After 25 years away, this spring I finally returned to the place
where I spent most of the first four years of my adulthood. Before
we left, I knew I had difficulty visualizing the town, the area. So on one level, I had a hard time
remembering how things looked, but I figured I'd return and look around and it
would all come flooding back. But
no. Not at all.
I drove around town, and I recognized the names of Don
Marcelino's restaurant, and Wal Mart, the Sirloin Stockade, Wright’s Steakhouse…
but ... that was it. I knew the main street names were Avenue F
and G, and there they were. But I could
never tell you where I was at when the guy ran into my rear bumper. Absolutely nothing looked even remotely familiar. I remember the guy we’d see occasionally at a
stop light, with an old hound dog standing on the roof of his truck, but I didn’t
see them now, and I’m not even sure where that stop light was.
On some level, I have been really dismayed by this blindness
into my own history. I have very fond
memories of some of my time there. That
is to say, I really enjoyed the job, but more than that, the people I worked
with. While living there, I remember
going west as far as Langtry, Texas to the Judge Roy Bean saloon. Going north to Sonora Caverns, and of course,
trips to San Antonio. I remember those
areas, at least a little. I remember the
feel if not the detail of the River Walk in San Antonio, but the road to and
through Del Rio itself? Nothing. It seems like a blank slate.
In 2019, I found myself amazed all over again by how devoid
of trees and how flat Del Rio is. On
some level, I knew it was that way. That
treeless expanse has always been my 'first impression' remembrance of the area,
but the reality now vs. my memory is like seeing the Grand Canyon in person
after only ever seeing it on a post card.
I drove past the home of someone whom I used to work with, where I have
fond memories of being welcomed as a part of their family for a holiday
gathering... and I did not recognized the house or street at all.
I have pondered on that blank place in my memory over the
past few months.
It dawns on me that if I go back to my earliest childhood, I
would read the books on the bookshelf in the hallway when we lived in the old
homeplace. There was a battered copy of
Swiss Family Robinson and Robinson Crusoe, there were the Hardy Boys and Nancy
Drew books, and there were others. And I
would read them, forget the contents and read them again. I may not have been completely surprised at
the climax but I was pretty good at suppressing the details so as to make the
stories new again.
That self-training kept me entertained on long summer days
and nights, and has allowed me to watch and re-watch movies over the years,
without really remembering the details - just the impressions of big ideas or
themes. It causes me to be unable to
remember quotes or even lyrics, exactly as they are uttered, because I remember
the impression or feeling it left behind more so than the words. It makes me want to avoid Robin William's
"What Dreams May Come" even though I recall it is in places visually
stunning, because I feel the death involved in the storyline, even though I
can't recall the details.
Back to Del Rio, Texas. It is a small town nestled along the
banks of the Rio Grande River, just across from Cuidad Acuna, Mexico. My earliest knowledge of Del Rio comes from a
childhood where I read everything I came into contact with - and back then
almost all coupons had an address of 1 Fawcett Drive, Del Rio Texas or
something similar. To this day, many
manufacturer or retail coupons are still processed there. So I at least knew it existed. After being stationed there, folks would say,
"Oh, I remember Del Rio... We used to listen to the radio station..."
At some point in time before I was there Del Rio had a super-powerful signal
and broadcast across much of the western USA.
The area near Laughlin and Del Rio was home to filming of several movies
over the years, including Lonesome Dove and John Wayne’s The Alamo, which were
filmed at the Alamo Village outside of Bracketville just down the road.
But that evening in late September 1990 that I arrived, it
was well after dark, and my aunt and uncle dropped me and ran. I was given a key to a strange room in the
base’s hotel (the Temporary Lodging Facility or TLF). When I opened the door, a woman cried out… I
closed the door and went back for a different key to a different room. Waking up the next morning, my first morning
there, I was a 19 year old Arkansas farm boy named James, who, having grown up
surrounded by farms, and woods, and hills, went outside to see ...
nothingness. There was something, all
right. But not trees. Not hills.
Just wide open country covered with scrubby bushes. So the first jolt to me was this feeling of
surreal surroundings - I may as well have been on the surface of Mars. I was disoriented. Out of place.
Then I had to get in touch with my sponsor. Thus far, in my 6-month Air Force career, all
the Non Commissioned Officers that I had been around were instructors of some
sort - drill sergeants, teachers. They
were all 'up there' and beyond me. My
sponsor, the one whose job it would be to show me around and get me acquainted
with life there, was appointed by the Air Force. His name was Sgt Gomez, and
being in Del Rio, obviously he was of Mexican descent, was an eight foot tall
drill sergeant of a character, and would yell a lot. But actually, as I recall, he showed up to
pick me up, riding with SSgt Trusty in his Dodge K-Car, and they took me out to
eat in town at a Chinese restaurant.
This eight foot guy turned into someone who was slim, soft-spoken,
probably 5'6" or thereabouts, and super-nice. While we were ordering food, I was
yes-sirring and no-sirring, but it did not take them long at all to tell me to
cut it out. "We work for a
living!!" they said. This Chinese
food experience was my first... Following
the firsts over the past 6 months of 1) having a physical, 2) riding in a taxi
3) riding in an airplane (a handful of times) 4) riding on a city bus (town
pass in basic training) 5) riding on a Greyhound (going to tech school) 6)
seeing the ocean and 7) walking on a sandy beach (in Biloxi) 8) sleeping and
bathing with 40 other guys who were all different from me but who all had
shaved heads, wore brown t-shirts and wore BDUs or white-t-shirts and blues 9)
running and exercising and doing the confidence course and feeding punch cards
through a computer and shooting an M16 and............. all that stuff.
Now, here I was, all alone, but for these two guys who had
so little in common with me but who were willing to be patient while I adjusted
to uniformed life. At work, I was
introduced to the shift supervisors, who were civil servants named Rob, Pete,
and Maria. Rob was a retired Tech
Sergeant and Pete a retired Master Sergeant, and I’m not sure about Maria... I
never worked directly with Maria, but she was a nice lady. Down the hall was Edith Morgan, now Smith,
who was the database manager. Chief
Henson was from Alabama, and nominally ran the office, but Edith was really the
one who knew and orchestrated the important stuff. TSgts Boykin and Prys were there then as I
recall.
I was assigned to work with Rob, who became something of a
foster-father to me. He was a bit rough
around the edges, but had a heart of gold.
The first time on mid shift a couple weeks after I started, he sent me
into the break room to make coffee. The Bunn
coffee maker there was 8 or 10 cups, the can of Folgers Coffee said a scoop per
cup or something similar, so I started scooping it in. When it was done, you could stand a spoon up
in it. To give me credit, I did drink
most of a cup before we poured it out and started over again.
The folks at the Squadron and in the office kept asking me
in those first days, “Your name is James, but what do they call you… James,
Jim, Jimmy?” and I’d just answer, “Any of the above work… I’ve likely been
called worse!” I soon became Jimmy,
because the organization already had an overabundance of James’s and Jim’s, and
it was fine by me.
In the four years living at Laughlin, I lived as Jimmy
Wheeler, kid from Arkansas. I made some
great friends, and went home every chance I could to see my family, and plant
some trees. When I left four years
later, I left all that behind. I kept in
touch with a small number of people, and in Alabama, I was once again
surrounded by hills and trees and people that called me James.
After almost four years, I had stepped out of the character
Jimmy on the set of the Alamo, and became James, once more surrounded by
normalcy, and got busy with work.
Looking back, it really seems almost that simple. I forgot the story, the quotable moments,
except for what I brought with me. I
kept in touch with a few friends over the years but lost touch with many more.
I suffer now from a sense of loss, but it’s not
heartbreaking. More introspective. I talked to Rob off and on over the next few
years – even went to dinner with him and drove caravan with him once when he
went to Alabama for training. I missed
his wedding and his funeral, and for that I am truly regretful. I don’t need to get into the dark places where
I lived when he was at his end.
Jose, who at Laughlin was a staff sergeant who went on to
Office Training School and became Lieutenant Acosta, came driving onto my base
in Alabama, where we randomly crossed paths, and there we became friends while
being stationed together again for a while.
I’ve spent nights at the Wallings’ home while traveling across country,
and we briefly lived with my friend Gwen in Oklahoma before moving to
Pennsylvania. I chat with or interact
with Mike and Tess and even Abe once in a while on Facebook… So some
connections from Del Rio remain, no matter how tenuous.
I am thankful to have rediscovered Pete, and have had
(online) conversations with him in recent weeks. I remember going to his home for a holiday
gathering at some point and being made to feel very welcome, not a guest at the
table, but a part of the family.
 |
| The Alamo in San Antonio |
In San Antonio, this spring, we had a great conversation
with a local AT&T (not wireless) employee who was at our AirBnB to fix the
internet connection. He was a soft
spoken Hispanic gentleman, telling us about sights to see, about float trips
down rivers in south Texas and taking the time to relax and enjoy life. He WAS Texas, just as I remember it. An ordinary nice person relating his
experience and being hospitable. Going
out west in June, we could sit on the porch in front of or inside the dining
room of the Starlight Theatre in Terlingua or the White Buffalo in Marathon,
and listen to tales being told, and feel at home.
 |
| Julios Chips in Del Rio |
I am thankful to have the opportunity now to see some things
for the first time (again). To see
things that I could not see at 19. I am
thankful to go sleep under the Milky Way and see its bright beauty, but to also
see the mesquite and desert willow and agave in bloom. To see torrential downpours that flooded side
roads from the highway I was on, showing me more water in a day than I remember
seeing in almost four years before. To
see the wide open spaces and grow past the otherness and embrace the diversity.
 |
| Starlight Theatre in Terlingua |
But the scant couple of hours I spent in town, that day in
June, from the stop at Julios for their world-famous chips to the pit stop at
Wal Mart for supplies, and the driving around town between… I am still not sure
how I feel about having such a blank spot inside of my psyche. It was a long time now (but not that long…)
since I played the role of Jimmy in my own “Alamo” or was it maybe “Jimmy’s
Lonesome Dove.” The figurative movie set
where I lived, breathed, and worked for almost four years was abandoned by the
star but not dismantled and it was disorienting to step back into it and see
that others continued the story without my presence. Much like the child-me that forgot about
Robinson Crusoe and Frank and Joe Hardy so I could reread with excitement the
next time, and again. I am ready to pick up the book and read it again. To
watch the movie and know that the book that I read before can be different and
it’s okay.
The me of today wants to go exploring there, to SEE what the
blind kid that once lived there could not.
To cross back into Acuna and see if there is still good food and nice
shopkeepers and beggars trying to get me to take their Chiclets Gum packets (I’ve
read that Chiclets is no more… what do they do now??). I remember so much but so little at the same
time.
Thanks for letting me wander down memory lane. This is not a post with an ending… Just …
sharing my momentary disorientation.
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