Strange Twist of Fate

Some of us old friends met at the American Legion Tuesday night, as we do almost every Tuesday night. We each have known each other since we were teenagers.

We think of old adventures, old romances, part time jobs, and the fixes we found ourselves in for using our not-so-mature judgement.

One of the things mentioned was that Tommy Townsend had his arm out the car window when it hit a road repair road repair sign or something and broke it to pieces (his arm, not the sign) and how Doctor Merle Haygood said the only thing to do was to amputate. Tommy’s mother refused and took him to a specialist in Atlanta and everything worked out.
We like to mention names and places. I do anyway. It gives my mind a good exercise as it dives in the depths of itself to bring up old memories.

Tommy mentioned friend, CW, married his second wife, who was Tommy’s first cousin – wait, this is getting complex.

CW is doing ok for himself these days. He is a noted artist in north Georgia. Some people call his stuff “folk art”.

The name CW reminded me of Alex Orr. Alex was in the bunch that ran around with CW back then. I asked Tommy did he remember Alex Orr. He said he most certainly did and he told some Alex Orr stories, like about the time he cut his arm real bad and they rushed him to the hospital holding his hand out the window (didn’t want to the blood gushing blood on the carpet).

They called Alex’s mother and she met them at the hospital, and not too happy about the event. I said I remember Alex’s mother. She and her mother lived at the corner of Ayers Avenue and Lawrence Street. Mrs. Orr was a small frame woman who commuted to work (Office Sales and Service) by bike.

I remember Alex well too. Alex joined the Navy and after basic training was home on leave. On a Friday night we ran into each in downtown Marietta and went to a Marietta High School football game together.
There, we ran into another acquaintance, Morgan Bagwell. His late father owned either an insurance company or a real estate company and I think the company was running itself at that time. I remember he and his mother lived in a well remodeled little cottage that looked like it was probably slave quarters at one time, on Wright Street behind the Glovers’ house on Whitlock Avenue.

After the gameI excused myself, I had to go home and go to bed to be able to report the next day at the Big Apple*.

The guy (driver) and Alex had a wreck and Alex was killed.

The other guy, months later, committed suicide. He must have been going through a mind tormenting time.

*This is the first of two tragedies I accidentally avoided because having to go home to get some sleep before going to work for the Big Apple Grocery Store the next morning