As a matter of fact, they were so neighborly that I had only moved up two spaces in fifteen minutes. No one else had come in, so I was last in line, and when the door behind me opened, I turned to look.

It was two men, and they had guns out!

“Stick’em up' this is a robbery," one yelled.

He pushed his way to the front of the line and handed the Teller a pillowcase and said, “Fill it up!”

The other came up beside me and said, “We are taking it all, give me your money.”

I probably did the wrong thing. He thrust his handgun close to me. Without thinking I grabbed his hand and turned the barrel away from me. His finger was within the trigger guard. I almost ripped his finger off as I turned the gun.

He let go of the gun, and I had it. I never thought. It was all happening so fast. I pointed it at his chest and pulled the trigger. A loud Bang and he went down.

The other guy was turning towards me, but I was facing him so the gun I held was already aimed in his direction, so I pointed at his chest and pulled the trigger. Another Bang and the robbery attempt was over. I had just killed two men in about three seconds. It all happened so fast the other people in line had not time to move.

I stood there feeling numb. About that time, heck broke loose as the Burglar Alarm was set off by a teller. The bank guard came out of the back room where he had been using the bathroom and immediately got the drop on me.

This was easy since I was standing there with the gun hanging down trying to process what had just happened. The tellers got him straightened out as the Police came charging in and had the drop on me again.

Again, the tellers got it all straightened out. I surrendered the handgun to the police, which I learned later was an M1911A 45 caliber semi-automatic. The cops found the robbers get-away car with the engine running around the corner.

They closed the bank and set me in a conference room. A male teller brought me a glass of water and closed the door behind him. I promptly got the shakes.

I was pretty well settled down when the FBI showed up two hours later. The agents were very nice to me, and I appreciated that they didn’t pull their guns on me as everyone else had. It was more like a conversation than the grilling I expected.

After getting my version of events they told me that it agreed with what all the others had told them. They then proceeded to tell me that the two guys, brothers by the name of John and Ernest Johnson were wanted for bank robbery and murder in three states.

They had robbed nine banks and killed six people, wounding four others. These were bad people. I was eligible for the reward because it was, dead or alive, and there was no doubt about the dead part.

The rewards totaled twenty-five thousand dollars! The agents had the paperwork and helped me fill it out, and attested to the facts. The bank was kind enough to let me use their phone to call home.

Boy was mum surprised and relieved to hear from me. I assured her all was okay, so then she started to get mad because I had only sent one postcard.

So I dropped the bank robbery on her, and she got all shook up and even madder when she learned that I had almost got killed. Then I told her of the reward. She got very quiet. I ask for Dad's checking account numbers so the money could be deposited there.

“Mum, when you get the money, pay off all our debts, buy a new house and a new car.”

“It is your money!”

“I know but what do I need all that for, let’s do some good for our family. And I only mean our family, don’t let Uncle Wally get his hands on it and drink it away. Maybe you can let Dad go on one big toot, but that is all.”

“Jack doesn’t need to go on a toot; he will be too busy house hunting and buying new furniture.”

“Your call Mum, I just want to help the family.”

“It is appreciated; now don’t wait so long until you let us know how you are doing.”

“I won’t Mum, talk to you later.

When I got off the phone, the Bank President wanted to talk to me. “Ricky, our Board of Directors has authorized five hundred dollars on top of the reward you have earned. Do you want it sent with the other money?”

I thought for a moment, and then replied, “Could I have it in cash?”

“Do you think that will be safe,” he started; then coughed.

“I remember what happened to the last person who tried to take your money. Of course, you can have the cash. I will be right back.”

After he got back with my money he said, “The FBI has asked that you stay in town for several days in case something else comes up.”

“I guess I have no choice, is there anywhere I can stay?”

“I checked and there aren’t any hotel rooms available. I did make a phone call and a member of the local school board, Clint Easterly is willing to put you up. He’s here in town and will be stopping by in a few minutes.”

 

Chapter 4

It was a very short few minutes because just then Mr. Easterly walked into the room.

“I hear there is a young man who needs a place to stay.”

Bank President Mr. Weber introduced me. I told him I would be very pleased to have a room as I was getting tired of sleeping out. I was willing to pay for it, but he would have none of that. In short order, he had me in his pickup and headed out to his ranch.

I met his wife Sally, who treated me like a long-lost son. I had a bath before dinner and put on my only clean clothes. At dinner, I mentioned that I had to find a laundry mat in town. She laughed and asked if I had looked in a mirror recently.

Of course, I hadn’t. Well, it appeared that I was now six feet and one-half inch tall. My pants and shirt sleeves were both too short. I needed all new clothes! Fortunately, I now had the money.

The next day Mr. and Mrs. Easterly took me into town; our first stop was at the local newspaper. They wanted my description of what happened during the bank robbery.

The reporter, a Mr. James Olsen, asked me so many questions, like where I was from and about my family that I felt more intimidated by him than the FBI.

When he first introduced himself, he chuckled as he made a point of telling me he wasn’t a photographer.

I laughed and said, “You must be asked about Superman a lot.”

“You have no idea, but I have learned to live with it.”

The laugh we shared got us off to a good start, but I still felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of his questions.

Mr. Easterly let me fend for myself during the interview, but later told me I did okay. Not much praise but I had the impression that an “Okay” from him was actually a lot. He also promised to mail a copy of the article to my parents.

The next stop was at a newly opened Sheplers. They specialized in western gear, so I ended up with cowboy boots, several pairs of jeans along with cowboy style shirts, a belt with a large brass buckle, and a straw cowboy hat.

Other than the fact, I had only ridden on a fairground pony when I was really young I was a rough-riding cowboy. I mentioned that to Clint, and he told me he had the cure for that.

I thought he was going to put me on horseback.

Well, he did that, but what he meant was that he raised and provided Brahma bulls for the rodeo. He gave me the basics and loaded me on the back of one. I think he thought I would go flying. I was as surprised as he was when I stayed on.

It seems I had the natural reflexes and balance required. He gave me some pointers on waving my hat and showing off on the ride by waving my arms and hat during the eight-second ride, which I did without any problem. After riding two more bulls that morning, he said he had never seen such a natural as I had turned out to be.

He had me up on a horse and also taught me how to saddle and care for one. It all came easy and was fun, except for the half dozen times I was thrown off by both bulls and horses. After three days of this, word came from the FBI that I wasn’t needed anymore and could move on.

Clint asked if I wanted to join him as a helper on the rodeo circuit and several other projects as a wrangler (fancy word for helper and dung shoveler.) Those bulls needed a lot of wrangling!

Since he was headed towards California, it made sense. He was giving me a ride and paying me. The pay was for the spit, but since he helped me, I would have done it for free. Our first stop was outside of Denver to provide riding bulls for a rodeo. The rodeo was a lot bigger than I thought it would be.

It was more like the Ohio State fair than our local Logan County fair. He had talked me into joining the American National Bull Riding Association Junior Division, so I could enter the events.

I thought it would be neat to tell my friends in school about entering. When I won the Junior Division at the rodeo, it was more than neat.

The prize was one hundred dollars, and they gave me the neatest big silver buckle for my belt, a trophy, and a blue ribbon with the rodeo name and date on it.

We boxed the trophy and ribbons up and shipped them to my parents. They would be surprised! We then headed up to a rodeo in Cheyenne Wyoming. Wouldn’t you know I won first place and another one hundred dollars?

I packed the trophy, and mailed it, then headed down to Fort Collins Colorado for the third rodeo. It was almost anti-climactic when I won that one, but their first prize was two hundred dollars.

I now had more money than I ever had dreamed of. I started talking about becoming a professional rodeo rider. Clint told me not to get too big for my britches.

I had enough points in the Junior Circuit to enter the Grand National Junior in Dallas at the end of August. Again, he helped me with the forms but let me know that I would now be going against the real riders and that I would have to step up my game.

Heck, I was happy to hang on, how could I step that up?

We went out to a dude ranch in Nevada near Reno. They were filming a show which was part of the Mickey Mouse Club. It was the Adventures of Spin and Marty. There was to be a segment about rodeo. We were providing the bulls.

When the child actor who was supposed to be the bull rider refused to get on one they were lost until Clint pointed out that I rode and even won some rodeo contests. They had me join the Screen Actors Guild and made me an extra.

It turned out a little more than that because the writers heard Annette say I was cute. That gave them the idea to have me in several episodes.

In the first episode, I won the rodeo, and Annette swooned over me, much to Spin and Marty’s dismay. The next one I made headway with her, and they were getting more frustrated.

In the third one, the writers had me overstepping my bounds and trying to kiss Annette (Gasp!). They catch me in the act and toss me in a horse-trough. That was the end of my Disney career.

I didn’t get a chance to know any of the actors. They had their own trailers. As soon as a scene was finished, they would disappear with their chaperons, and that ended one boyhood fantasy. The scenes were shot out of sequence so, my work was done in two days. They had me in a black hat which I thought was neat, but they wouldn’t let me keep it.

 

Chapter 5

From Reno, we headed down to Yuma Arizona. Clint was providing the bulls for a movie down there starring John Wayne, Elvis Presley, and Tab Hunter with a working title of, “It Never Happened.” My job was to clean up after the bulls, feed, and water them.

I was doing that the second morning when John Wayne came out all hot and bothered.

“Where the hell is everybody, we got a scene to shoot,” he bellowed as only John Wayne could.

He saw me and told me, “Get your butt over to costuming now. You are not being paid to stand around.”

Well actually, I was being paid to stand around with the bulls but when you’re fourteen and John Wayne yells at you; you move!

It was just around the corner of the set and since my dress met the requirements, they strapped a prop gunfighters rig on me, mounted me on a horse, and gave me my direction. Now if I could really ride it would have ended up differently.

My job was to be in the back of the pack of bad guys and when I hit a mark in the sand, I was supposed to slide off my horse away from the camera. Well, it worked until I tried to slide off the horse. My boot caught in the stirrup and the horse started to drag me.

My weight was enough the horse tried to turn away from me. In doing so he dragged me right in front of the camera. He went about a hundred feet down the road and figured out I was too much to drag and stopped. Then I worked myself free.

When I stood up, there was Wayne and the Director followed by the rest of the cast and crew. Wayne wanted to know if I was okay, the Director wanted to know if I could do a retake if they didn’t get the shot.

I guess my mouth hung open because they all started laughing at me. Elvis accused me of being a scene-stealer. He was laughing, so it was okay.

Clint showed up about then and it came out that I wasn’t even an extra, but a bull wrangler. When I confessed that Wayne’s yelling got me in the scene they all thought it was a hoot.

Since I had a Screen Actors Guild card for being on the Mickey Mouse set they decided to use the shot as it was too dramatic to pass up. This was during the time when they had to do the stunts instead of using computer-aided backgrounds.

The next few days I bummed around with Elvis, and we both were taught Western gun handling with real Colt 45’s, and how to quick draw. We even got to go out in the desert and plink at tin cans. Elvis was a little upset that I could hit them repeatedly and make them ‘walk', and he couldn’t. We got along anyway.

The shooting ended for the week. Elvis and Tab Hunter asked me to go to Tijuana with them. Since Clint was heading home, I told them yes. Clint reminded me that I was entered in the National Junior Bull Riding Championship and not to forget to go to Dallas. I promised him I would go. We parted company on a good note.

We arrived in Tijuana early on a Saturday night. We walked around eating food from the street vendors. I stayed with corn on the cob as the most likely not to give me stomach problems. It worked, but then neither of the others had problems, at least of that sort.

What I really remember of Tijuana was the buses, the stop signs, and the shoeshine boy. I had never seen so many people on a bus.

When I say on the bus, they were old school buses, which ran up and down the main road. Those who couldn’t afford or too cheap to pay would hang from the frames of the open windows on the outside of the bus. Some would climb and sit on the roof. It lent a new meaning to being full.

The Stop signs were something else, of course, they said, “Alto'” Spanish for “Stop," what was different was the bottom of the signs. They said, “Drink Seven Up," apparently the Seven-Up bottler sponsored the Stop signs!

We were followed by street urchins our whole trip. One finally through persistence got to shine my boots. They gleamed when he was done. I gave him a US Dollar, a gross overpayment. I really regretted it two days later when all the stitches on my boots had dissolved.

I had to walk over a mile to buy a new pair while the soles flapped with every step. I have no idea what was in his polish, but it was potent. However, that would be several days in the future; we were in Tijuana tonight to have fun.

I found Elvis’s and Tab’s idea of fun was to go to a cantina and drink too much, flirt with the pretty girls (at least they were pretty to them after drinking, I didn’t care to drink, and I didn’t think the girls were that pretty), then get in a fight with their boyfriends. It was one heck of a brawl. It was the three of us against about eight of them.

We were holding our own until we heard the police whistles. Everyone headed for the backdoor. I was the only one of our three that made it out. The others got jammed up in the doorway and hauled away by the police.

When I got out of the backdoor, I followed the guys I had been fighting. They jumped up on the roof of a low standing shed. We all hunkered down. It is a wonder the cops did not hear the giggling above them. Anyway, the cops moved on.

The boy next to me said, “That was a good fight gringo.”

“Yeah,” I replied, “It was fun.”

“It is a shame we can’t bail our friends out. They will have to spend the night in jail.”

“If you show me where the police station is, I will bail everyone out.”

I was led to the police station. Everyone was stuffed into the drunk tank. For Elvis, Tab, and three Mexican boys, it cost me fifty dollars. The Police took group pictures of Elvis, Tab, and me with them in various poses.

They recognized Elvis when they saw his ID. Tab was a little put out that he had to tell them who he was.

I was nobody, but they included me in the pictures anyway. When it was done everyone shook hands and declared it a wonderful night. I loaded my friends in an International cab and headed back to the US.

Fortunately, we had all managed to hang onto our ID, so we made it across the border okay.

We checked into a suite at the Coronado Del Rey a fancy hotel in San Diego. The next day was a bad one for Tab and Elvis. I worked on my tan. They both swore eternal friendship to me for bailing them out of trouble.

Well, they did avoid a night in jail but the cops sold the pictures to Variety magazine, the trade journal for the movie industry. Wayne mailed a copy to my home and signed it to me with a note saying, “Wish I was there.”

Chapter 6

This was all in the future. Early Monday Tab and Elvis headed to their next destinations, as for me I stuck my thumb out and headed North on Highway 101.

It turned out to be an easy trip, and I found myself out by Long Beach midafternoon. One of my rides told me that if I were looking for work he knew the oil rigs were always looking for roughnecks.

This was a high-paying dirty hard job that required a strong back and a fairly weak mind. I met those qualifications. All the walking and daily exercising I had been doing certainly had me in better shape.

I got a hotel room for the night as sleeping on the ground in Long Beach was out of the question. I could not resist the name, Hotel California. It showed I was really there. Years later when the song came out I wished I had sent some of their postcards.

However, the next day, after breakfast I did check out and leave the Hotel California. My first stop was to buy a new pair of boots, seems the stitches had all dissolved, from my Mexican shoe shine. After that, I found my way to the Union hiring haul.

My SAG card and ten dollars got me into the International Oil Rig and Drillers Union. I asked the guy who took my money if he thought I would have a hard time getting on. He just pointed to all the derelict drunks sleeping on benches in the hall.

It turned out one oil rig was hiring roughnecks at sixty dollars a week for a two-week stint. They had some extra stuff going on and thought they would need the help.

Well, I was hired. I had to buy a hard hat, safety glasses, and steel-toed work shoes. I was taken by water taxi to the rig which wasn’t that far from shore. I spent the next week dirty, tired, sore, and absolutely certain that I would never want to do this regularly.

They had so many men on board, that we had to hot bunk. One guy would get up. Another would take his place in the bed. Drilling for oil was around the clock; talk about a stinking mess of unwashed, farting men. The food was a horrid greasy mess, and showers were salt water. This was not what this Ohio boy was ready for.

I toughed it out but knew I would never come back. All my clothes, but one set were ruined in the first two days. I saved one set after I realized I would have to buy new ones when the job was done. They gave us coveralls, but they didn't help.

That all said the guys working the rig were a hard lot, but they didn’t seem to resent me in any way and would give me pointers on how to do things. I quickly became known as Kid. “Hey, Kid, do this”, “Hey Kid wake up," “Hey Kid get your head out of your butt.” This was all yelled, but never in a mean way.

I mentioned that to one of the supervisor types one day, he told me, “Kid these are really hard cases; they have learned to be polite to each other and the world in general. They have nothing to prove and if a fight broke out here, there would be dead men. You don’t want to see a dead man.”

I didn’t tell him at my young age I had already killed two men. As a matter of fact, no one on the rig had asked my age, and I didn’t volunteer.

Events took a sudden turn on the second week when I heard a big voice yell, “Hey pilgrim. What are you doing here?”

I turned and there was John Wayne. It seemed he was doing some location shots for a movie called ‘Hell Fighters,’ a take on Red Adair the oil rig firefighter. That was why the extra crew had been added on.

Since I already had a SAG card, I was hired to be an extra in the movie. I was being paid twice, once to do the job and the second time, so they could take pictures of me doing the job. When the finished movie came out you had to look quick to see my face.

My stock certainly went up with the other roughnecks when Wayne told a group at lunch one day how I had got in a fight down in Mexico and had to bail my buddies Elvis Presley and Tab Hunter out of jail. That is when I found out there were pictures in Variety magazine.

After my second week, the job and the movie deal were done, so I hitched a ride back to shore with John Wayne. He had his own boat which we took directly to his house on the water in Newport Beach. His wife made me clean up at once and throw all my old clothes away. I had no problem with either.

After dinner that night we went to the recently built Del Webb hotel and listened to a new group trying to get together that the Wayne’s knew, ‘The Beach Boys.’

During one of their breaks, John let Brian Wilson know that I was a bull rider and would be appearing in his next western. Brian asked, “Rick can you sing?”

“My singing scares the cattle, but not bad enough to start a stampede.”

“Seriously, we are hunting for a cowboy type to sing a song. It doesn’t meet the image we are establishing, but it is too fun not to do. We would be the backup band, and our studio would handle all the distribution.”

In a moment of weakness, I agreed to an audition the next day. The first thing I did was to replace my destroyed wardrobe. I learned all the fancy terms like wardrobe hanging around the movie sets.

The wardrobe on the oil rig was funny. Instead of the rigs grey coveralls, we wore red ones. That was the extent of the difference; I even used my own hard hat.

After buying several sets of jeans and western shirts, a pair of boots, and a new belt for my largest buckle, I splurged on a real black Stetson. It cost sixty dollars but looked sharp. I wanted one ever since the Disney show.

Everyone knew the bad guys wore black hats and that was the look I was going for. Hey, I was fourteen!

It was amazing that I had grown again. I was now six feet two inches and weighed one hundred and eighty pounds. I was tall and thin, and hard from the work and exercise I was doing. No longer, the trending towards the pudgy kid who left Bellefontaine!

My audition went well enough that we did the record. After several false starts due to me, we did a complete cut, and "Rock and Roll Cowboy,” was born.

The band carried me because my voice wasn’t that strong or even pleasant sounding. Brian gave me his business card and a copy of my contract.

He asked me to call him in a couple of weeks to see how things were progressing. I promised I would. That also reminded me to send a postcard home. I was doing better at mailing postcards, meeting the weekly goal.

They only said I was doing fine, etc., but they did let them know I was alive and where to start the search if I went missing.

From there I hitched up to San Francisco and finally got to see the end of US 40. While exploring the area I ended up on the Berkeley campus. While looking at the buildings I merged with a group heading into a hall.

I wasn’t thinking, just going with the flow. The next thing I knew I was being welcomed to freshman orientation. I was too embarrassed to get up and leave so I listened to the talk. I am glad I did. I heard something that got my education headed in the right direction.

Paraphrasing the speaker, “If you want to do well here, then read the book and work all the problems at the end of the chapter BEFORE you come to class. This way, you will understand what is being said, you will know what you don’t know so you can ask the right questions.

If you are really lucky, any homework will be problems that you have already done so you will be that far ahead, if not at least you will have a firm understanding of the material. Treat going to school like a job. Plan to spend the time to do it right.”

For some reason, it rang true to me. I had straight A’s up to the eighth grade, but I never had to study to get them. My eighth-grade year grades dropped to B’s and C’s. Maybe I would have to do some work!

 

Chapter 7

I went out to the old goldfields from sheer curiosity and of course the fantasy that I would find my fortune. My first stop was a working gold mine where they let tourist pan for gold.

They did give an interesting lecture and movie on gold mining, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that they were mining the tourist for their gold. I had rented a pan and was taught how to use it. After an hour of swirling sand, I had one small flake or what the miners called a “color”.

I took it up to the young attendant who said it looked like a nickel's worth. He took my pan with its single speck in the remaining water and held a strange-looking gun at it. The gun had a two-inch barrel.

When he flipped a switch on it, it blew extremely hot air on the water drying it up very quickly.

I asked about it, he replied, “It is an industrial heater. It has a heating element inside and a small fan so it blows hot air. This is much better than having an open flame around the tourists.”

He offered to sell me a glass vial for a dime to keep my gold in, but I declined and let him keep the flake.

I decided I would rather spend my time hiking in a nearby National Forest. It was really neat and I enjoyed my outing immensely, those big old trees made it feel like being in church, though my family wasn’t really churchgoers.

One of the things we had been shown in the gold mining movie was to look for quartz, it was associated with gold. If we found a big enough outcrop it might even have a pocket of gold in it. It would be in nugget form still, as erosion hadn’t broken the gold down into fines.

At the head of the hiking trail, there was a sign that said, “Do Not Feed the Bears.” I didn’t have any food with me, so that wouldn’t be a problem. I did have the nasty thought that a bear might consider me to be food!

That put a different much stronger connotation on not feeding the bears. There was a sheet pinned on the sign that gave information about the local black bears. Strange enough the black bears were almost any color but black, mostly a shade of brown.

The important information to me was that bears have the right of way. In other words, if you see one, get out of their way. Don’t turn and run, just slowly back up until you are out of sight. Then turn and run.

It sounded like a good plan to me. The chances of me running into a bear were slim and none, but now I knew what to do.

The hike was very pleasant. The giant trees gave a hush to the area that felt peaceful.

The peaceful feeling continued until I heard a grunting sound. Two half-grown black bear cubs walked out onto the trail right in front of me. The brochure was right, they were more brown than black.

I don’t know who was more surprised me or them!

I stopped dead and slowly started to back up. They just watched me. I was feeling like I might get away when a loud roar came from the trail. Momma had shown up.

I kept backing up, but Momma started towards me. Now the instruction said too calmly back up until you were out of sight before turning and running. Of course, I immediately turned and took off.

I could hear growls and yowls behind me. At this point, I wasn’t about to turn and look. I wasn’t a fast runner, but I set a personal best that day.

I was still on the trail with bears on my heels when I came to a turn in the trail. I had just traversed this part, so I knew what to expect. The turn was at the top of a rise, not a big one. If I followed the trail it would go down to a creek.

Instead, I went straight, half running and half plunging down the hill to the creek. Gravity is a wonderful thing. I really picked up speed. At the bottom, the creek wasn’t wide or deep, so I high stepped it across, splashing as I went.

I risked a look back when I got to the other side. Momma and the kids were still at the top of the trail. The bears had stopped and been sniffing around. It appeared that I had got far enough away they couldn’t see me anymore. The question was did they care enough to track me. As I continued downstream the answer was no, as they turned and started back up the trail.

Now my only problem was that I had left the trail and had to get back to it. I knew it wouldn’t be that far down the creek, but my goal was to find it and get out of there.

As I made my way downstream I saw the small footbridge ahead which marked the trail.

Before I got that far there was a flash in the corner of my eye. The sun had reflected from something. It was an outcrop of quartz that appeared to be newly uncovered by a small mudslide. It had rained heavily in the last few days. So being no dummy I used a large rock from the creek bed to break up the quartz.

They were correct; there was a pocket of gold nuggets. Later at home, it weighed out at a little over one hundred and twenty pounds. I now had the problem of being two miles deep in a National Forest and I had taken a bus to get to the area. How to get the gold home?

The first thing I did was carry the gold nuggets to the nearby stream and collapse part of the bank to bury them. I then hiked back to the tourist gold mine and caught the next bus back to town.

From there I rented a hotel room for several days. In those days they were a lot easier about renting rooms. The fact I had a passport for identification and paid cash up front was all it took.

The next morning I bought a heavy-duty three-wheel bicycle with a basket in the back. I also picked up a shovel, some feed sacks, and shipping cartons. I took the cartons to the hotel.

I pedaled the six miles back to the Forest from the hotel and dug the gold out of the steam then loaded it into the feed sacks. Then it was back to the hotel to package the gold in the shipping cartons.

I next took the cartons down to the railroad station and paid extra to have a wooden crate built to contain the boxes of gold.

Then I shipped the crate via Railway Express back to my parents in Bellefontaine with a note, to not open till I was home. At the gold mine, they explained that gold was legally priced at thirty-five dollars an ounce, but they were talking about taking the price controls off. If they did that gold might go up to four hundred dollars an ounce.

Actually, I sold the gold in 1979 for eight hundred dollars an ounce; or one million four hundred thousand dollars.

 

Chapter 8

It was now time for me to head to Dallas for the Rodeo Championships. I hitched most of the way there. I had finally learned to stick my thumb out near restaurants where long distant trucks were stopped.

There were even some places out West that had combination restaurants and gas pumps. They called these Truck Stops. I could get longer rides much quicker.

I had got into the middle of nowhere Texas and my ride luck had worn out. I was on a deserted road with nothing in sight and it was getting dark. Rather than fight it, I walked over a small rise beside the road and unrolled my sleeping bag. I dropped right off but was awakened about three in the morning by the sound of cattle.

I peeked over the hill and saw two cattle trucks and a pickup towing a horse trailer. One of the trucks had already been loaded. I crept close enough to hear them talking about this was the easiest heist and most profitable job yet. These were cattle rustlers! There were five of them.

Three of them were riding out and collecting the cattle and two were staying with the trucks. I checked the loads on the two Colt forty-fives Mr. Wayne had given me for target practice.

On the movie set, we used special pistols that would only fire blanks. Apparently, people had been killed on sets where they used live weapons.

When the three galoots left to rustle some more cattle, I snuck up on the two stay behinds. They were just talking and didn’t have any weapons in sight so I just stepped out with weapons cocked and told them to reach for the sky.

I knew the lingo; I had been watching westerns for years. They were very surprised and did put their hands up.

Now I was like the dog that chased the car and caught it, now what was I going to do with them. I had them drop their jeans down to their ankles. They both wore boots and were now effectively hobbled like a horse.

I then checked around the truck and trailers and found a rope. I had them lay on their stomachs near where I had been sleeping and tied their hands behind their backs. They looked like they were related and were different ages so I asked the younger one if that was his Dad. He said, “Yes”.

I let that go for then. I checked the cabs of the three trucks out and did find several empty lunch sacks from the Fort Worth Cattle Auction House. I wandered back over to the kid (early twenties) who I had kept apart from his Dad. I asked the kid his name.

“Eric,”

“What’s your Dad's name?”

“John, John Bear.”

“After you drop off the cattle at the Fort Worth Auction House where were you heading?”

“Home I guess, Mom doesn’t like us to be gone too long.”

“Okay, just be quiet and this will be over soon.”

Over soon I thought, and your Mom is going to be really mad when you and Dad don’t get home for another five to ten years.

I waited patiently for the other three to come back and start loading the next truck. They yelled for the other two and when they didn’t appear went over to the smaller truck with the horse trailer.

They dismounted to talk and I braced them in the same manner. Jeans to ankles, down on their stomachs and hands tied behind their backs. I also ran a rope between their legs and up and over their jeans. This really locked them together.

I had found a full five-gallon gas can and several bales of hay in the trucks. I had a nice fire going in the center of the road and in about fifteen minutes two Texas Ranger pulled up.

It didn’t take long for them to figure out I was the good guy and had captured five rustlers in the act.

One Ranger stated that I had done it as if John Wayne had taught me. I let it go.

I showed them the lunch sacks and shared what the youngest rustler had told me. They talked to him separately like I had and he reconfirmed that they were meeting someone he didn’t know. He would recognize him but didn’t know his name.

The Rangers told me that this gang had hit the area pretty hard and that was why they were on patrol in the area. When they questioned the other guys they wouldn’t say anything.

The Rangers weren’t surprised as this had happened before. The low-level people when caught kept quiet and had all sorts of high-level legal talent on their side. They would get very short or suspended sentences.

I asked, “Why don’t we deliver the cattle? The boy seems dumb enough to help us.”

They went and struck a deal right there. If he and his Dad would take us to the leader in Fort Worth we might lose them in heat of the moment. If two low-level rustlers got away no one would spend a lot of time and effort chasing them. They agreed to the deal.

We loaded everything including the other crooks up and headed to Fort Worth. Our numbers added up. There were five just like the gang. When we pulled into the Fort Worth Cattle Auction House there was a guy waiting for the trucks to pull in. He had a briefcase with him.

Later I learned; the Dad who was in another truck with one of the Rangers pointed out the guy and said that’s him. I was with the son in the truck with the horse trailer. The Rangers had deputized me so I could legally hold a gun on the young guy if needed. I kept it handy but he made no moves.

Dad got out of the truck and the guy with the briefcase came right up to him and handed him the case. The Rangers were right behind the guy and collared him. They had him in cuffs immediately.

The guy blustered and asked if they knew who he was.

“Yes, you are the guy with a briefcase full of money in the process of buying two loads of stolen cattle.”

“I’ll have you know that I am the biggest donor to the Governor.”

That probably was the wrong thing to say because that Governor had been trying for years to cut the Rangers budget and powers. Texas did get a new administration in the next election.

I noticed that dad and son had disappeared. I hope they got home before mom got mad.

The Rangers explained to me that this was a big deal and it would make the national news. I told the head Ranger, Mr. Walker they could have all the credit and leave me out of it.

He told me that wasn’t possible, he would like the credit but they couldn’t lie about this, it would bite them in the butt if they did. The Rangers would look good from this, but so would I.

The reward for the information leading to the capture and conviction of the largest cattle rustling operation in the twentieth century was eighty-five thousand dollars. I wouldn’t get that till after the trial and conviction and that wouldn’t be until sometime next year.

In the meantime, they gave me a real Texas Ranger badge and swore me in as a permanent Deputy.

I was told this was really an honorary position and I wasn’t to wear my guns and arrest people. There was even an ID card and a leather case to hold it and the badge. I bet when I was old enough to drive this would get me out of speeding tickets!

 

Chapter 9

The Rangers delivered me to the Rodeo headquarters and got me checked in. This started some questions about a young rider being escorted by the Rangers. They just told the people at the check-in desk that as an unaccompanied minor they were making certain I got to where I needed to be.

After checking me into the rodeo the Rangers took me to an address Clint Easterly had provided. When helping me register for the championship he had contacted some Dallas people he knew so I would have a place to stay with a local family, the Ewing’s.

They had a ranch and a lot of oil wells but were really nice to me, and became my supporters at the event.

They did seem uptight about the Rangers showing up with me but soon relaxed when they were told what had happened. The older brother was quite pleased to hear the sitting governor would be having some questions to answer. Seems the Ewing’s were a power in Texas.

My skills as a rider held up but that wouldn’t have been enough to win the Championship. I got lucky; the last bull dislodged me and tossed me to the right, and while I hung on the bull tossed me to the left and then swung me right back onto its back.

Watching the movie reel of the event it looked like a planned move. When asked later how I had perfected it I said it was a once in a lifetime gamble and did not recommend anyone else try it.

I received a check for one thousand dollars and the largest silver belt buckle and trophy I had ever seen. I then found a payphone and made the promised call to Brian Wilson to see how our new song was doing.

Brian was really glad I called, he had been contacted by the TV show, “American Bandstand” and they wanted us to appear as soon as we could while the song was still hot.

I only had one week left before I had to be home so we agreed to do it the following week. I was to fly to Philadelphia on Eastern Airlines and he would have my flight met by a car and driver.

I also called Clint Easterly and thanked him profusely for his introducing me to bull riding and that I was now the American Grand National Junior Champion. I had to describe the ride and my winning move.

He mumbled something about being born with a horseshoe up my butt, but I probably misheard him. We promised to stay in touch and ended the call.

I took a Taxi to a local Sheplers and bought more new clothes and suitcases to carry them in. There was one carryon bag for suits that had compartments for boots! The outline of the boots shows on the outside. It was really neat.

The salesman convinced me that I needed a suit and the carry-on, and by the way, I should probably have new boots while I was at it.

The grey suit with gold edging had that western look; it went well with my black Stetson. I had a hard time choosing between the Ostrich skin and Alligator boots. The helpful salesman pointed out that I could buy both, keeping one pair in the carryon while wearing the others. I left my old rucksack and sleeping bag with them as they were plumb worn out.

When I was buying my ticket at the airport I was asked if it was in first-class or coach, I found that it would only cost seventy-five dollars for first class. I peeled the money off my money clip and paid the lady. This sure was a change from the beginning of the summer!

The flight on the brand new jet plane was smooth and I looked out the window most of the flight. This was really neat and I decided I would learn to fly one day. The meal was a nice little fillet mignon. They kept bringing me Cokes the entire flight. I really needed to pee when the flight landed, I didn’t learn till later they had toilets on the plane.

I thought about swiping the silverware as a souvenir but decided that it didn’t fit my new status as a Texas Ranger. I was learning about pictures in the paper.

A man with a sign met me at the airport and after a quick trip to the restroom we went out to the car. It was a long stretched out car he called a limo. He took me to a big old hotel downtown. At the front desk, they were expecting me and told me my suite was ready.

A man in a funny uniform took me and my bags upstairs and showed me all around my room. He seemed reluctant to leave. He just stood there with his hand in his pocket jingling some change. I didn’t know what to do so I just looked back at him. He turned and left but didn’t seem happy.

Brian Wilson called my room and asked me if everything was okay. I told him it was but that the bellhop seemed unhappy. He asked how much I had tipped him. Uh oh! A small-town kid strikes again. Brian and I agreed to meet in the lobby to go out for dinner.

I got cleaned up and put my fancy new suit on and went down a little early. I explained to the front desk my error with the bellhop and asked what a proper amount would be to tip. They told me a dollar a bag was normal but if I could afford it five dollars would go a long way to making the guy happy.

I was lucky and the bellhop, Johnnie was still on duty. I gave him five bucks and explained I was green as grass. He told me he figured that was the case and thanked me.

Brian and I had a really good dinner at a restaurant called Bookbinders or something like that. The other guys in the band were going elsewhere. I got the idea it might involve drinking and women. Recently things like that were sounding attractive, especially the women part.

The next morning we had breakfast in my hotel suite and went to the studio where they did American Bandstand. The host Dick Clark was real nice to Brian and me and introduced us to another singer a little older than me that was appearing, Paul Anka.

Waiting in a little room called for some reason the Green Room, which was painted grey, we had a really good talk about my possible career as a singer.

Paul had listened to my song. Both Paul and Brian agreed I didn’t have the voice for a career. The song was a novelty hit but that was it. I didn’t disagree with this harsh estimate of my talent.

Paul who turned out to be an astute businessman said, “You might consider donating all the profits from this song to a charity. From what little I know of your story from Brian you will be hit with some hefty taxes.”

Brain agreed that made sense so I made a decision right then and there.

When we were introduced I told the audience that this was a fun song and that I wouldn’t have a career singing so had decided to donate all my profits to the Leukemia Society. Later I was told that was a little overboard, I had just blown fifty thousand dollars.

I do know that before I got off the air I had a phone call from the Leukemia Society wanting to get it in writing. Later in the year, it turned out to be a good move according to Dad’s tax accountant.

The show went well but I later learned that if newspaper stories got around TV did it in spades. I had worn my Texas Ranger badge on my suit. The camera’s focused on it several times.

This caused questions to be asked of the Texas Rangers who told the whole story of my help with capturing the cattle rustlers. This made me national news. Since it wasn’t breaking news it didn’t come out till the weekend and I was safely home.

It was now a week till school started so it was time to head home. The next morning I flew to Dayton Ohio and hired a taxi to drive me to Bellefontaine and home. I had too much stuff to hitchhike now. There was only one problem when I got home, there was no one there.

The house was empty! A neighbor Twyla came out and told me where we had moved to, it was in the nicest area of town, Indian Heights. The driver took me there and this time I had a wonderful welcome.

That was my summer vacation in 1958 and exactly how it happened, give or take a lie or two.

 

Chapter 10

The cab dropped me off at my new home a week before school was to start. My parents had moved while I was on my summer trip but at least they left word where we had moved to. I knew right away that it was the correct house. My two younger brothers were shooting hoops on the basket attached to the two-car garage.

Denny the oldest yelled, “Mum, he’s home!”

Younger brother Eddie took the opportunity to steal the ball from Denny. This set off one of their typical yelling matches. Yep, I was home.

To say my arrival home was tumultuous would be putting it mildly. I had been gone all summer and had enough adventures for a lifetime. On top of that, I had raised our family's standard of living by providing a new paid-for home, a new car along with money in the bank.

Mum came running out the door and swept me into a hug. Dad was right behind and started to shake my hand, but instead swept me into his own hug. Mary wrapped herself around my leg. At first, it was a continuous babble about the new house, new car, me being home, the adventures I had. No order for anyone of us. The words just flowed. I was home!

Things finally settled down and Mum gave me a tour of our new house. I was shown my new bedroom. Each of us had our own bedroom in the five-bedroom home. There was an eat-in kitchen, dining room, living room with fireplace, family room, a mudroom between the kitchen and garage. The master bedroom suite was downstairs. The upstairs had a junior suite with a small bathroom which was mine.

The other kids shared a bathroom. I suspected that one day my four-year-old sister Mary and I would be switching rooms, but that was in the future.

There was also a full basement with a recreation room. The rec room had a regulation size pool table, with a table tennis top which set on top of the pool table. There was also a fireplace and a wet bar. The laundry room was big and airy; there was a laundry chute on each floor so you could drop dirty clothes all the way to the laundry room!

The lot was about one acre in size which meant I would have a lot of mowing to do. Fortunately, the neighborhood was new enough that the trees were not full-grown, so I wouldn’t have to rake any leaves. I would miss burning them though. There was a brick fireplace out back for grilling, and I could still burn the trash in it, so my inner firebug would be satisfied.

The house had a gas furnace which meant I wouldn’t have to shovel coal and clean out ashes like the last house. That I wouldn’t miss at all. There was nothing worse than getting out of bed on a cold morning, with the coal fire banked, and having to go to the basement to get it going, and then waiting for the house to warm up. There would be five of us standing on the main warm air register on cold days.

I didn’t know if we would have a garden here as we did at the old place, as there weren’t any in our new neighborhood. There wasn’t a clothesline strung, but there was one of those whirly things that always seemed to need restringing.

After my tour of our new house, the family settled into the family room. Things had settled enough we could have a real conversation. There were a hundred questions about my trip.

My rodeo and ribbons were brought out, and I showed off the belt buckles I had won. After showing off my Colt 45’s Mum insisted that I keep them locked up in the gun cabinet in the basement.

My brother Denny pontifically stated, “You told us you camped in a dell. Dell is a proper name, like Mum’s sister Aunt Dell.”

“Denny, Dell can be a proper name like Aunt Dell, but when it is not capitalized it refers to a small secluded valley, similar to a dale. However, while a dale is a small valley, it is not necessarily secluded,” I told our budding young grammar Nazi.

“I was even given a ride by a Mr. Michael Dell out in Texas so Dell can be a first and last name.”

My now pouting brother was told to quit interrupting or go to his room by Mum. I started to tell about the bank robbery but Dad broke in, “We will talk about that later.”

John Wayne had sent the autographed copy of Variety that told about how Elvis Presley, Tab Hunter, and I had got in a fight in Mexico and I had to bail them out of jail. The Mexican Police had sold pictures of us all together with the Police so I couldn’t deny it. Actually Mum and Dad were okay about it.

I think Mr. Wayne's writing; “Wish I was there”, helped.

They wanted to hear all about the movies I was in; even Denny and Eddie were impressed that they would see me on an upcoming Mickey Mouse Club TV show.

They both thought it a shame that I hadn’t a chance to get to know Annette. Denny even wanted to know if I kissed her. As if I could get past those chaperons!

Mum and Dad wanted to know all about John Wayne. They also let me know that Elvis had been drafted and was now in the Army! They also liked the way I had worked my way across the country and not just hitchhiked.

The story about the Texas Rangers and the Rustlers had everyone on the edge of their seats. Mum made a point that I was lucky not to get killed. She seemed to forget I was the one with the guns.

My singing career was amazing to the whole family because we weren’t noted for our ability to keep a tune other than in a bushel basket. None of the family had seen my appearance on American Bandstand. They were all interested in how I was treated in Philadelphia.

When I told them about my promise to the Leukemia Society Dad about had a cow. When I told him about Paul Anka’s and Brian Wilson’s comments on taxes his words were unprintable.

He hates taxes. He blames all of those on President Eisenhower. When he calmed down he reached the conclusion we would have to talk to an accountant.

Luckily I had kept all the paperwork from my trip. This included the record contract, reward notices, rodeo winnings, movie and TV pay, plus my roughneck pay. Mr. Easterly had paid me out of pocket and it was only twenty dollars a week for three weeks.

My brothers and sister left us alone after they established I had not brought them any presents. I wish I had thought of that, especially for Mum and Dad.

When I mentioned that I was sorry about no gifts.

Mum laughed at me. “Ricky you just gave this family this wonderful new house and you haven’t even seen the 1958 Buick Roadmaster we have in the garage!”

This led us into a financial discussion. I had sent home twenty-five thousand dollars from the bank reward. There was probably going to be another eighty-five thousand dollar reward within six months but we wouldn’t count that till it happened.

I also had nine hundred dollars left over from my trip but I intended to keep that separate for my use.

The house had cost sixteen thousand dollars and the car twenty-four hundred. After the new furniture, electric washer, and dryer we had a little over six thousand dollars left. My parents asked me what I wanted to do with that. I turned the question around to them.

“You know more of what the family needs than I do. What do you think?”

Mum and Dad exchanged looks and Dad started.

“Rick, work hasn’t been good. You know I’m only on the extra board on the railroad. I only get called for work after all the regular full-time employees have been scheduled for their forty-hour work weeks. Many weeks there aren’t forty hours of work available to me.”

“I thought you have been working there since you came back from the war. Don’t you have seniority?”

All railroad kids knew about seniority. Dad’s time book where he kept track of his hours even had a list of employees and their starting years. When he started in 1946 the most senior person had been there since 1898.

“I have, but the railroad has been declining faster than my seniority has been building. Trucks, buses, and the new jet planes are taking over the freight and passenger business. I am afraid the railroad days are numbered for me. We own some stock in the New York Central and it keeps going down. I don’t think the government will let it shut down but it will be much smaller and consolidated with fewer employees than ever.”

“What are you going to do?”

 

 

Chapter 11

“Mum and I have an idea; we have been talking about this ever since you sent the reward money. We still own the house on North Detroit Street. We would like to fix it up and rent it out. If that works we would like to buy others and do the same thing.”

“How will the finances work?”

“The Detroit Street house is worth eleven thousand dollars. We put twenty percent down and started with an eighty-eight hundred dollar mortgage. At two percent interest, for thirty years, that works out as thirty-two dollars for the monthly house payment.”

“We have checked with two local realtors and they both suggested we ask for seventy-five dollars a month for the house. We would put away twenty dollars a month for repairs, insurance, and it sitting empty.”

“That would give us twenty-three dollars a month for the family budget. Our thinking is to get that house into shape, rent it out, and then buy others.”

“Duplexes seem to be the best bet as the cost wouldn’t be that much more and you could rent each side out for sixty dollars a month. That would be one hundred and twenty dollars a month income with a set aside of forty dollars or eighty dollars to the family for every duplex we own.”

Mum stepped in, “If we owned five units like that we would be making four hundred dollars a month which would more than replace Jacks's railroad income in a good year. Seven units would allow for units sitting empty. Ten and we would be rich.”

“Let’s go for rich,” I replied.

“Dad I am big enough I now could help with home repairs and keep lawns mowed and things like that. We have enough leftover that we could buy two units right now with twenty percent down.”

“Rick we can do better than that, the North Detroit house has seven thousand dollars in equity,” said Dad.

“What’s equity?”

The difference between what the house is worth and the amount we owe on it. We can take out a new loan up to eighty percent of the amount of equity we have. If we are careful about what we buy and how much money we need for repairs we can start out with five duplexes.”

“What do we have to do to start?”

“We have identified three units we would like to buy if the price and building conditions are right.”

“I am all for it!”

“Okay son, your mother and I feel that ownership should be set up that the houses go to you if anything should happen to us. We are going to talk to a lawyer about how to make that happen.”

And that was the beginning of Jackson Housing.

My parents had one last question, “What is in that shipping box that is marked, Do Not Open?”

I told them about finding the gold and what the gold miners told me about gold being deregulated. Dad remembered everyone having to turn in their gold during the Great Depression. He remembered because it was a bitter joke in his house, they had no gold to turn in.

They agreed that we should look into that possibility because it could end up as a small fortune. In the meantime, Dad would look into a safe deposit box to store it.

They also had some information for me.

Dad said, “George Weaver of the Bellefontaine Examiner will be contacting you. He was called for information on you by James Olsen out in Colorado after the bank robbery. George did not know much other than you weren’t known as a juvenile delinquent and had been a paperboy.”

While not a loner I didn’t have any close friends in my middle school years. Those friends from my grade school days had moved away. I knew most of the kids from my grade school but didn’t get invited to their birthday parties.

That was how you knew your social status in those days. I hadn’t any social status. I wasn’t an outcast. I just wasn’t in any of the groups.

The first thing I did the next day was going to J.C. Penny and buy new school clothes. All that I had that would fit me were my cowboy outfits. Those would do for the rodeo circuit and my singing appearances but would get me teased to death in Bellefontaine.

Even if I must say so myself I looked good with my Ivy League pants (a buckle in the back) and a Cardigan. I also splurged on a pair of dirty bucks, a brown suede shoe. I thought about blue suede shoes, but Elvis hadn’t worn them when we went out together so I figured they must just be from the song.

I had mixed feelings about the start of the school year. I couldn’t wait to try out the idea of reading ahead and working on the problems in advance of the class.

I did hate the idea of going back to school because I was fourteen years old, and all fourteen-year-olds disliked going back to school, I think it was a rule or something. I did like the idea of being in High School instead of Middle School. This meant I would be meeting new people (girls).

I didn’t know how I would be treated once word came out on my summer vacation. I wanted to tell everyone my story, but I didn’t want to be a braggart.

Getting the story out was taken care of before school started. George Weaver of the Bellefontaine Examiner rang the doorbell of our new home and asked for me.

He knew I was due home about now and wanted to talk to me before they printed anything. When Mum and Dad told me about the interview we agreed that I should tell him about the whole summer and share all the evidence that I had that it was true.

Dad was downtown talking to a lawyer about how to set up a business so Mum sat in on the interview. Mr. Weaver asked me to tell my story.

I prepared him with, “The story is more than you know, and I hope you have some time.”

I then launched into my summer trip.

The run-up to the bank robbery I covered quickly. I shared the news article written in Colorado, the reward posters for John and Ernest Johnson. I also had a carbon copy of the FBI report and a deposit slip for the rewards.

I then moved onto the bull riding and winning rodeos right up to the National Championship. For that, I had trophies, ribbons, silver belt buckles, and prize monies receipts.

I then showed him my Screen Actors Guild card and the deposit receipts for my Mickey Mouse Club appearances. They had also given me the viewing dates which were still a month in the future. At this point, I think Mr. Weaver was going to have a fit. He was bouncing around in his chair.

When I got to the John Wayne and Elvis parts he couldn’t sit anymore. He kept notes while walking around the room. I showed him my salary receipts for “It Never Happened” and “Hell Fighters” along with my John Wayne autographed copy of Variety.

There was also my Oil Workers union card and paycheck stub for being a roughneck.

I thought he was going to have a heart attack when he learned about the rustling episode and my Texas Ranger badge.

We actually had to stop the interview for a while in fear of Mr. Weaver’s health. Apparently, this was the biggest story he ever had. Mum offered him tea but he declined by saying he had an ulcer. She then brought him a glass of milk for which he was grateful.

The last news I had to tell him was about, “Rock and Roll Cowboy” and being on Bandstand. By now I think he was numb because he just kept taking notes. When I finally finished he asked if he could use the phone.

He called his office and had them send a photographer out. He then proceeded to spend the next three hours going over my story for the fine details. He was professional and I didn’t feel pressured.

After the pictures were taken of trophies, ribbons, badge, etc. he told us that the story was long enough that it would be spread out several days next week or even the week after. He wanted to get this one right as he thought it might go national.

Chapter 12

The first school week was a short week as Labor Day fell on a Monday. So on Tuesday, September 2, 1958, I started my High School career. The previous Friday I had gone to the school office and picked up my class schedule, and paid my school fees.

These were for Biology and some poor frog I would have to cut up a Biology workbook, and two locks. The locks were for my coat locker and gym locker.

I also took the time to check out where my classrooms and homeroom were. Since my Middle School was attached to the High School I knew the building fairly well.

After that, I walked downtown to G.C. Murphy Five and Dime and bought a three-ring binder for my homework, pencils, paper, and a fountain pen. I splurged on the paper; they now had it in a green tint and with narrow lines instead of the boring white paper with wide lines. I soon regretted that purchase the first time my assignment was, “Write one full page on…”

The first day was taking attendance, getting seating assignments straight. Some teachers didn’t care where you sat. Others wanted you in alphabetical order. Books were handed out and we wrote our names on the pasted in book slip on the inside cover. I also got the soon to be famous, “What did you do on your summer vacation,” English assignment.

I ran into several kids I knew at lunchtime and it was amazing how much some of them had grown over the summer. The boys up, and the girls out. Well, many of the girls were taller, but that isn’t what I noticed. I was surprised when my growth got the most comments.

Not only my growing taller but by being in shape. My friend Tom Pew wanted to know what I had been doing. I went all mysterious to him and told him he would have to read about it in the newspaper like everyone else.

He laughed and moved on with a, “See you later alligator.”

I brilliantly rejoined with, “After while crocodile.”

He came back with, “Don’t get wise beady eyes.”

Then I gave the conversation topper, “Understand Rubber Band.” We were such wits.

That was a preview of Box Set The Richard Jackson Saga Books 1 -3. To read the rest purchase the book.

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