Field of Screams
My Dad spent way too many hours and way too much money on the barstools of his “gin mills. It’s hard for me to fathom how Mom was making ends meet on his salary. I guess having a mortgage payment of $85/month helped.
At all of these establishments, there were always the usual bar flies. Most of them knew dad from livestock market days, or his forays into insurance and the real estate business. Although I never felt he cheated on Mom, almost all of these establishments had women bartenders, waitresses and hostesses. They were there primarily to provide eye candy for the male patrons.
Strangely, they also knew my Dad on a familiar first name basis. When he brought me along at times, they would dote on me. I believe it was on these occasions when I learned to appreciate a woman’s cleavage and an attractive set of legs. Miniskirts were all the rage and these ladies were certainly not the shy type. My voyeuristic interest in the female form at 11-12 years old was more of a maternal thing than anything sexual.
Over the years, I believe some bar bills were paid and favors exchanged with drunken deals with his bar mates. One instance was the day he gave away my complete 1955 Lionel train set. It included locomotives , tracks, the whole set up, to one of the bar owners for free. I never was asked about it. He must have assumed, as I wasn’t using them at the time, that I had abandoned them.
At Christmas 1957 I can recall Mom and Dad ushering me to the basement where the whole package was set up and running. This was my huge surprise present and it was awesome. Doing what he did was unforgivable. Another strange trade took place in my 11th year. I don’t know or think Mom knew about this in detail. One crisp, sunny October Saturday, Dad told Mom he was taking me to see his friend’s airplane at a local amateur airport. It was 20 miles or so out of town along the foothills of the Catskills. The autumn colors were in their full glory and the ride was quiet. On the way, he stopped at one of his oases and had a pop or two. Normally, I was given a soda and chips to keep me occupied. Surprisingly, that day I didn’t get any snacks. When we arrived at the “field” I saw that it was exactly that. It was a corn field that had been cut to the stalk stubs. In
the middle of the field, stood a bright yellow, later I would learn, Piper J-3 canvas covered kit plane, shining in the sun. Dad shook hands with the man and there was a discussion that lasted for a while.
“Come on Cliff, it’s as safe as could be, I’ve been flying it for years,” he said.
They both walked over to me. Mr. Pilot had a curious grin on his face. Dad was looking quite stressed.
“Hi Sam, I’m Allen, do you want to take a ride in my plane?”
I really didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to appear fearful nor did I want to disappoint dad as we came all the way out here.
“Sure, I’ll give it a try”.
That was as brave as I could respond. I had never flown in any plane and to me this could be a very cool experience.
“Here’s your helmet and goggles, step up here on the wing and I’ll get you into the seat.”
There was no turning back now. Dad helped me up and both of them smelled like booze. To that point in my life, men with liquor on their breath was a normal daily thing. He strapped me into the small back seat and then climbed into one in front of me. Dad stepped way back. At that point, I could read fear in his face. His eyes were covered by sunglasses. The motor started up with a huge pop and a cloud of smoke, then it died. “Pop, smoke, chugga, chugga, chug,” again it died. Finally on the third try, the engine started, the smoke dissipated and the propeller went to full speed. Allen looked back, gave me a thumbs up and yelled:
“Here we go buddy, just hang on and enjoy the ride !”
I grabbed anything within my reach and held on for dear life. I guess I said a prayer, said goodbye to my Mom. In my head I thought “what a dramatic way to go”.
During his takeoff, it felt as if he purposely hit every corn stub along the way. The frame, the canvas and my teeth rattled intensely. Finally after seemingly forever, we took off. I waved meekly at Dad, as we veered off towards the hills . The wind was pelting my face, the goggles and cap were not providing a lot of protection. The view was spectacular, I could see for miles. I was getting comfortable with the whole thing when he looked back again, shouted,
“Hang on tight, here we go!”
He promptly flipped the plane upside down. Up to that time in my life, the biggest fright I think I had was at Coney Island. When we rode the huge Ferris wheel, and got stuck for a while at the top. This experience made that seem like a walk in the park. Someone near me let out a long, blood curdling scream. I think it was me. I don’t remember .
Soon we were landing back at the field. A lot of what happened before and after that was a blur. I do remember Dad running over when we landed and as quickly as he could, grabbed me out of the seat. I went to the car and saw two men in what seemed like a heated exchange. On the way home, Dad asked me not to tell Mom about it, that she just wouldn’t understand. I think going forward from that point on, hanging out with dad on Saturdays was at his gin mills. The only dangers that existed there were miniskirts, cleavages and a high bar stool.
