Jimmy

Through my grandson I’ve met a 10 year old boy in my neighborhood. His name is, well let’s call him Jimmy. He is one of the politest kids I’ve met and I’m talking over a lifetime of children. Over the last so many months I’ve observed this polite child and how considerate he is in almost extraordinary ways. Today he basically watched over my grandson for hours as he and the other kids played on the street. He looked me in the eye and assured me he would make sure my grandson was safe. I took him for his word.

My great friend and fellow Vietnam Veteran Ren Fitts gave me a VHS camera with all the accouterments and it was in my garage when Jimmy came up the driveway pushing his bike. I noted both tires were thread-bare and I commented on it. In the most adult manner, he politely explained to me that he “did indeed need new tires, but at this present time, my dad is not financially able to actually replace them… but, if you would just air up the tire, sir, it will be good for 3 days.” It’s important to note he is either an Academy Award nominee, or totally without guile.

In my heart I wanted to immediately replace those tubes and tires, well remembering how it was when I rode that iron horse and how many soda bottles I had to redeem to get the money for new rubber. Replacing a boy’s tires and tube in 2019 could be considered a pervert crime of some sorts and as bad as I want to help, I couldn’t. That’s his parent’s job… but I do have something I may can donate toward this young boys future. (Please excuse my Texan)

The day I met Jimmy he revealed that he had written a number of “stories” and did I want to read them? Of course I did and I explained that some regard me as a writer. He rode off on his bike only to return with an 8X11 binder with about 5 multi-sheet drawings with captions. It was his vision and he wanted to share it… with me. Heck yes I was interested. I gave him a very encouraging nerdish review of his work and he seemed pleased.

My first impression of the boy was he was so polite, he simply must be an abused child.

I was wrong.

It turns out he lost his mother 2 years ago and is damaged goods. He told me he still has nightmares but “has learned to handle it.”

“What is that Mr. Marshall?”

“It is out-dated technology, Jimmy, but is really cool. It’s a VHS camera and all the trappings. It’s yours if you want it…” The plastic box before him had a shoulder-mount large VHS Camera and I showed him how you mounted it up high by his head. His eyes were like saucers as his brain processed what was before him. With his interest in stories and writing, I felt like I was sowing a seed, much like handing a guitar to a 10 year old Jimi Hendrix.

Jimmy took possession of the camera and came back and asked permission to supervise my grandson on the next street over. They were going to stage a water-balloon fight and he promised me all would be okay. I gave him my blessing and the two boys rode off to do what kids on bikes do… much like my brothers and I did 50 years ago.

Letter to City Manager Garry Brumback

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Hello, Mr. Brumback! I'm trying to find the plan for the development of a trail system in and around Baytown, but can't seem to find it. While geocaching (and you may have heard me comment in my videos) I am continually impressed with the large scale development of trails along Fairmont Parkway, Red Bluff Road, and now along McCabe Road in La Porte.

McCabe Road and Fairmont Parkway trails are cement and very wide and this has to have cost a fortune, but where and how are they getting funding? I think it is imperitive if Baytown is to attract higher income families, we push the trail system forward asap.

Baytown native, Larry Houston and I have now successfully placed a large number of geocaches (23) along Goose Creek trail to attract out-of-towners and hopefully they will stop in for a bite to eat while here and as a side benefit, use our trail making it inherently safer. It took the Jenkins Park (Cary Bayou Trail) a long time before it felt safe, but now there are a lot of people using it. Incidentally, there are also 12 geocaches hidden in Jenkins Park/JC Holloway.

Rumors are Lee College wants to become a 4 year college and this further pushes the need for an extensive bike/hike trail system, especially along Goose Creek and its tributaries. Our city's streets and lack of shoulders are literally dangerous to bicyclists and desperately needs better biking trails of distance.

Next is the Jenkins Park trail expansion and the continued development of the Bark Park. The trail expansion should be carefully planned so a 5K distance is achieved, instead of an arbitrary plus or minus that amount. This will allow runners to know their exact distance, making it a perfect place to train for 10k races, etc. The sooner the overall plan is developed, the sooner trees can be planted.

What is the plan concerning the 3 bridges across Cary Bayou? I believe I heard Scott Johnson say they would be replaced.

Concerning the Bark Park: The city should light this park. Next, a flea and tick spray schedule should be placed outside the park and updated monthly.

Tree-Riding and the Art of Bicycle Maintenance

I'm a fifty-six year old soon to be geezer (or dirty old man if I can swing it) and I do not wish to return to my youth, although I rode it hard and put it up wet every chance I got. I still have my moments though, albeit in fantasy only.

My beautiful and entertaining mother used to occupy the five of us kids around Halloween by smiling with a pair of the then popular sweet-liquid filled paraffin teeth, reshaped to look like buck-teeth and she would drive us to town proudly grinning at passer-bys and we would howl like the Comanches we saw on TV.

I have a pair of Bubba teeth that I bought in Houston a number of years ago when they first became available. These are the real deal made by the ex-Dentist Jason Frankel and used in Hollywood movies and they are fantastically awful looking – and real cool and fit perfectly, as they came with a dental gel that allowed me to fit them to my personal teeth print. I need to find me a realistic looking mullet wig and start wearing this combination when I drive home from work, so I can get my childhood mojo working again. I have a history to live up to, you know. Maybe someone will wave at me thinking I'm Jim Finley.

Being the oldest boy with 3 stair-step younger brothers, I led a ready made team of fun-seekers and living all over the country, we found ways to amuse ourselves in the absence of long time friends, plus we garnered new methods from wherever we happened to live.

One favorite activity was tree climbing and on occasion, tree-riding. Tree-riding was the act of climbing a limber sapling of say, twenty-feet and when the top was reached, holding on as it toppled over. The trick was to remain attached and dropping off as it's top came close to the ground and then letting go as the tree whipped back up. Sometimes it worked well and other times, not so well, bruises and all. I think our tree-riding skills were perfected in the piney woods of North Georgia.

We had a chicken coup in Dundee Michigan in the early 1960's that was nothing more than a two-story barn with an open hay door on the second floor. A sycamore tree had been allowed to grow up beside the front of the building and in the evenings, the guinea fowl would roost in it. A long leap from the window to the closest strong branch could be attained and the prospect of missing made it all the more tempting a pastime.

I remember owning two bicycles before I bought my first used ten-speed at the age of seventeen, using my work money. I can't really recollect the first, but the second one I got for Christmas while living in Morgan, Utah and if I remember correctly, I was in about the third grade. It was used of course, but had new paint and I loved that shiny bike. I rode it through my Junior High years in Toledo, Ohio and really became a polished bike mechanic about this time.

My beloved two-wheel mode of transportation was of standard configuration and the super cool "stingray" bikes had hit the market, with their banana seats and high handlebars. Well, I just had to have some those handlebars and I figured if I sold back enough "pop" bottles (I lived in Ohio, not Texas remember), I could eventually swing the $2.80 the new bars cost.

This was a tremendous amount of money back then with a fat candy bar costing five cents and since the banana seat was over twelve dollars and out of reach, the cost of the bars were a noble challenge. So, the day came, cool high bars installed with much grunting and sweat and I began my career of doing my own maintenance, which I have retained in adulthood, albeit now, I actually follow through and make sure it is done properly.

I painted and repainted my bike so many times, which basically amounted to spraying over dirt and all and at this time it was flat black. The fenders were gone and I had raised the seat post to its limit. The chain guard and Bendix-brand brakes were completely gone and I had disconnected them, using my PF Flyer brakes when needed instead. Now, on the front axles, the threads were boogered up a bit from my sloppy attempts to reattach the wheel after patching the front tube many times and I had become lax in actually tightening the front nuts. I was always in a hurry - a hurry to play outside somewhere.

Never mind, I was in a rush to play sandlot baseball with my chums and off I went in a clanging high-speed wobble. Now, I was about thirteen and the first vestiges of testosterone were beginning to course through my adolescent loins and as I came upon the street corner, low and behold, two budding felines, books under their arms were right there in my crosshairs, so doing the only thing I knew I could do to impress them, I attempted my first and last "wheelie".

To my shock and yes, awe, the front tire catapulted off into the ionosphere and as gravity is wont to do, it pulled my forks earthward at something akin to "six-hun-ert miles an hour", flipping me over the bars and onto my back. The last thing I recollect as my boyishly lean hips went skyward was the tire rolling down the street and the humiliating sound of raucous girl laughter.