The next three years, 1995, 1996, and 1997 were learning experiences for our entire family. We were a "Cajun" family learning how to get along in a "Hillbilly World". We learned not to take natural gas for granted and began to enjoy the use of wood heat. The first winter here, we did not know too much about operating the dampers on the wood heater, so we just opened the windows when it got too hot in the house. Somewhat ridiculous, 10 degrees outside and 95 degrees in the house!
The kids were actually proud to live in Arkansas, and they made friends here, and were less dependent on the relationships they had left behind.
Winter driving was quite different than winters in Louisiana. There was the winter that I bought studded tires; I thought that would enable me to go anywhere anytime! I was working
Fridays in Salem at that time, and it was very important that I get to work. We needed the money, and I could not afford to miss any work at all. One Thursday night I watched the weather, and from what I gathered from the forecast, it would be in my best interest to leave about 2 A.M. so that I could arrive in Salem before the roads began icing over. Now I had not yet learned that it was best to drive on black topped, or so called "primary" roads rather than gravel of "secondary" roads. So I thought nothing about taking the shortcut that I had discovered. It was a gravel road that ran due north through the woods on a gravel or "secondary" road. It would have been much closer for me to get to a primary road, but with the studs, I had nothing to worry about! The studs were just marvelous, they enabled me to get about 5 miles away from the house before I skidded off of the gravel road. The shortcut wound through the woods and finally came out on Hwy 9 just to the south of Oxford. When I came to a stop on the side of the icy gravel road, I tried and tried to get back onto the middle of the roadway. No such luck; my studs failed me after all! I could not walk back home because it was sleeting and snowing, and I could not even see the roadway. The last thing that I needed was to slip down on the ice and re injure my back. So there I was stranded on an icy gravel road at least 5 or 6 miles from home and another 5 or 6 miles from Hwy 9. I stayed in my truck the rest of the night
About 4 A.M. I began to experience a rumbling in my gut. I thought, "Oh No", not "Frank"! Well, finally I exited the truck, very carefully, because the surface of the road was extremely slick. I pulled my pants down, and then it happened, explosive "Frank Diarrhea"! The blast reached all the way out into the middle of the road! I rummaged around for something to wipe with, and found a roll of paper towels in the cab. I threw the wadded up tissue as far as I could, then got back into the truck. I sat very still until daylight, then I began walking very slowly back toward the house. Some "Hillbilly" came along in a truck with four-wheel drive and the cargo bed was loaded down with firewood that gave him added traction. He was just cruising along like any bright sunny day. I hitched a ride with him until the road forked, he was going straight and I was going right, so that was the end of the ride. He did not offer to take me the rest of the way home, and I did not ask. I walked the next two miles and arrived back home feeling somewhat pathetic! I only used studs that one year, after that I wrote them off as useless! When I got Bob to go with me to get my truck, I was evasive about the blasted frozen crap that plastered the center of the road. I even said, "Damn an animal must have shit all over the road"! I doubt very seriously that he believed that, but nothing more was said. I was very careful to not look in the direction of the brown paper towels that had blown onto the side of the road. Whether or not he saw the paper is anybody's guess, I sure as hell was not going to ask him!
In the spring of 1995 a solicitation intended for some other boy appeared in our mailbox. The solicitation was from Mickey Owen Baseball School in Miller, Missouri. Unfortunately, Scott looked at the flyer before it could be put back into the mailbox to be delivered to the correct addressee. This, of course, sparked a desire in him to attend one of the summer sessions at Mickey Owen. Well, it is now 2001, and he had not missed a summer since 1995. We now have invested more in Mickey Owen Baseball School than I invested in five years of college! He has now become a counselor, and thankfully he can finally attend free of charge! I doubt very seriously that he could ever become a professional baseball player, but he could be a coach or a manager or a broadcaster or anything related to any sport. So hopefully the investment will pay dividends in the future. He lettered in baseball as a freshman at ICC, so at least it has made a difference in his life as a high school athlete.
By mid 1996, Joan was forced to look for work. We were burning cash, and a second income was imperative for survival. Some of the local educators had begun to question her ability to teach since she had not even bothered to apply at any of the high schools in the area. She knew that it would be a complete waste of time, because once a person landed one of those coveted jobs; they clung to it for life! One morning she gathered her documentation and went to Melbourne to Ozarka College to apply for a job teaching biology. An old secretary immediately told her that she was certain there was nothing there for her. She paid no attention to the woman and just went about her business filling out an application. She had to call USL to get part of her transcript faxed to her before she could complete the application. By the time she got back home, the phone was ringing. It seemed as though someone in the administrative department wished to talk with her. So she drove the 15 miles back to Melbourne, and after a somewhat brief interview; she was hired as a part time professor. She taught on a part time basis that spring semester and summer school, then the following fall she was hired as a full time professor. She later became the head of the science department. In the year 2001 she was voted most outstanding faculty member by the Arkansas Association of Two-Year Colleges.
One bright summer morning, after a futile effort to find more work in Cave City. I stopped at a Kerr McGee station in Evening Shade to have the oil changed in my truck. While I was waiting for the mechanic to finish the job, a man came over to me and struck up a conversation. He told me that he was disabled, but he had formerly been a truck driver. He said that he had driven into all 53 states, but later recanted that story, as he never made it into Maine!
By the summer of 1996, I was working four part time jobs. I had a day each week at three pharmacies and one day (or night if necessary) at the hospital in Cherokee Village, Arkansas. That summer Scott was playing baseball in a youth league, and Kaci was playing softball in a league for young girls. Joan resumed her education; she had attended ASU the spring before to pursue a masters degree in Chemistry. One Tuesday night I went to Viola, Arkansas with Kaci to watch her game. We did not get home until nearly midnight. Joan usually got up at 3 A.M. so that she could make it to Jonesboro in time to teach an 8 A.M. Chemistry Lab. That particular morning my mental alarm went off at 2 A.M. Wednesday had become my regular day to work at Randy's in Hardy. This is the busiest store in which I have every worked, and at the end of a day, I would walk out with my tongue dragging! This particular Wednesday, Joan came in very close to closing time. We had a dilemma, Scott was in Oxford at the ballpark and Kaci was in Bandmill at a friend's house. I had a choice, pick up Scott at the ballpark in Oxford or Kaci in Bandmill. I did not like either of the options, but I was obligated to choose one or the other. I elected to go to Oxford to the ballpark. Joan told me that the closest way was through Glencoe, then through Horseshoebend, then on through Wiseman and over to Oxford. I questioned the route since it was not exactly my beaten path. She assured me that she was correct, and it was the shortest possible way to get to Oxford.
As I left Randy's that afternoon, I realized how especially tired I felt, and I thought about how little sleep I was operating on. However, I followed Joan's driving instructions and just as I was getting into Horseshoebend, I lost track of the highway. I remember the grass on the shoulder of the road, but nothing after that; that is until about 45 minutes later when I began to regain consciousness! I had nose dived into a culvert, hit my nose on the steering wheel, and whipped the brake with my leg. Apparently I had been semi-conscious as the ambulance folks tried to figure out what they had on their hands. I apparently expanded the vocabularies of several of the crewmembers as I insisted that I was indeed going to the ballpark. I was aroused by the voice of a familiar nurse, and I began to get my head back together. I could remember my date of birth, but I could not figure out how old I was. They whisked me away to the hospital where my head was x-rayed; amazingly I had only a broken nose and a severe concussion. The doctor wanted me to spend the night in the hospital, but I told him to go to hell that I was going home! When I was finally wheeled to the rear door of the ER, I suddenly found out that I had a giant hematoma on my right leg. The leg was then wrapped with an ice pack, and Joan and I left for home. I promised the doctor that I would go to his office the next day for an echocardiogram. My face was so swollen that I looked grotesque. As we walked over to the doctor's office a child was skipping along on the same walkway where Joan and I were walking. She got a look at me and ran screaming to her mother! After the echocardiogram, we stopped at a diner in Franklin to get a bite to eat. A lady seated at a table next to us nearly broke her neck several times as she twisted around to get another look at me. Joan and I got a good laugh about both incidents, and I was back at work in Salem that Friday. The following Wednesday, however, I finally cracked emotionally, and I was driven home. I finally took a few days off, and then back to the grind I went. I hobbled along on that leg for a long time before the hematoma finally abated.
Joan and the kids go to church in Horseshoebend on Sundays, but I only go there if I am forced to do so!
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