Blanket Party

Have you ever had one of those days kinda back to back ended with the shoe on the other foot? Les and I had quite a week one week. Aunt Hilda and Uncle Pat had bought this property about two blocks down the hill from the University of California at Santa Barbara, California. I think the University had announced they would be relocating across town to what was called the Mesa. So the property which contained a sizeable number of rental units for the students at UCSB took a hit, value wise. My Aunt and Uncle had few resources, but they appeared to be hard working kind of folk and probably a little more honest than what the lender had dealt with in the past. and since there were no other offers on this big deal, the lenders shooks hands with my relatives, and with that handshake, Lester and I received a silent license to give the College Girls who rented from Aunt Hilda, a run for their rental money. The property on Loma St was damn steep. There were three houses on the property, one of which would be occupied at a later date that Hilda liked, and which she lived in for a number of years. The small house where my Mom and Dad lived is now on the tax roles, valued at over a million dollars. But the house where Les and I sort of lived was built on stilts to overcome the indignity of the steep slope, single story, with this gigantic crawl space underneath. The front of the house was composed of a large living room and adjoining dining room. Large single pane window in front of the living room and the dining room with another large window on the south side. The view was absolutely fantastic. Below, the City of Santa Barbara, to the west the Santa Barbara Channel, the Santa Barbara Islands, where Betsy Lester had spent her childhood and the Pacific Ocean which stretched out as far as a boy could see. What few ships of war there were cruised up and down the coast, on the lookout for more Japanese Submarines. One had already visited the area right after the WW2 had started. It surfaced off shore Goleta just north of Santa Barbara and fired several rounds from their deck guns in a vain attempt to blow up anything. Their luck was worse than their aim, striking an empty oil storage tank, missing a bridge but making a sizeable hole just below it and in an instant creating the first wartime tourist attraction. The Captain of the Sub had vowed to return to the area and redeem himself after suffering supreme embarrassment before the war when as a Captain of a Japanese freighter, stopped at Goleta to unload cargo. The Captain had accepted an offer to tour the area from the locals, and in the process had tripped and fallen on his ass on a large cactus. The Captain had silently vowed to return once his spy mission was completed, and after he changed from his civies and back into his military Captains Uniform would return with his Japan built U Boat and bring death, destruction, fire and whatever to the locals who laughed and enjoyed pulling thorns from his sorry ass. Captain Yoshi, succeeded with his ratty marksmanship in turning off all the nighttime lights in California and probably Washington and Oregon, that is if they had any back in those days. With the depression and all. Yoshi single handily created such a demand for heavy, dark blackout curtains that demand sparked a resurgence in the whole USA economy and probably ended the Great Depression. However, with less demand for electricity for lighting, Southern California Edison and Probably the Washington Water Power Company had to cut back on overtime for their linemen and delay purchases for new shovels until after the crisis. Oregon in 1941 was probably still using whale oil for lighting as outside lights had a tendency to blow out when it rained and rained and rained. And other than wool clothes Oregon had resisted progress, which seems to be their plan currently under effect. Oregonians had no use for outlandish claims of electricity and they were busy demonstrating as they now had to add torpedoes and cannon shells to the list of things that kill. And we all know what they think about deer rifles and B B guns. I also know that at the time of the Japanese assault on California, the Army Air Force at Oxnard launched all available air-worthy warplanes to find that "damn" sub and sink it. The one aircraft that made it aloft never returned. This part of the story is true as a friend of mine was going through pilot training at Oxnard and who took part in the alert, told me the whole story. Anyway, that is why the view from Aunt Hilda's windows overlooking the City was only good during the daytime. And Southern Cal Edison did not turn them meaning the street lights back on for five years and only when Yoshi fell on his sword. Which I am told hurt a hell of a lot more the cactus thorns. And that my friends are why the view is so crappy at night from Aunt Hilda's. It is because of the Cactus Plants growing in Goleta. Les and I tolerated one another in a small room behind the kitchen. The room was at the end of the hall which had several doors leading to the rooms the rental girls inhabited. There were probably eight of them in this building and we all shared the same bath, which was next to our lair. I had awakened in the middle of the night with a full bladder and an urgency. I carefully climbed down the ladder at the end of the bed, Les was what one would call a difficult sleeper, So besides the urgency from my bladder, I knew better than wake Les as could be a total asshole if the moon was just right. I moved across the floor like I was on wheels. My imitation of a sleep walker was absolutely unequaled. No lights, I carefully opened the bathroom door knowing that relief was probably eight steps away. The trick was to keep your eyes shut and hit the noble receptacle without pissing on the floor and most importantly make certain the lid was up. I pulled the drawstring on my pajamas. They fell to my ankles and I dropped my shorts in much the same manner. Now if my middle of the night navigating was precise, and bending at the waist I could do the closed eye lid check. That's really weird, I opened my eyes and I was eye to eye with a college rental girl, my exploring hand had gone between her legs. I jumped back, tripped on my pajamas and fell flat on my ass mumbling something about the door not being locked. She said something, I remember her telling me I did not have to leave and instructed me to sit on the clothes hamper, she would only be a minute. Like a good boy, I did what I was told. I sat there on that dumb hamper while she finished her chores. My sleeping attire tangled around my ankles. It was still darker than a well diggers ass, she finished, opened the door and left closing the door behind her. I remember thinking I was in the most trouble of my entire young life. Expecting the wrath of God, I waited for my life to end. Nothing happened. It was too dark, and I was scared half out of my wits. I didn't get a good look at the young lady. She, whom ever she was, did nothing. At seven years of age, the memory of that event has been lodged in my mind like no other. I have only told this story to my late wife. It kept the memory to myself. I did not tell Les. Not Anyone but my chuckling wife. I guess now if that episode were to repeat itself, there would erupt a mob of black clothed malcontents screaming for a lynching. A journey without lights, I had made the trip dozens of times. I have remembered that incident now for seventy-five years. It probably was the initial phase of some kind of Juvenile Stress Syndrome. I have never been able to reconcile the experience. Across from the bathroom was another door, the linen closet, which held folded and ironed clean sheets for the rental girls. High above the sheets were several extra blankets for the girls to use if cold nights caused freezing of their collective buns. The only blanket Les and I could reach was this great big fuzzy one, green in color at the bottom of the stack. The day started with Les interrupting my sleep. He was talking fast and saying there was an emergency on the front porch above the dining room window and I was to get up and help him get the big green blanket.

By the time I had my shirt and shorts on, Les was on his hands and knees in front of the open linen closet. I was told to climb up and stand on his back and slowly pull the green blanket out and make sure the other blankets stayed on the shelf or we would be in trouble again. I climbed on Les's back, stood up holding on to the shelves the sheets were on and were able to do as I was told. I pulled out the blanket which fell down on Les, nothing else fell, we were not hurt, so far, so good. We quickly ran to the front door. Our parents were gone, and at this point, Les showed me the emergency. There was a great big hornet's nest hanging down in front of the dining room window. My idea was to run and leave it alone for our Dad's to deal with and go play in the sandpile, on top of the single car garage bordering La Loma St. Les assured me vigorously that we were up for the task. He would assume the burden of danger and all I had to do was drag the hose that was hooked to the faucet down by the garage. and drag the hose up the steep slope, climb the latticework that covered the crawl space under the front of the house. Carefully hand the hose up to Les, and he would take it from there. And one other thing, once Les had a grip on the hose, I was to climb back down the lattice, run down to the hose and turn on the water then run back up that steep damn sidewalk to the porch, run over and grab the hose from Les and allow him to climb under the blanket that he would spread on the porch. Then I was to carefully hold on to the hose so it would not slip and fall off the porch while Les would surface from the protection of the blanket and squirt those pesky hornets and when the hornets nest was soaked good enough, it would fall on the porch where upon I was to put a bucket over it and we could leave it for our fathers. Les, went on to say this feat of danger would probably get us back in everyone's good graces and they would forget about me trying to kill the neighbor's kid, Our smoking one of Uncle Clyde's cigarettes, and getting caught. And maybe they would forget about the stink bomb we made from the Chemistry set Les was given by his Mom and Dad at Christmas. Les went on to knowingly say, we would probably still be in deep shit because we still chewed our fingernails. And our folks would probably never forget the phone call from the Administrator of UCSB. It seems to throw snails at the "female students" that had to walk through the park to go home was a Federal Offense. We were also accused of destroying the park with our escapades. He said nothing about the bonfire we had started on the stone stairway so the girls could not go home the short way. I told Les I was doing all of the hard work dragging the damn hose up to the house and then running back and forth to turn the water on and off. Les, looked into my eyes and said, maybe next year when I might be bigger and braver he would let me do the dangerous work. But right now it was hard enough dealing with his folks all the time and he just did not want to bring my folks, Uncle Reg and Aunt Vera into the Mix He just did not have time to work with my Mom let alone his. Now I was starting to believe Les, and it was probably going to be a lot of fun, And hell no one was home. Who would know? Right. I ran down the friggin hill to get the hose. Now the first obstacle. The hose was just verily going to make it if somebody held on to it and stretched the shit out of it. As I dragged the heavy hose up the hill sometimes called the front yard. It was so damn steep, the only thing that would grow on it was ice plant. Although the Sumsion sisters had been mulling over the idea of planting a victory garden as that was the thing the President had suggested on one of his fire side chats. Les and I had planted a victory garden down at Aunt Susan's house. We planted radishes and onions as Les said they made the best farts. Uncle Clyde had let us use the land where he would burn stuff so the soil was mostly ashes from who knows what. Now Aunt Susan was our favorite Aunt besides Aunt June, but Aunt Susan had Parkinsons's so when the shaking was bad, some of her words were weird and sounded funny when a quiver was added but hell, Aunt Susan was funny, to begin with as she was the only one of the three sisters living in Santa Barbara that knew how to smile, plus she never tried to kill us like her Sisters had with their spanking and yelling. That shit gets old after a while. I dragged that hose up the hill which was no small feat for me as I was the smallest kid in my class, kind of sickly I guess from Rheumatic Fever, which messed up my heart and now I was going to die, dragging the damn garden hose up that hill. I collapsed in a heap, half way up I needed water, I sucked on the hose for a minute. I learned my first law of physics or chemistry or something. Water does not run up a hill with no pressure and rubber hoses taste like shit. I reached the house. I looked up at Les standing on the porch, his arm's crossed. That was his impatient look, I'd known that crossed arms crap. Only Les could look like a grown up with that pose. Finally, Les caved or I should say kneeled down and stuck his arm down from under the porch rail. I figured maybe six feet to go. I pulled the hose as hard as I could. I imagined a tractor pulling on the other end stifling my effort. I fed the hose up between my legs and slid it under my belt up over my shoulder. The lattice looked like the face at Yosemite, you know the place where mountain climbers go when they get old and want to die and can't afford a casket. I scaled the lattice, a couple of the boards pulled loose and I had to grab and hold on tight without dropping the hose. It was damn uncomfortable with the hose between my legs as every inch I gained in my climb to destiny, the hose squished my balls.

Les now was enjoying my plight just a little too much. He was really starting to piss me off. Les reached down and grabbed the hose from my shoulder, he gave it a life ending pull, the hose now tight as a mooring line to a ship, popped my hands loose from the lattice. I grabbed the hose, the only thing keeping me from falling and landing flat on my back and maybe croaking, was the belt around my waist through which hose had been fed. Now dear reader, here is the picture, here I am a seven-year-old kid, hanging upside down from a taught garden hose, my legs hanging down, I've got a death grip on the hose with my hands and Les trying to pull us both to safety, his jaws are locked and his eyes were starting to pop in a way I had never seen before. When Les unlocked his jaws he yelled some really bad shit and his spital all over my face. He finally put one foot against the porch railing and pulled me through. I was scared to death. My brother had saved me from a sure death and I was crying my head off and all I could do was kick Lester on the shoulder. He did not say one word, but it was the look on his face. If I had tried to kick him in the face, he would have pushed me off the porch, the tears from my eyes all mixed with his spit and it had a salty taste and I was not supposed to eat salt. My heart you know. We stretched out on the porch, I was totally spent. Any strength I had was gone. Scared out of me, all I wanted was the top bunk of the bed that I knew was too far away. Maybe fifty feet. Les stirred and holding the hose in a tight grip he slid under that big damn green fuzzy blanket and then yelled with a voice like a madman, to turn on the frigging hose and do it now!

I was able to walk off the porch and going down the steep hill a lot easier than dragging the hose up the hill that was too heavy and stretched too tight. I reached the Fawcett kneeled down and grabbed the handle and looked up at Les. He was now standing with the blanket draped over his shoulder with both hands on the hose. He had put an adjustable nozzle on the hose and was ready to knock the hornet's nest down and save the day. He yelled to turn it on. I quickly turned the handle as far as it would go. The water pressure was really high even though it was going up hill. I watched Les hit that nest with a big blast. The nest stayed firmly attached to the roof of the porch. But it's resident's, they were a whole different story. They were really pissed. They came out of the sodden nest with very big motivation of a just cause beneath their nest and on their little minds. It was kill or be killed. And Les now called for "Jimmy, Help Me"? It was nice to hear he wasn't mad at me. "Jimmy, Jimmy", it had a nice pleading sound to it No threats, and it was only me he called. It struck me as a wistful note. I walked up the steps, not in a big hurry, but I was answering a call from my brother. His pleading voice had a feminine quality to it now. Not a girl screaming. you understand, but an eight year old boy who knew he was in serious trouble. Les had dropped the hose and ducked under the green blanket. The hornets were buzzing around looking for something to kill. The hose now free from human hands was at the mercy of the water pressure. The water was running off the porch in epic proportions. The metal nozzle on the end of the hose was flipping al over the place, and suddenly bounced off the big, single plate dining room window. Now I was scared to death and imagined what terrible punishment we were going to receive. The untethered garden hose was flailing away and not able to decide what to break next. When it hit the dining room window, the window shook and the sound, well it had a hell of an effect on my level of fear, and it sounded like Les had almost reached the end of his rope. I hurried onto the porch, surveying the battle scene. If you were a hornet, it would have brought you to tears as there were still wasp carcasses littering everything. The hornets had met their end, killed by a brainless flying object that spewed gallons of fresh water all over the place. The pressure of the water, backed up by the force of Lake Cachuma had done what Les and I had planned but failed. Les finally reached out from under the sodden green blanket and grappled with the hose. I turned and ran down the hill to the Fawcett and turned off the water. I grabbed the hose and pulled it from Les's almost lifeless hands. The hose was easy to drag away from the ecological disaster that it had created. Water was everywhere and thank God water runs down hill. The second law of physics or something. Lester was looking at the windows to see how much the damage. The windows had survived. They needed a good rinsing as did the porch we explained that evening to our parents. That big damn blanket had now morphed into one big damn sponge. Les said, all we have to do is dry out the blanket, fold it up and no one will know what had happened. We were even starting to see that our plan of battle had a couple of flaws. We were starting to see a little humor in the whole exercise. The sodden blanket weighed a ton, almost too much for two boys to handle. We knew we could not hang it anywhere it could be easily seen. So our decision was easy. The Park, we both decided was the answer. The park that had on one border the Kump Compound and on the other a two lane road and the administration building for the University The first bush we tried to drape the blanket over broke apart from the weight of the sodden green blanket. We looked around and found a challenge. A big bush, and with some effort, we could drape the blanket over it and let the sun dry it out. We figured it wouldn't take that long, the water coming off the blanket looked like ten cows peeing on a flat rock. The blanket was sure as hell going to be a light green in color. it was now about noon. Les and I liked the University, except for the administration part, we liked the lab where they ran tests and raised guinea pigs for experiments. We bought the little critters for pets and even resold a few. We could buy them for two bucks and sell them for what ever the market would bear. We knew the student that sold us the pigs pocketed the money so he was making a buck or two off our end of the business. He just had to keep those little critters reproducing so everyone was happy. That is except for the little pigs they sliced and diced for experiments. Les's pig was named Picabus and mine was named Thunderbolt. I named mine after the new fighter plane they were shipping to kill Japs. We had a rather busy day so far, we had plenty of time and we went back to the house, swept the dead Hornets or Wasps off the porch and ate a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. As we chewed we took turns retelling the experience, with each telling, it became a noble project that only quick thinking fearless boys could handle and live to tell the tale. However, we both agreed. We should not tell anyone how we had spent our morning except for volunteering to rinse off the porch and front windows. Mums the word. Shhhhhh. For dessert, we ate a couple of onions and radishes and with that, we went down to the sandbox on top of the garage. I don't remember what we built with the sand but we both farted and laughed a lot. I remember that. About an hour before our parents were to return home, Les said it was time to retrieve the blanket. By now the sun no longer graced that light green blanket with its warmth. The rays of the sun could not get through the branches and leaves of the trees that surround the strong, and large bush we had entrusted with the task of completing our can't miss plan of battle. Our park had failed us. The bush and blanket appeared to have maybe three or four cows still emptying their bladders. The ground around the bush was thoroughly saturated. Matter of fact it was muddy. There were about half a dozen wasps or hornets that had escaped the clutches of the blanket and were either dead or doing a weak backstroke in the small puddles around the perimeter of our pending disaster. We also thought the bush had lost some of its vigors and was not as large as when we first decided to include it into our master plan. On one side the blanket even touched the mud it had created. On the plus side, the groundskeeper would not have to water that bush for the rest of the year. The mud we had created would be used by other flying insects to build or add to mud homes they would create. I looked over at Les, who had now become an expert on critters that fly and I tried to absorb the wisdom he shared with me from time to time. For just being a year older than I, he was so wise and worldly and I was lucky to be learning at the knee of someone so generous with his knowledge. Through the years I would ponder the thought, of which was the greater in Les's bag of tricks was it experience or just knowledge? Through the years I would learn that most of our adventures were dreamed up the night before, while Les was stretched out on the bunk bed beneath me trying to go to sleep. But this late afternoon, Les decided we should leave the blanket overnight and take a chance that no one would steal a wet blanket. It was summertime and the girls going to summer school would not need the warmth of any additional blanket this time of the year. That evening at dinner Les and I were thanked by Aunt Hilda for the initiative we had shown by cleaning off the front of the house. My Dad agreed that it was good thinking to wait and let him take care of the wasp's nest. Uncle Clyde and Aunt Susan had joined us for dinner. Uncle Clyde was a retired Naval pilot from WW1. When I asked what he flew he would only say planes and blimps. But he shared interesting stories of his life as a sailor. Uncle Clyde liked to smoke cigarettes, but his smoking was restricted to inside his current automobile. Uncle Clyde bought and sold cars frequently and would be called a car nut in today's current description. He would no sooner get in his car than he would light up. The windows of his car were rarely closed. I loved the back seat in his car and the smell of unfiltered cigarette smoke swirling around me. At that time, his current car was a pale yellow 39 ford convertible. It was in what you would call in "cherry condition". Wartime was hard on car guys as a lot of folks had put their cars up on blocks so the tires would stay round and illegally sold their gas ration coupons. My Father and a friend had pooled their talents and had acquired a failing Wholesale Petroleum Distributorship owned by Gilmore Oil. My father managed the bulk plant and sales and his partner handled the accounting and administrative chores. With gas rationing, it was not what you would call a wise investment. The only way it would be profitable was to get more of the few surviving service stations to buy from them. That end of the business my father had considerable experience. At that time he was 37 years old and 4F, meaning he would be one of the last to be drafted and his 4F rating was due to having had a badly broken back when a load of lumber had fallen on him. However, he received his draft notice to report just before they dropped the first Atomic Bomb. My Father was a big, strong loveable Dane, with a terrific personality that drove their business until it was acquired by Mobil Oil at the end of the war. He slept with a 4 X 8 sheet of plywood under his mattress his entire life and the only time I heard him swear was when Mom pulled off and changed the surgical tape that was wrapped around his torso. He would wear back supports most of his life when his skin became raw from stripping the tape from his body. He taught me how to tip upright a 350 lb barrel of oil using just my leg muscles. That came in handy years later when I was involved with medication carts which weighed only a hundred and fifty pounds. I stacked boxed medication carts on top of each other thanks to my father's teaching. I might add my employees were very surprised the first time they saw me lifting and stacking those heavy boxes. I probably enjoyed seeing their open mouths and wide eye's a little too much. I really enjoyed overhearing my employees talking about the effort they had witnessed. My vanity received needed nourishment hearing those words I suppose, or I would not be disclosing that crack in my mental makeup, at this late time in my life. Damn, Hell and any other word, the damn blanket was still wet. Les and I had overlooked the evening fog that graced our blanket at night. Green water was still running off. Les made the decision, we will risk another day and night, and if the blanket wasn't stolen by then, back in the linen closet. My mind is not clear about the whole damn mess and if we keep leaving the big green monster in the damn park, we were going to get our tit in a very painful ringer. No doubt about it. Our prayers were answered. A sunny day had passed. We cautiously approached the blanket. It was starting to go fuzzy again and as we looked, it was even steaming. Oh, Saints be praised, or something like that. We waited the day through, we had to pull pretty hard to drag the friggin blanket from the dead bush. We pulled the blanket onto a stretch of grass. It was a hell of a lot lighter in color and weight. Except for a couple or three dead wasp carcasses that we picked out of the fuzz, if there were any questions from our parents, Les was going to have to lie. I was programmed to just look at my feet and nod my head back and forth, after all, it was all Les's idea and I was dragged into the whole darn mess against my will. Les would have to do the heavy lifting. And besides, he was good at it. I did not know how to lie, was an acquired effort and I had not completed that training. I was always innocent, No shit. Les asked the question, does it feel wet to you? I grabbed around in a few places. The fuzz was dry, and if you squeezed the cloth really hard, you could only get a couple of drops of water. It feels dry to me. I had just told my first lie. We folded the green monster up the best we could and slipped it back into the linen closet. We had pulled it off, We were in the clear. A couple of weeks later a few of the rental girls complained about the sheets having green stains on them. They didn't ask Aunt Hilda. I think the girls were a little afraid of Aunt Hilda, cuz when they went to ask about anything, all they got was a demand for rent money. The girls gave Les and I some squinty eyed looks, but we just hurried by and laughed when we escaped to the big crawl space. No Body ever went into our crawl space. It was wet in there, with a few spider webs. A few weeks passed, Les and I had to stay at the Dinner table until I ate the damned asparagus and Les had to drink Cod Liver Oil. We got Cod Liver Oil for everything back then. I didn't mind it as it had an acquired taste and I acquired the taste early on cuz my Dad had big hands and if he had his Danish up, spankings hurt like hell. So I acquired, I acquired. Now Les was just stubborn. His Mom liked to pull ears, but it took a bit of time for her to get a head of steam up to start doing that number. So there we sat, Looking at each other as only seven and eight-year-olds understand when Uncle Clyde sits down with us. He always had a nice smile and he smelled of Listerine Mouth Wash and Tabacco. You know boys, he says, I have more fun watching the stuff you two kids get into. I was sitting in my car having a smoke watching you two kill wasps a while back. You always put a smile on my face and smiles are nice. He never told on us, We loved him for his discretion. He didn't even get mad that time I put grapes in his slippers. He had socks on and didn't feel the grapes until it was too late.