You Never Know...

Back in my preteen years I spent a lot of time with Gene, who lived close by. Gene’s father had died early in Gene’s life. Gene had an older brother that I will call C.

C was a loner and gentle kid. He was awkwardly tall and had Cerebral Palsy that effected his body movements and speech. C, I think, early in life decided it would be less complicated to keep to himself. He collected old bicycle parts. In their back yard he had a big stack of bike frames, tireless bike wheels fenders, chains, handle bars, and I don’t know what other bicycle accessories.

Whenever he wanted to C could go out by the garage and assemble a bike. The frame might be one color and the fenders another, but at least it was a bike.

I don’t remember ever seeing C ride a bike. He drove a motor scooter. If I remember correctly it was pail green motor scooter. He knew its parts inside and out too, just like his bikes.

C started delivering papers at a young age and apparently stuck with it.

C had a paper route which was in the Park Street and Frazier Circle area. Many times I got up very early and helped him and Gene deliver papers at no charge.

Later C became more of a paper distribution employee and less of a paper boy. He saw that the bundles of paper were dumped at the proper place for the paper boy work them and help take collections from the kids, and so on.

At about age 15 we moved across town and I lost touch with Gene. I was a year ahead of him and I just don’t remember him coming in high school. I don’t know what happened to him or his family. Not long after we moved that area’s zoning laws changed and Gene’s house was a business of some kind.

When I was freshly married I ran into Gene at a grocery store one Saturday night in nearby Mapleton, delivering a bundle of Sunday papers. We talked and we haven’t seen each other since.

I’m told by my friend Paul that Gene worked at the same company he did. It was a company that printed TIME Magazine for local distribution.

Paul also told me he saw Gene more recently selling produce from the back of a truck at the corner of Jamerson and Canton Roads north of Marietta.

One fond memory of his family is that his widow mother drove a Model T. It was fun to ride in it.

Now, page 2:

This past week I made friends on Facebook with a female about ten years my junior. She asked to be my friend saying we must have passed each other someplace or another because I talked on my blog about all the places she knew.

After we became officially friends I asked her what places? She said she went to Waterman Street School.

Next question – me: Where did you live to go to Waterman Street?

Answer: Actually, I don’t remember what she said of if she said at all, but she also said she lived on Frazier Circle as a kid. I said, “I used to help a guy deliver papers on Frazier Circle.”

Then she said she worked for the newspaper distributor at Lockheed. She worked for a man named C. Would I know his last name.

I did, and I told her. Small world. And I told her of his Cerebral Palsy illness.

She said I was right!

Then I said I wondered whatever happened to C? (I wonder that sort of thing a lot about old friends).

She did a little research, Googling I suppose and found this out:

C is serving a 15 year prison sentence for manslaughter. The victim was his wife of 48 years. It went on to say C has Cerebral Palsy and has to have medication.

That is sad learning about C. You never know what bizarre path your friends will take later in life.