Flights of Fancy

Over the last few posts I have brought you up to 1975. Now I’m going to look at the 1970s as a whole from the perspective of me as a writer. This works neatly, as I left the navy at the end of 1969 and embarked on my new life as a civilian.

There are some things you need to understand about me before we continue. I’ve already mentioned an event in my early schooling that gave me a somewhat cynical view of school. It was neither the first nor the worst, but I don’t want this to become a crescendo of “poor me” stories, so I picked one. Couple that with the fact that I was abandoned by my parents to whoever was willing to take me off their hands, and you’re looking at a situation that is less than optimal for producing a well-adjusted child.

Okay, so I wasn’t, and as I said before, I wasn’t mature enough to get the most out of my time in the navy, either. During that time, I began studying karate wherever I could. Judo was a sport with rules, jiujitsu had not achieved the supremacy it enjoys now, but karate was a mysterious art unknown in the west before the years following WWII, and it was designed to give farmers a chance to stand up to samurai. Right up my alley.

Look, I wasn’t nasty. I didn’t go out of my way looking for trouble, I wasn’t a bully, and I didn’t start fights. I was just, I think the word was, surly. A cynical smartass with a stinging comeback for everything, I could see that people didn’t like it, but couldn’t yet see that I was causing it, so I felt the need to be ready to defend myself if things got physical. I don’t know how I accumulated any friends in this condition, but there were some. Of course, there could have been more. But then, in a case of almost mystical alignment, Warner Brothers and ABC collaborated to show me how I was supposed to be living. Anyone remember this fellow?

Kung Fu ran from 1972 through ’74, starred David Carradine as a half-Chinese monk seeking his roots in the old west, and demonstrating through temple flashbacks, dialog, and action how someone truly centered was supposed to live. I don’t recall that reaching me on a conscious level, but it spoke to me subliminally, and from the time I saw the pilot, I began trying my best to emulate this character. To this day, I identify as a Taoist, even though all of my “instruction” came from this show. I own all the DVDs, and still try to binge-watch them once a year. I shudder to think of where I might be if I hadn’t met Mr. Kwai Chang Caine. While I was absorbing this show, I continued to study with the Japan Karate Federation, but I never tried to wind anyone up again.

By the end of 1974, my great-uncle, great-grandma’s son and a senior air force officer, bought her a house out in the east county where it’s often too hot for human habitation. My mother had ceased her gambling ways by then, secured regular employment with the U.S. Government, and moved in with us, so I felt comfortable moving out. I got a studio apartment in North Park and was living the life, having my friends over at all hours and generally acting like a bum. My mother saw where this was headed before I did, and tried to help me out by signing me up for the Civil Service exam. I blew it off. As she worked in the Commission Office, she was able to gloss it over, and signed me up for another one which, following a heart-to-heart about the future with both her and my best friend, I showed up and took. Short version here, as this is too long already: I was sent off on interviews and landed an entry-level position in the Supply Department at Naval Air Station North Island in the middle of San Diego Bay. I started in March of ’75, and within hours, met the girl I would marry.

Miss Bonnie Jordan was the supervisor of the OCR typing section, three grades higher and two years older than myself, and at the time I met her she was being harassed mercilessly by the draconian managers for things she had no control over. I taught her a phrase from my “vast” Taoist experience that made her pretty much immune to what they were doing, and by December we were married. We still are, having celebrated our 50th anniversary last year. By November of ’76 we had welcomed twin boys into our little family, and in March of ’78, their baby sister.

I still tried to write every chance I got, but with three growing infants/toddlers and a growing career as well, those chances were few and far between. Couple that with the fact that I still had no idea how to construct a novel, build a character, or even how “pacing” applied to a narrative, and you can imagine how far I got with my rather hopeless attempts to join the ranks of the authors. But I was accumulating experience by the carload, and having just turned thirty, had plenty of time before me. Or so I thought. But this is long enough for now. See you next Wednesday!