Squawk Squawk!

 

The below has been copied and pasted from a previous Chicken-fat blog article, in case I try to sue myself:

We moved in with our Grandpa Hunter in 1948.  Either that summer or the next Summer Larry Bell Park opened their new public swimming pool. 

Daddy got Frances and I yearly passes and I think that was a daily thing for us was to go to the pool.  Frances was a good poised swimmer.  I swam, but without form I think.

Almost every day we could count on a good time at the pool.

It didn’t hurt that the Sullivan family were in charge of the concessions.   The Sullivan family lived three doors down from us in the Clay Homes and their son Eddie and I had birthdays within a couple of days of each other, and for two or three years we would go with them and their wooden flat trailer to Sweetwater Creek near Powder Springs, where I almost drowned – wait!  That is another story.

At Larry Bell Park Swimming Pool the main life guard was Charles Dawson.  Until recently I used to see him at the annual Bell Reunion every year.  Charles turned 80 a few years ago. 

Many kids came from Marietta Place to hang out at the pool.  Marietta Place was just across Fairground Street east of the park.  I lived on a street width from Larry Bell Park on the westside, On Manget Street.

There was a guy who I think lived in the Marietta Place who was a Bully to me.  Vernon is his name.

Every time I got close to him he always said something smart-aleck, or called me Fatso, or just generally rude, and sometimes pushed me.  I don’t remember Vernon actually going into the pool, he hung around outside sitting on a hand rail.

I remember one time on East Dixie Avenue at Atlanta Street, besides Hick’s Grocery he and a friend of his walked towards me.  Vernon got in front of me calling me names and his friend got behind me and stooped over or go on all fours, and Vernon pushed me and I fell and banged my hard. 

I was terrified of the ass-hole and he knew it.  Bully!

I had a friend that lived on the other end of Manget Street.  He lived on the corner of Manget and Waterman Streets.  His name was Frankie Hunter.  His father was Francis Hunter.  And my grandfather, also lived on Manget Street was Frank Hunter.  I’m sure there were some mail delivery mess-ups.  We are not related that we know of.

Frankie Hunter was a good friend. He had a hot temper.  Several times we had scuffled and if Frankie got hurt he would lose his temper and attack me head on.  Each time I easily whipped him.  I wasn’t afraid of him.  

Frankie and his family were new to Marietta.  They were from Boston.   Theday we went to the pool for the first time. Vernon saw Frankie was with me and started picking on him.  Frankie with the short fused temper hit back.  That unnerved Vernon and they went down the hill behind the pool, about where the tennis courts are now, to settle it.  Frankie whipped Vernon ass.

After that event I reasoned out, “Why should I fear Vernon?  I can whip someone who can whip him.”

The next day at the pool Vernon I saw Vernon sitting on the rail, his usual perch.  I considered walking by and pushing him backwards off the rail, like he did me with his friend stooping behind me.  But, frankly, I was scared to, afraid I would get into trouble.

So, I walked by him, ready for a rude nasty remark from him, I was going to bark back and try to get him to go down behind the pool with me. 

He looked the other way.

Maannnn!

I think Vernon reasoned this out the same thing I did, and could probably see the hatred in my eyes towards him.

He avoided me from then on.

Or UNTIL I ran into him at the Bell Reunion sixty some years later.

I walked up to him and introduced myself and told him I heard he was a regular at the Bell Reunions and I thought if I ever come we might have to have a fight.

He patted me on the back, “Lets not do that.”

He had mellowed.

I have too, but I didn’t forget.

We were on speaking terms until the Bell Reunion played  itself out.