My boy, I have no formal writing skills :-) I reserve the right to ramble on and on with no direction. :-) I’ll try to write as much as I can in a time frame but I might have to edit as I remember things.
I think my earliest memories were living in Haverhill. We lived in a small brick house on Chestnut St. All I remember really, was playing outside in the summer and getting ice pops from an old couple next door. I remember the old man loved kids and was always friendly.
At some point we moved to Bradford, Ma. It’s really part of Haverhill, but it’s over the bridge and South. We lived in a big, white house on Route 125. I remember it seemed every room had a fireplace in it. Old, old house. It was across the street from a bowling alley for the most part. I spoke with my brother Jim many years later about that house, and we both remembered the same memory. On the day we were moving (shocking) Jim and I were playing in that dusty old basement. At one point we were pulling things down off shelves and found the shelf swung open from the wall. This had been blocked by an old washing machine we had to work out of the way. Being kids we didn’t think much of the shelves inside this little room loaded with stacks of money. We thought the money would come in handy, so we took a bunch of stacks and hid them in the washing machine, thinking our Dad was taking that machine with us. Looking back on it, I don’t think we lived in that house more than a few months. Dad probably never went in the basement. He never knew the money was there. We never did see that money again and we never told anyone about the find. Who knows how much was in there or what kind of money. All I know is the shelves were full of stacks and stacks of banded cash. I doubt I’ll ever know,
From there we moved to Texas. The town was San Angelo, Texas. Dad’s brother Butch and his family were already living out there. Butch must have been there a while because he had a house and already owned his own foreign auto repair shop. Dad was moving out there to work the trucking side of the oil industry. We moved in to a small white house on a main road. I don’t remember much of the house, though. I only remember the day we moved in, Mom had a puppy she brought with us, The puppy got out of the house while the doors were left open and ran into the street. I can still see the image of that puppy being rolled over by the tractor trailer, under every wheel. What a start to a new life, eh?
Not long after, we moved to a new trailer park in San Angelo. Why? Not sure. Once again me, Jim, and Paul were stuffed in the same room. I remember going to work with Dad. He had a typical office at a trucking company. Dirty halls and a seat from a van as extra seating. Dad did have a pet goat, though. You could guess the goat’s name? Yup… Billy. Billy Goat seemed to be a great pet. He rode everywhere with Dad in his pickup. One time I was playing inside the trucks at Dad’s work when Billy came to the truck. He wouldn’t let me out of the truck. For some reason every time I tried to get out, he’d hit me with his horns. At one point I didn’t see him, so I made a run for Dad’s office, Next thing you know, Billy is running behind me. He tripped me up and stood on my back while I cried, waiting for Dad to come get me. From then on, I hated that goat.