Chapter 09 - Synopsis
September 1966 to Late Winter/Early Spring 1967 - Atlanta, GA
At the end of the summer, George and I headed back up to Atlanta in George's 2 door centerpost black 1956 Ford. It had a V-8 and a 3 speed manual shift on the column. It was a bad ride. Dad bought it for George for his 16th birthday, from his friend, Bob Story, in Knoxville, for $150. George drove it hard and sold it when Dad bought us 3 Volkswagens in November.
I had lost my academic scholarship to University of Virginia and I hadn't studied at all for my Sigma Chi fraternity initiation. Dad was willing to borrow money to send me back to Virginia, he did borrow money to buy me clothes the year before. I always thought a lot of him for that. He loved us and always tried to be responsible. I applied and was accepted at DeKalb Junior College in Decatur, Georgia, not far from Tucker, where Mother and Dad lived. George went back to Tucker High School and we all lived at 3958 Oberlin Court. Dad traded in our trusty 4 door blue Dodge Dart that George and I unsuccessfully tried to tear up. (I remember downshifting into 2nd at 60 mph and going 105 mph on I-10 just to see how fast it would go). It had a slant six and a three speed manual transmission and was very durable. I turned it on its side once on a rain slicked Roosevelt Boulevard on my one and only date with Karen Kempf. I always thought a lot of her and we are back in touch today. But I digress.
Dad traded in the Dodge Dart for 3 Volkswagen sedans, one for me, one for George, and one for Mother. Dad was a good horse trader. He had spare fenders in the basement ready to be painted and installed whenever any of us got banged up. He later replaced the entire front end on George's convertible after George and a buddy ran it into a parked car, coming down Stone Mountain after a night of drinking. Mine was a 1957 oval, with a 36hp engine, no synchro mesh 1st gear, no gas gauge (kick bar on floor to access reserve gas). I had it reupholstered at Sears and Roebucks' garage. It had a metallic green paint job.
I got a part time job opening the UPS hub in Atlanta to make some $ while I was going to school. My sleep suffered. Atlanta was UPS first hub outside of Chicago. I began marking packages with zip codes as they came by on a conveyor belt (think Lucy in the chocolate factory). I actually memorized most of the Atlanta and surrounding area zip codes. After a month or so, they made me a student supervisor, which meant more work, more responsibility, and less pay. Also I had no power over the other employees and didn't get much respect. It taught me that responsibility and authority have to go hand in hand. It took me 45 minutes to cross town to get to work. My clutch leg would get sore. That's how bad traffic was in Atlanta in 1966. I traded my 1957 oval VW sedan for a weekend with a co worker, Charles Bland, for his 250cc Yamaha. I rode his bike rough shod, and when we traded back he wasn't happy. I'm sorry, Charles.
I liked DeKalb College. Unlike UVA, the classes were manageable. Actually, George did my accounting project for me. I was short on time and sleep and George was doing good in high school accounting. I paid him $10 and told him to make a few mistakes so I would get a B+, which I did. George later got expelled from Tucker High for riding a borrowed motorcycle through the shotgun first floor. He went up some steps, through the hall, and down the steps at the other end. I made decent grades, and enjoyed learning. DeKalb JC had 4 terms per year. You only took 3 classes at a time and went to each 1 hour 5 days a week. You could focus better on learning with less classes, and you saw your teacher every day. You still got 15 hours per term. I wasn't very popular at school or in Atlanta. They were into pre preppy things and I was in my early hippy stage. I had to get girls from the beach to come up for dates. To this day all Georgia sports teams are my teams to root against.
I attended 2 terms at DeKalb, quit my job at UPS, and headed back to the beach in March or April(?) 1967. I attended Grandmother and Granddaddy Fry's 50th wedding anniversary in Knoxville in April. I wasn't real happy in Atlanta, this time or any other time I lived there. Not everyone, but a lot of Atlanta people have a stuck up attitude, like Atlanta is the coolest place in the world, and they are better than anyone else. I remember calling the Neptune Beach Police on some Atlanta patrons in Pete's Bar who were being rude and loud and acted like since they were so much better than us, we didn't matter. Don't get me started...
February 19, 2010
