At 41 was for me 16 years ago, so in December, 1988, I was at my first XMAS in old St. Pete. I was living in a slumlord apartment in the 300 block of 8th St. North, working for Manpower, making about $125 per week, when the third floor apartment was torched. The fire was put out, but building condemned. The apartment cost $150/month, so was OK except for the roaches and the drunk out back who threatened me whenever I got around him.
I moved to another apartment house owned by the landlord on 8th Ave east near the Northshore Park, but it cost all of $55 dollars per week and there was always a congregation of drunks out back. On December 26, 1988, the day after Christmaz, tired of paying rent juist getting by and all the drunks ,I moved out, got a storage space with Barnie's storage out on Gandy Blvd. It cost $40/month for a 5X10 ft space, was gated, man, with 24 hour access. I slept out on Gandy out where the fishermen are out all night near the old Gandy bridge across Tampa Bay, before the new one was built. It was not so new-fangled then....there was old campers, vans, and other cars out there. I had a spot near some bushes, on the north side of Gandy there near the water.....it was so peaceful. I slept diagonally in my old Chevette....The cops would patrol regularly and they never hassled me....I hung towels in the windows to keep out the light.
It was OK. I felt lonesome, but had WMNF counter culture radio also I went to two drawing groups each week, the Art Center of St. Pete on Sat mornings and the Tampa Museum on Wed evenings. I stayed with the St Pete Art Center drawing group for at least ten years; I knew them longest and first before anybody else. I would go in there shaking and scared and draw. It was very therapeutic.
I also had a friend at the Manpower office, Connie? Creek. I did not have a phone, but would drive down to the Mobil stop and shop at the corner of Gandy and 4th St. Nth and call from a phone booth early in the mornings. She would set me up with different jobs.
I worked all over Pinellas County, light industrial. Some places would have a shower, yippie. Otherwise, I had this thing down at North Shore Park swimming pool. I'd pay $1.25, go swimming and they had a hot shower there! I had to go swimming as a cover, tho.
Also this was during the time that I'd given up drinking, from August of "88. Living at the old first apt. the Moving Wall was down at Straub Park north of the St. Pete Art museum. I would go out there at night when the other vets were out there. They were playing Billy Joel's lament, "We will all go down together." I had been counseling at the Vet Center, when was told that they were only to counsel the heavy combat vets. This was in the summer of "88. I was hanging out down there and feeling stressed. I went back to the crib. I was drinking some beer, not alot, but every day. One evening about then, in the summer, I'd bought a beer by walking out to a store after dark, a quart beer, and was threatened by a kid and also approached by a drug dealer. I got back home, drank half the quart and realized that I felt worse. I went to sleep and the next morning I poured out the rest of the beer and did not drink again for 3 & 1/2 years. Just after me 41st birthday, May of '88.
But it got worse at first. The fire at Christmas season in "88. I was living in my car on Gandy Blvd. I ate good, tho, would go to Wendy's on Gandy in south Tampa and get their all you can eat pasta bar for $4....I saved about $800 by not paying rent and, oh yeah, I bought clothes at the Goodwill out by the dog track, also a plastic tub that I'd wash up in, inside of my storage space. I also would drive out to Ft. Desoto Park and use their cold showers whilst spending peaceful time. Once when we had a cold front that winter, I drove down to the Keys, more car sleeping.
I also drove up to the mountains in north Georgia, and over to Ashville. I was feeling lonesome and distressed about what to do. I stopped at some country intersection and this red neck yelled at me, "Go back to Florida!"
I remember feeling angry and sad. I yelled out and cursed God, whilst driving the ever present freeway, a flashback to my hiatus of the previous year, driving for weeks and weeks and months, mission staying, flop houses, lonely haggard hotels, working as a laborer in Texas and Arizona, all since leaving Shreveport in May of "87 at 40. I said explicitly a curse to God,I said, "God Damn God!" repeated it several times while headed down east towards Savannah, March of ''89.
I stopped there in the morning, old part of town, was just stopped, resting. I saw this strange couple walking down the road. The guy was dressed in black. He had a huge skull, bony, looked like a strange scary fellow, with big black glasses....His lady was also strange looking, with big jaw bones. They both looked at me and smiled. She gave a slight wave. It was familiar as tho I had seen them somewhere before. Maybe Rainbow family at the gathering I stumbled through while vagabonding out west in Oregon in "80. They passed by. I got a chill and drove back down to Tampa Bay and my spot on Gandy by the water.
Early next morning, in April of '88, I got up early. I saw a pelican fly by. There was this large block of concrete, a buffer for the waves. I stood up on it to take a look around, slipped on the fine algae wet with morning dew, fell into the water. My right hand was cut open at the ball of the thumb, 3 inches a clean cut from a barnacle. I could see the muscles clearly. I started to get nauseous and pass out. I crouched down low and prayed for help. I held my hand up and it was not bleeding My head cleared.
I wrapped it in a towel, drove to the Mobil station, called the V.A. hospital emergency room and told them I was driving over. They took me in right away, swabbed and washed the wound, stitched it up real nice. It never hurt.
They asked me if I was homeless. I said yeas. They offered me an interview to stay at the veterans domiciliary. I went there, was offered a bed. I went inside and talked with some vets. They were all chain smoking cigarettes. I asked them about the "butterfly notes" I was to get left on my bed at various daily intervals. They were for appointments. It felt too confining.
I left the V.A. drove back into town and bought a paper, looked for rooms to rent. I went to this one house on the corner of 8th St North and Burlington near downtown, 1/2 block from my first apt. It was a nice rooming house with an old lady who lived downstairs, Gladie. she said, In a deep southern genteel drawl, "Why we'd just love to have you come stay with us!" all for $45/per week, a real haven. I met a fellow vet, Nam Vet, who was also a temp laborer. It was a wholesome safe haven for me. I stayed there a year.
By then I was 42. I got a regular gig evenings with Manpower at a flashlight factory and did the CNA program at PTEC. Summer of '89. Gladie was 89 and was leaving to stay with her kids. The house was closing down. I noticed that the guy who I was working with at the flashlight factory up on Bryan Dairy Road in Largo lived right across the street on the northeast corner of 8th st N. and Burlington. I moved over there, another old rooming house, with a small NON AIRCONDITIONED room at $140/month....It was peaceful and friendly.
I stayed there, got a job at a nursing home as a CNA making g an incredible wage of $6.25/hour and felt important. I also got back with the Vet Center, with a new director.
Not bad for a former air Farce cargo pilot, street veteran war protester. conscientious objector to American imperialism.
I stayed there at the Simkins place off and on for the next several years while earning my LPN and RN and working later at Bayfront. It unfolded; I was blessed. Now the nurse man for St Joe.
Now at 57, I feel tired a lot. My future options are less geared towards achievement and more towards a "chop wood carry water" sentiment.
I still have bad days, but the frequency is much less.
I have never ridden in a limo but I live in a house with a wife and a life. Happy 41st, man. Keep me posted.
