I am six years old and my family just moved to Del Norte, Colorado. I remember walking to the bus stop down by the road with my brother and sister.
I have a shiny nickel and a dime in my pocket for milk at recess and my lunch.
The bus stops in front of my school and I get off with the other kids (who I don't know) and we get in a line and a teacher escorts us into the school.
My mom has filled out all my papers and I give them to the teacher. We go to a classroom and she tells each of us where to sit. Behind me to my
left is a redheaded kid with freckles, on both sides of me are girls. In front of me is a kid in a cowboy shirt.
After a while in the classroom, we are escorted out of the school and down to the cafeteria to get our morning milk. We are in the same order as
the seating was. We are stopped just before going into the doors. The teacher goes inside to do something and leaves us alone. It is at this time,
the redheaded kid comes up to me and says, "Give me your milk money!" I said, "No". He pushes me and I fall into the kid with the cowboy shirt.
We bump heads. I am now insane. I grab the redheaded kid's shirt with my left hand, and start punching him with my right fist. He falls back onto the
sidewalk, where I let him go. I then kneel down by his side and start hitting him some more, until he starts crying.
The next thing I remember is, I am sitting in this room waiting for my mother. I have been expelled.
When I get home, my mom calls over to the mill where my dad works and tells him that I have been expelled for fighting. Dad comes home and asks
me what happened. I tell him. Dad and I are now in the car going to my school. My dad goes into this room with another woman, and then I hear him
yelling at her. A few minutes later, they come out. Dad leaves. The woman escorts me back to my class. I never had any problems after that.
We moved to Yreka California about 6 months later. Here my dad built the planer mill for the new lumber mill. We lived in Yreka until the middle of the
2nd grade, when we moved about 15 miles to Montague. There I finished the 2nd grade and 3rd grade. Then we moved to Dierks, Arkansas and that
is where I rode the car hoods down the hill. The next year we moved to Crosett, Ark for 3 months, then on to Silsbee, Texas**. Then we moved back to
California to a town called Gazelle. Dad repaired the planer at the mill in Yreka. Then he got a job resetting a planer in Klamath Falls, OR and moved
in the middle of my 6th grade year to there. Just after I finished 6th grade, we moved about 50 miles away to a town called Bly. Dad built the planer mill
there. I started the 7th grade there and was in the middle of the 8th grade, when we moved to Albany, OR so dad could install a new planer in the Philomath
Lumber mill about 15 miles away. Three months later we moved to Philomath. In the middle of my 8th grade year, we moved to Chiloquin, OR so dad
could build their planer mill. We got permission from the local Indian tribe to use the housing on the Indian Agency until we could find a house. About
6 months later we moved into a house in Chiloquin. I finished high school there.
And that is why I have lived where I am for the past 39 years. You see, I was only 3 months old when dad moved us to Longview, Washington. I have
spent more time in the back seat of a car on Route 66, than I ever did in any house we ever lived in. :-)
**It was on this move that we wrecked the trailer twice. I have a story on here about that.
There is also a story on the forum about our wreck in the '50 Ford.
The ending to this story is this. After about 3 or 4 times of moving during my early school years, I developed this little flaw in my character.
On the first day that I attended a new school, I would find out who the toughest kid was in my class. Sooner or later that day, we would meet to settle
the score. That way I only had to fight one kid...instead of all of them. Like the guy in the movie said, "500" will make you a legitimate tough guy. I
only got to 397. So I am still a lovable kid anyway.
My next story will be about Chiloquin. The heart of the Modoc-Klamath Indian nation. It's gonna start getting serious now.