Chantilly, Virginia

Dad and Judy lived in Chantilly, Virginia. I had secured my job at Toys “R” Us in Fairfax, about 15 minutes away. But, since I had left my car in Florida, I didn’t have transportation to and from work. Dad and Judy both worked in the Pentagon, so I couldn’t “bum” a ride with either of them. Once again, it was Dad to the rescue. He had a Honda 500 motorcycle in his garage that he generously (although possibly semi-grudgingly) offered me the use of for my commute. Judy used to tease Dad about his “infatuation” with the motorcycle. Evidently, Dad had been in the garage and was wiping the dust off of the tank when Judy came out into the garage. She “accused” Dad of “petting” his motorcycle. This had happened before I went up to Virginia. And she didn’t let him live it down. This period of time, in Virginia, was the first I had ever spent much time around my stepmother. Hearing her tease my Dad about petting his motorcycle, and other things kind of “rubbed me wrong” for some reason. I don’t know if I was being protective of him or not, but I wasn’t used to hearing or seeing him “attacked” in any way. At least not by someone else. Maybe I figured that I should be the one kidding around with him. After all, he WAS my Dad. So, my initial impressions of my stepmom were that, basically, she was a smart-aleck. And, like the stereotypical westerns, there “wasn’t enough room” for the both of us, because I was also a smart-aleck. I would trade “barbs” with her frequently, and a lot of times I probably got (out of frustration) a little meaner than I should have. I probably said some hurtful things to her that I will never be able to take back, and I will always regret that. But, in some ways, I shouldn’t have worried about it. Because, just when I thought I might have gotten the last word (or “zinger”), she would slam-dunk me with a better one. It used to frustrate the hell out of me. If she ever lost her temper with me during these exchanges, she never showed it. I was “outclassed” from the very start. I think some of my frustration came from the fact that she was only eleven years older than me: “too old to be my friend, and too young to boss me around”. I turned 19 while in Virginia, which made her 30.
I rode the motorcycle to and from work for a short time, but really missed my car. I don’t remember the exact circumstances, whether I flew back down to Florida, or we all drove down together, but I was able to get my car and drive it back to Virginia. Having my own “wheels” freed me up a little. I was able to explore the area a little, on my days off from the toy store, and meet people that I didn’t work with or live with. I tried to develop a social life.
One evening Dad tried to help me in that respect. My stepmother was working as a secretary in the Pentagon, and she brought one of her co-workers home after work to have dinner with us. Her name was Rene G., and she was older than me by probably 7 or 8 years. I remember thinking that she was very attractive, for a “grown woman”. At dinner, Dad tried to stimulate conversation (and, I think, interest) between Rene and me. Looking back, I think the “relationship” was doomed from the start. She was polite, yet easy to talk with, and had a sense of humor. I tried to appeal to her sense of humor. After all, I considered myself an entertaining person. I remember telling her a lot of jokes regarding (in the interest of being politically correct) people from Poland. I told her some of my “best ones”, and she laughed at all of them. I figured I was “making points” with her, when she said she had one for me. “What is black and blue and sits in a corner crying?” she asked me. I racked my brain, but could not come up with the correct answer. She looked me in the eye, and said, “The next S.O.B. that tells a Polish joke.” I soon found out that her last name was of Polish origin (I can’t remember the exact pronunciation or spelling) and all those brownie points had gone down the drain. I think Dad and Judy did the right thing by letting me put my foot in my mouth. Yes, they could have given me “warning”, but I probably would have ended up embarrassing myself some other way. It knocked me down a notch, and I deserved it.
Another time, Dad and Judy invited a couple to the house for dinner. I believe that they were both Officers who were also stationed at the Pentagon. I remember them well, although I don’t remember the man’s name. But the woman’s name was Yvonne, (and to this day I still think she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen), and she was Black. Whether this white man and black woman were a “couple” or not, I don’t know. But they were both really nice people, and they obliged themselves to include me into their “grown up” conversations at the table.
One of the best things about being in Virginia was my little sister “Jenny”. Jennifer Ellen was a few months past her first birthday when I moved up there. She became my best friend and favorite pastime. She would call for me when she woke up from her naps, and in the morning. The house we were in had a vaulted ceiling in the living room, and I would throw her as high as I could in the air, and catch her when she came down. Then I would hold her at arm’s length, and she would start kicking impatiently, as if to say “Come on, do it again!” This “game” was played at every opportunity for the duration of my stay with Dad and Judy.
Dad was due to “pin on his Eagles”, or be promoted to (bird) Colonel, sometime in the first part of 1974. However, this promotion would mean that the only thing he would “fly” would be a desk. Rather than having his “wings clipped”, he decided to retire from the Air Force at the end of 1973. In the period leading up to his retirement, he investigated different avenues of employment/income to supplement his pension. One of these involved multilevel marketing, where someone recruited someone else to sell a product, and both parties would receive a portion of the proceeds. There are many of them out there (the most recognizable being AMWAY), and most of them are a legitimate means of generating a decent income, depending upon the “level” of one’s involvement. Dad didn’t want to waste time working his way up from being a “sales person”, so he invested some money into “inventory” so that he could start right out as a “distributor”. Right about the time he did this, one of the major “news magazines” ran an article about the “multilevel marketing” schemes. Apparently, there were (are) a lot of them out there, and not all of them seemed to deliver the desired results, due to: inferior product/customer service quality and/or, sometimes, out-and-out fraudulent business practices. Since the last thing my father would have ever done would be to give anyone the impression of having been defrauded, he lost faith in his “business venture”. This resulted in a garage full of cleaning products which, while being quality products that performed as advertised, he couldn’t market with a clean conscience. We used the products, and they worked. But Dad ended up donating the entire lot to a rest home, or someplace like that, when it came time to leave Virginia.
Dad decided that after his retirement we would go to Phoenix, Arizona. Prior to these events, other things had to be addressed: how to get three cars (I decided that I would go with them) and a motorcycle from Virginia to Arizona, whether to move the “soap” or donate it, what kind of employment to seek, etc. Getting the Honda to Phoenix turned out to be pretty easy. Dad would buy a motorcycle trailer, and we would install a trailer hitch on my car. Dad, Judy and Jen would tow Judy’s car behind the station wagon. We got the motorcycle trailer and assembled it in the garage. When we got it put together, we set about the task of installing the hitch on my car. We were encountering some difficulty in attaching it, as some holes needed to be enlarged to facilitate the bolts required. I told Dad that we really needed a 3/8” drill bit to ream out a couple of holes. We had every size except for the one we needed. This was in December, and it was cold in the garage. Judy came out to the garage to check on us, or tell us that dinner was ready, or something. She overheard us talking about needing a 3/8” drill. She disappeared for a few moments, and returned with a box. It contained a brand-new 3/8” (capacity) electric drill. It was to have been a Christmas present for Dad, but she gave it to him “early”. Not wanting to hurt her feelings or embarrass her, neither one of us bothered to point out that it was a 3/8” drill bit that we really needed. (By this point in my life, I guess I was coming to the realization that Judy wasn't really that bad. In fact, hurting her feelings never entered my mind). We somehow reamed the holes out and got the hitch installed. We struggled with the wiring harness for the trailer lights, but eventually everything was connected correctly. A few days later, we hooked up the trailer, loaded the motorcycle on it, and I headed to Florida for Christmas, prior to continuing on to Arizona. Dad and Judy would leave a few days later, and we would “caravan” to Phoenix after Christmas. I remember driving through West Virginia. As I crossed into one county, I passed a police car, probably a County Sheriff. I glanced in the mirror, and sure enough, they had pulled out after me. Granted, I probably presented an unusual sight: a young man with shoulder-length hair driving a muscle car, towing a “full dress” motorcycle. I got a little nervous when I noticed the deputy riding “shotgun” in the car had reached down and come up with a shotgun whose stock he rested on his knee. It stayed there the entire trip through the county. At the “other end” of the county, they stopped and turned around. I’m glad I didn’t have to stop for any reason while passing through the county. I drove the rest of the way “home” non-stop without incident. It took exactly 24 hours to go from Chantilly, Virginia to Fort Walton Beach, Florida. While in Florida for the holidays, the weather was good. Perfect, in fact, for motorcycle riding. When I got to Mom’s house, I got the bike off the trailer and rode it for the week or so that I was there. After Christmas, we put the bike back on the trailer and headed for Phoenix.