Just Passing Through (eBook)

Chapter 1

The 60’s - Normal…For the Most Part

I was born in Phoenix, Arizona, on November 4, 1959, to Carl and Irene. In 1959, McDonald’s opened its 100th location. Later in life, I would taste test Big Macs in eleven countries across four continents (so far), by the way they all taste the same. That year a first-class stamp cost four cents, the average annual income in the U.S. was $5,016 and two additional stars were added to the American flag.

Genesis

Nobody is born without some history and lineage. Some people believe that Adam and Eve marked the beginning, while others subscribe to the theory that we evolved from a quagmire of primordial soup, developed legs and learned how to make fire. I won’t go back to the beginning of time, but this is my family story going back about four generations in a nutshell.

On the Squires’ side, Thomas Squires was born in 1769. I don’t know where he came from, but I do know he passed away in 1865 in North Carolina. My guess would be that he was from Scotland, considering red hair runs in our family and the surname “Squires” originates from Great Britain. His son was Thomas II, that subsequently had a son named James, my great-grandfather. James’s son, George, was my grandfather. I never had the opportunity to meet my dad’s parents; Grandma Veloney passed away when my dad was about ten. Grandpa George Houston Squires, was born in 1884 and worked as a blacksmith. He passed away in 1952 while my dad was in the military. Since dad’s mom passed when he was young and his dad lived in a very small one-room house, my Uncle York and his wife Ruth helped raise my dad. They had a daughter, my cousin Doris, my dad said was like his sister. Uncle York was my dad’s hero and roll model. York had joined the army and participated in the D-Day Invasion; I believe landing on Omaha Beach. After that he pushed into Germany and was a machine gunner in the Battle of the Bulge, eventually helping free Europe from the Nazis. York was a great all-around gentleman that passed away about a week before he was to turn ninety-nine, a true American hero. Most of the Squires family grew up and lived in a small town called Efland, North Carolina. It currently has a population of 734. It was definitely a rougher life when my dad was growing up back then; there were no Starbucks, you had to chop wood for heat and I believe you had to visit the local barber to have a tooth extracted.

My mom’s side were the Bernreuter’s. George Paulus Bernreuter came from Bayreuth, Germany. In 1841 he embarked on a journey across the Atlantic and then traveled over land, eventually settling in Illinois near East St. Louis. His son, my great-grandfather, was known as Big Joe. Joe had a son named George, my grandfather, who was born in 1897. Yes, both of my grandfathers were named George, which explains the origin of my name. If you were to consult Webster’s Dictionary for the word “grandma” you would see an image of Grandma Hilma with a plate of freshly baked cookies in her hands. She was always full of smiles and would discreetly slip a dollar or some loose change into my pocket when we visited.

George and Hilma experienced the challenges of the Great Depression, which meant eating an apple down to three seeds and fishing in the creek for dinner. I loved playing at their old Victorian house, built in 1903 with a big wrap around front porch and a red barn in the back. George worked for the railroad so when the Depression hit, he didn’t lose his job. They saved their pennies and paid $2,500 cash for the house in 1935, which was a significant amount of money at that time. It still has a horse hitching post in front and I always try to visit it when I’m in the area. A Norman Rockwell painting if there ever was one.

Given that my parents were educated and pragmatic planners, I’m inclined to believe that I was a well-planned baby, a fact that my mom recently confirmed. Dad was a high school dropout who obtained a GED during his service in the Air Force, then went on to earn an EdD in Education from Missouri State University in Columbia. Mom became a teacher who had earned multiple Master’s degrees in Music, Math and English. A remarkable achievement, especially for a woman back then.

So, how did I end up being born in Arizona? My dad had developed respiratory problems, a spot on his lungs that was later removed. He said that if the X-ray machine at the Air Force induction center hadn’t broken down on that fateful day when enlisted and they had detected the problem with his lung, he wouldn’t have been accepted. Consequently, he would have never met my mom and I would never have come into existence. Guess I’m a lucky guy. Years later, a doctor told him that if he wanted to live a long life he should “venture westward young man, to a drier climate.” So, they packed up their few belongings and headed west. My mom hated Arizona; it was dry, dusty, lacking distinct seasons and was far from her family. However, she loved my dad, so she acquiesced.

Growing Up

Dad had a passion for aviation and was a private pilot. One of his dreams was to become a commercial pilot, but he was color blind which doesn’t work well if you’re trying to land a plane using red and green runway landing lights or picking out a tie that matches your jacket. I remember flying with him when I was growing up…I believe I was in a plane before I could walk. Also, one of my earliest memories was watching Popeye on a small black-and-white television set. I was probably two or three years old. It had a rabbit ear antenna that allowed you to pick up 3 ½ stations. I guess that’s why my mom would feed me nasty tasting spinach when I woke up after having a bad dream, just living the American dream.

Since my parents were educators, they believed in verbal communication and correction rather than corporal punishment. A good whack may have been better at times to drive a point home, but I skated by for the most part.

I do remember getting my first spanking; there were only two in my life. When I was about four, I encountered a group of older kids and they pulled me in my wagon a few of miles into the desert, let’s go explore the world. They wanted me to pull them back, but I was too small, so after refusing they abandoned me and I never saw them again. Hopefully they were eaten by coyotes, bitten by rattlesnakes or experienced some other unfortunate event as payback for abandoning a small kid in the hot Arizona desert. I was gone most of the day prompting my parents to organize a search and comb the desert for me. My dad even flew around in his plane looking for me. When I arrived home, they weren’t happy and that’s when I received my first spanking. It was very traumatizing. I bet Lewis and Clark or Columbus never got punished for wandering off…I mean exploring.

The second time occurred during a visit to my Aunt Ruth’s and Uncle Bob’s. Bob owned a magnificent Austin Healey; it was his pride and joy. He allowed my mom to take it to pick up some fast food at the local drive-in, I believe it was “Dog N Suds.” While returning, I took out a chocolate milkshake, my mom immediately told me not to open it. My hearing is fine, but my ability to follow directions and comply was lacking. Well, you can imagine how sixteen ounces of creamy, chocolate liquid looks on new carpet and seats. I considered this a learning moment; they didn’t see it that way. Later in life, I would get into more trouble. My mom attributed it to my upbringing and being in a broken home. But I believe it was due to my innate curiosity, high level of activity and healthy sense of adventure.

My dad would attach cardboard wings to my arms and told me that if I ran fast enough, I could fly. What a great way to wear-out a kid. We were always working in his shop, building planes, cars and boats out of scraps of wood. The little things parents do and say no matter how small can last a lifetime. Case in point, we were at the movies one day and I told my dad that I could lie about my age to get in cheaper. Without hesitation, he said, “It doesn’t matter what they believe; it’s what we know.” This was a life lesson that probably never crossed his mind, but it had a lasting impression on me especially when I was raising my kids.

I loved to draw so when we had spelling tests at school, I preferred to draw a KAT rather than spell it. You could say I was developing my artistic abilities, which would help me later in life. Also, my parents told me that from a young age that I always wanted to knock on doors, no matter where we were to see if anyone was interested in playing. Ending up in sales, I basically did that for a living. It’s called cold calling and I was quite proficient at it.

Due to my November birthday I was always one of the youngest kids in my class. When I enrolled in a new school, I was placed in second grade instead of third, even though I had completed second grade the previous year. After a couple of weeks and an IQ test, I was moved back to the third grade. I had a higher IQ before hitting my head so many times later in life. Also, when I was growing up, I experienced speech issues and received speech therapy several times a week. I had difficulty pronouncing my “S” and “Sh’s.” I still struggle with articulating “Sally at the seashore selling seashells.” When I travel to another country, I can pick up some basic words. But then I’m reminded that I still need to continue working on being proficient in English before I move on to a secondary language.

I was a curious little juvenile. At the age of about eight, I broke into a construction shed with a friend. The police showed up, took me into custody and my mom had to come...