North Odem Avenue, don’t remember the number, think it was 221 (see note at bottom of page), but not sure. This is the street where the first house we as a Family first settled in, in Sinton, Texas. The year was 1960. I was month away from attending the sixth grade. The house was located somewhat catty cornered from the back side of the San Patricio County Court House.
I was still young enough or just to blind to be concerned with the thoughts of people can have of others. Guess having pasted this way in my life so long ago it really doesn’t matter any how. It was a house within budget I suppose. I really was not concerned, but there were certain things there in and around that house that still stick with me.
Like the Landlord and his wife. As I recall they were big people or at least seemed that way to me. Alright heavy set. Both of them always scared me in a way that wasn’t really like horror story like scary just creepy scary, if you know what I mean. Seems the female side of the duo was always looking out her kitchen window. I thought, “Damn! Is she always there looking out for me?” The house was much bigger than ours and filled the lot from front to back and stood up off the ground almost three to four feet. So you can imagine how it appeared to me that she was looking out from the Kitchen Watch Tower Window down on the 11 year old kid playing in the yard between the two houses.
Our house was one story with a narrow porch in front and slanted roof in the back which covered the back rooms, one almost the width of the house and the other smaller which had the back door and Dad and Mom crammed the washing machine in it. Don’t recall our having a drying machine if we did it was in there too. The Front door lead into the living room with the bigger room to the right which was occupied by my two sisters. Big opening lead from this room into the Dining Room and a regular door which led into the kitchen, which was in front of the utility room. Off the right of the dinning area was a small room with enough room for a couple of twin beds which my brother and I slept in. The back room I mentioned earlier was for Mom and Dad. It was a roof over our heads.
I remember it was designed well as it was cool in the summer, allowing the gulf breeze from the gulf about 30 to 40 Miles to the West to flow through the house, keeping it cool as if we had Air Co. The Living Room was that and I do not recall spending much time there as I was always outside doing something. Those days I played golf.
I do not know why, maybe it was a golf ball that I found in the yard one day and sparked this idea. I became fascinated with golf, and the Professionals hitting this little ball around a course into flagged holes. Anyway under the watchful eyes of the LandLady’s Kitchen window proceeded to build my golf course. I took a kitchen knife to dig out nine holes in the spaced around the whole of the yard. For each one I would use the dinged up ball to measure the width and depth. Once finished I used one of the two baseball bats we had as a club. I had a heck of a time playing those nine holes. Played with my Brother. Played with my Sisters although they never wanted to finish a complete round. Also had the neighbor across the street to play a few rounds before he went back inside, due to the South Texas heat.
I remember sitting in a chair in the dinning room waiting on my Mom to come into the room. She had already given me a cotton string with instructions to tie knots in. She came in still in her white nurse’s uniform and set down at the head of the table. She asked if I had the string ready and I told her I had. She looked in my eyes and told me I had the power to rid myself of certain things that affected my body, but I just had to set my mind to it. She then told me to put spit on each knot. Then to take the string and and to rub each one in each of the warts I had on my hands. Funny but I can still remember where they were located on my hands. One at the base of my right hands little finger, a little to the right. Then one on my right hands forefinger at the first joint just off to the left. Two on either side of the top of my right thumb. one on my left hand ring finger at the first joint. After completing this minimal task, I waited as she continued to stare at me, almost as if she was in a trance. Then just as I thought came to me she gave me further instructions. I was to take this string and to bury it and forget about where I buried it. Once I had forgotten where it was that I buried it the warts would be gone.
Well this was easier said than done. I mean I hated the warts, and it was up to me to rid myself of them. If only I could remember to forget the burial of this white cotton string with knots, each with spit on them. So I go a tablespoon from the kitchen drawer for digging. Then went outside. I first buried it outside our bedroom window. I cleared a spot of ground by pulling up the bermuda grass and clover with its yellow flowers, then dug a hole in the black soil. It was hard like a rock, but finally gave in to my digging and scarping, leaving itself open to receive the string. I dropped it in and used my hand to pull the dirt over it. I went to the front porch and sat for a few minutes coming to the conclusion that this would not work, since I would go to sleep next to the window above, and remember the string was below.
So went back and dug it up. Then with it and spoon in my hand walked to the back of the house and crawled waist deep under the corner of the house and dug another hole and buried the string. Left and then thought I would go to sleep and remember that I did not bury the string under my window but dug it up and buried it under the corner of the house so I would not remember I buried it under the window to the room where I slept. Then I sat down on the ground, shoed the gnats buzzing around my eyes and face away, and looked at the ruts where the garbage truck came though pick up the trash. I thought this is nuts. How was I going to forget where I buried this string. So decided I would bury it again. Dug it up and went down the little alleyway and dug and buried it again …
I do not remember how many times I buried this string or if this was the last place, but a few weeks later the warts were gone and I did not remember where the string was buried and did not dare go check to see if it was buried where I thought I had last buried it for fear of the warts return. Oh I also gave up on catching frogs, like, forever.
Anyway back to the golf course. One evening my Dad drove the ’57 Mercury into the hole in the building at the back of our yard he would use as a garage. I call it a hole cause it was so small and narrow I do not know how Dad and Mom would get it in there, much less how they got out of the car and therefore the garage once it was in there. Well I was half way through my nine hole golf course as Dad walked out of the garage, and like magic there was the Landlord walking up next to Dad and shaking his hand. This Landlord was big, how can I say heavy set, tall and just big. The creepy thing about this guy to me was that he had coke bottle bottoms for glasses, and a really, really creepy hole behind his right ear. Really a big hole behind his ear, it appeared to me to be at least five inches in diameter. Now it may not have been that big, but regardless it was really really creepy to me. So I tried to put it out of my mind and continued to play my golf game.
I was just finishing up when my Dad walked toward me. Now Dad seldom would talk to me, but when he did it was because I had crossed the line, his or someone else’s line which he did not approve. So, I knew I was in trouble for something, but what? Neither my Mom nor my Sisters had talked to him yet. As these thoughts went through my brain I realized he was next to me and was saying my name, with arms crossed. I immediately stopped and looked up at him.
Sure enough I was in trouble but not something I could not fix. Dad told me Mr. Henderson did not like that I had dug so many holes in the ground and that I needed to fill them in and not dig them out again. Other wise I knew what was good for me. And I did, my version of Ring around the Rosie rag. Went to the other side of the house and the little alley way defined by ruts and dug up some dirt to use to fill the golf course holes.
Not much else I remember about that house, except it was comfortable and from time to time I would hear Mom talking to Dad about finding another place as this was to small.
A month or so of South Texas Summer to go before the NEW School, new teacher and new kids. It was a different hot here, it almost wrapped you up in a air sponge that was wet.
(Note: I checked the house is no longer there, nor the Landlords and the house, are any of the other houses along that street then, as it lead to Highway 181 and the Chiltipin Creek bridge; the house number of 221 sounds correct even though we moved to a house on McCall street with the same number. )
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The Poppadillo Blog, is the blog page for the Texas Tortilla Factory website, and its stories have been written by Mike Vauthier, and Administratively Approved Authors.
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