Late Mickey Schall 1943 to 1957

Schall Johnson Michael

Description

This is an account of my life that I myself remember. I am sure there are people that read this will say, "No wait a minute that isn't the way it happened." I stayed with the truth as I saw and I realize the truth is liquid and that I, alone, bear the full responsibility of the telling. This is not a documentary; it is my very best effort. I try to understand the difficult people, looking back.

Sujets

• Lettres et linguistique

Informations

• Publié par: First Edition Design Publishing
• Date de parution: 15 octobre 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781506904276
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

The Late Mickey Schall
1943-1957

Written and Illustrated
by Michael Schall Johnson

First Edition Design Publishing
Sarasota, Florida USA
The Late Mickey Schall 1943-1957
Copyright ©2017 Michael Schall Johnson

ISBN 978-1506-904-25-2 HC/JAC
ISBN 978-1506-904-26-9 PBK
ISBN 978-1506-904-27-6 EBK

LCCN 2017906525

May 2017

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com



ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r orpublisher .
Preface
This is anaccount of my life that I myself remember. Here is an excerpt from my story in1950’s California….. “When we met the girls at the movie, ‘BlackboardJungle’ was playing at the New Bel-Aire Theater. The theater was rebuilt fromthe old Bel-Aire that was previously an old Vaudeville playhouse. Carl had toldme a lot of funny stories about how the old Vaudeville patrons (probablyincluding Carl) would bring in over-ripe stale fruits, vegetables and anoccasional pie to throw at the acts they didn’t like.
We met thegirls at 12:00 noon on Saturday and bought their tickets then strolled to ourseats. Our parents had all forbidden us from seeing this movie. We found outlater, it was because there was a rape scene in it. I really wasn’t sureexactly what a rape was, except it was something bad.
First camethe Movietone News, with sports and politics, five minutes of previews ofcoming attractions and then two funny Looneytoon Cartoons with the usuallaughter and cheering. The first movie played, I don’t even remember what thename of it was now.
Then finally“Blackboard Jungle” came on and they played, ‘Rock Around the Clock;’ it was amagical transformation, the most wonderful, thrilling, music ever! The audiencerose to a fever pitch of excitement. It was like no other movie we had everseen; almost everyone got up and danced. At first the ushers pretended that itwas part of the show, so did the kids. Then the house lights went on a man’svoice came over the speaker and told everyone to be seated. The crowd titteredand sailed popcorn boxes again; the ushers gave up at last and got the movieback underway. A constant sound of stirring, dropping, rolling, and scrunchingbutter-laden popcorn could be heard. The ushers scurried around up and down theaisles in a hollow gesture of being in control.
To therelief of the ushers in the theater, people finally settled down and watchedthe movie on the big silver screen. ‘Rock Around the Clock,’ came on at thestart of the movie and again at the end. It was electrifying, in theexcitement, we held hands and swayed with the music! Wow, Rock’n Roll waswonderful for young people. The words were clear as a bell and brought delightto our hearts. Yeah, that was one special time...it's when special music allbegan for us. It was songs like ‘Rock Around the Clock;’ which by their lyricsmade the expression of real love genuine for young people and the realism of ourfeelings.
As we leftthe movie, Doug shook his big schnozzola back and forth, ‘wait a minute, wait aminute, stop the music! Dat was moral turpentine! Everybody hasta get inta theact!’
‘That wasthe most fun I ever had at a movie!’ said Linda.
‘Yer funnyDoug, yer gonna be a movie star someday,’ said Cassie with playful admiration.”

I am surethere are people that read this will say, “No wait a minute that isn’t the wayit happened.” I stayed with the truth as I saw and I realize the truth isliquid and that I, alone, bear the full responsibility of the telling. This isnot a documentary; it is my very best effort. I try to understand the difficultpeople, looking back on my life.

2017 Edition

Other Works by M S Johnson--
The Bloody Road of Gold
The Three Little Pigs in Montana
A Christmas Wagon of Love and Joy
Lemon Ice Box Pie

WEB SITE--mickeymade.com
Bing, Judywith her dolls, me with Tom and my shootin’ iron between my legs and Taffy at Grandma’s in 1948
Tableof Contents
Part 1 Kiddom .... 1
1 Purgatory .. 2
2 A New Family .. 6
3 Hamburgers and Malts . 10
4 Ed C. Lewis. 13
5 Cassie Maris. 15
6 Mr. Bulldozer. 18
7 San Gabriel Mountains . 21
8 Freedom ... 25
9 The Biggest Fish .. 30
10 Farm Hand .. 33

Part 2 Teendom .... 37
11 The Big Game . 38
12 Halloween Felons . 41
13 The Town with a FunnyName . 45
14 The Bench Warmer . 48
15 Practice, Practice . 50
16 No Tailbone Pad .. 52
17 Disappointment . 54
18 The Devil’s Jaw ... 56
19 Neighborly Nubie Kite . 58
20 Kisses For Sale . 60
21 Silent Date . 62
22 Graduation Potpourri 64
23 Road to Nowhere . 68

Part 3 Hobodom .... 71
24 Sandy, the Meanest Copin the Desert . 72
25 I Gotta Job in Idaho .. 77
26 Welcome to Nevada . 79
27 Five Silver Dollars . 81
28 A Real Bed .. 83
29 The Bobcat . 89
30 Slurping in the Springs . 92
31 Skid Row ... 95
32 1929 Packard .. 98
33 A Fishing Tale . 102
34 A Budding Romance . 104
35 A Muddy Christmas Eve . 107

Part 4 Adultdom .... 112
36 Palm Trees to Snowshoes . 113
37 A Letter From A Ghost . 118
38 Pollyanna Serenade . 127
39 The Grand Canyon State . 133
Part 1
Kiddom
1
Purgatory

“Wow,” Joemuttered when he first laid eyes on me, “what have we here? The finest of ouryouth, the future hope of mankind---huuuh!” He said as he flung his empty JimBeam bottle out the window and, it bounced off of a shiny black Ford, where itput a neat little dent in the fender.
“Hey, Joe, Ioutta give you a knuckle sandwich, you dickhead!” A man yelled across to the felon.
“Gist try it,if I’m a dickhead, you’re an asshole!” was Joe’s reply.
“Hey youpig-faced slob, ain’t you sposed to be at work?”
The neighboranswered, “I ought to come over there and kick yer ass.”
“Jist come on, anytime if you want yer ass kicked, you bastard!” wasJoe’s reply.

When Joedrank, he was mellow and happy, but when he was hung-over or in the late stagesof drunkenness, on his second bottle, he was Simon Legree. He lashed out atanyone, mostly me with his convenient razor strap that marred my butt with big welts. His haphazard garb included a red sleeveless tee shirt, his colorful potbelly bustingthrough the stretching, green, plaid suspenders holding it all together. Healways smelled of whiskey. His growth of whiskers revealed to me that he usedthat razor strap more on me than for its original intended purpose.
One day Joe commandedme to, “go upstairs and wash up fer dinner.” I hopped up the stairs and was engrossedlooking out the window of the second-story bathroom, I stared mindlessly down atthe street below me. Wandering people, trivially walking on the street, charmedme, then a siren and red lights in the distance, the trashcans below, one was overflowingwith Jim Beam bottles. As I was absorbed by the bottle lying on the pavementthat was gonna get Joe’s ass kicked--- unbeknownst to me, Joe had been scrutinizingmy movements and disgustedly said, “hold out yer hands---you didn’t wash ‘emyou god-damned filthy little beggar!” The next thing I knew, I was at thebottom of the stairs, seeing stars. Then he said, “when I tell you to wash yourgod-damn hands, I mean wash your god-damned hands!” The worst kind of slap wasalways the unexpected one.
I sat on theorange overstuffed couch, whimpering and licking my wounds when Joe’s wife, Doris,came in, to see what all the commotion was and said to her husband, “ya outtabe real proud, beatin’ on a little kid.” The sweet lady was the nicest thing around,her flawless complexion, and her agile and dainty figure, whose attitude and refinementwas the opposite of Joe in every way. She was always clad in very plainclothes, yet even in this subdued attire, she was an angel.
Joe told hiswife, “mind yer own business bitch!”
My littlesister, Judy, always one to help me out said, “ya shoulda washed yer hands, likehe told ya!” Judy was always an adult, as though from birth she had gotten theword. It did me no good to protest. The fact was inescapable; I was just a nogood for nuthin’ brat. She was an adorable little girl with a charming lisp.

I went tobed sobbing and sniveling. My mind savored thoughts of this wretched man’sdestruction; maybe the neighbor would come up and kick his ass! I was afraidfor my sister and me. I felt really lonesome. I cried and sniveled in myself-pity until, at last, I was overcome with sleep.
To my delight,my mom and aunt wandered in to pick us up a couple of weeks later, on a Saturdaymorning, I had awakened a doddering wreck. Mom sighed at me and then startedtalking. She talked and talked, gabbing about Ed and George and Tom, it was herway, I knew no one; I heard nothing. She finally said, “are you sick? You lookso tired and worn, say something!"
Ferventlyand with enthusiasm, as quickly as I could spit it out, I said, “I hate Joe, he'smean; he knocked me down the stairs!”
She gave mea dumbstruck look, so she went back in and confronted a humble looking Joe, whosaid, "well he lied to me, he had the slap coming. I think he jist slippedand fell down the stairs, he wasn't hurt, it jist scared him a little---morethan anything."
My mom eyedme blankly and was at last spurred into action and said to me, “Put your stuffin a bag and let’s go, you don’t hafta stay here anymore!”
Thisprobably wasn’t the vilest thing ever to happen to a four-year-old, but believeme, Joe is still pretty much imbedded in my memory, like an old pale tattoo. Accordingto rumors, I had heard, before I could remember, in February of 1943 I was bornto a mom and