The Story In My Eyes

This picture was taken when I lived with my Grandma and Grandpa. I couldn't have been more than two. I had no idea what was in store. That period of my life is pretty blurry. I was at my step-mother's grave today asking why I can remember the wrench bouncing off the door, the hatchet, and being held up against a wall by angry hands, why I remember the Lava soap luncheon,. but I don't remember being cuddled with or schmoozed with, why I don't remember being held in someone's lap.... It is late this evening and I must rest, but I want to start this blog that will become my story. Will become an explanation of why I feel I am as much or more Crum than anybody I know....

....I have a few minutes this morning to add a little more. I've already blogged regarding some of the more memorable moments of early childhood before we moved to River City. I do remember encountering some difficulties in school at Nora Springs though. Had to stay inside form recess for fighting. For example...A classmate by the name of Waters was teasing me about my name. It wasn't always easy with a last name like Crum, ie., cookie crumb, Betty Crocker crumb, crummy crum and so on. You get the picture. Well I took offense at his remarks so I picked him up and without saying a word I carried him halfway across the school and tossed him in a mud puddle...waters...get it?? Richard Waters??? Well the teacher wasn't all that sympathetic to my cause so I spent a week sitting at my desk while the rest of the class went outsied for recess. Including Richard Waters...

After we moved to the River City suburb of Central Heights I encountered some interesting characters and fought a number of fights. Some more memorable than others...
I remember walking home from school with a bunch of kids following me, teasing, telling me they could beat me up. After a few blocks I guess I figured what the hell. I stopped and told them come on let's get it over with then. But nobody wanted to fight. One of them was Harley. I had several run ins with Harley later. He wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, but I don't think he ever made me as angry as he did when he pissed in my brand new Wellington boots. I don't know what pissed me off more...that he would piss in my new boots I'd worked so hard for...or that I was wearing them when he did.

I suppose I spent most of the 1950's learning to fight. Then I spent the '60's learning to fight better...and play music. I loved rock & roll. I had a 9v transistor radio and I could listen to KRIB play all the hits. I wanted to be two things in the '60's. A soldier, and I wanted to play in a rock & roll band.
I remember riding in a car with Jim and Sheila. She had a '57 Chevy Bel Air. Way cool car. Jim was driving and we were heading to town after school one day. Jim had been feuding with Rick. Rick was a year older and always had a buch of guys tagging along. It was a little spooky sometimes but so far no violence had broken out. Well, on this particular day, we had a flat tire. As we pulled over to the side of the street to change the tire Rick showed up with a car load of his buddies and started trying to pick a fight with Jim. Sheila had had enough I guess because she up and slapped Rick in the face telling him to just leave us alone. Rick hauled off and punched her right in the nose. "No chick's gonna hit me", he told her. Jim just went around to the back of the car and PUT THE TIRE IRON HE WAS HOLDING IN HIS HAND IN THE TRUNK!!! I'd'a clobbered that SOB. But I guess Jim just didn't want to fight. I couldn't let it end there so I stepped up and told Rick I thought that was going a bit far and if he wanted to fight I guess I was ready to oblige him.
We both put up our dukes and started dancing around. I don't think either of us wanted to get hit as after a few punches were thrown we were stand too far apart for anyone to get hurt. I wanted this over so I made up my mind to take the fight to him and I was a pretty fair wrestler. I stepped up to him and grabbed him by the shirt and arm. Stepping a little behind one of his legs I gave him a bit of a throw. He came up off his feet, land flat on his back with me on top punching for all I'm worth. He managed to get over on his hands and knees and I slammed him face first into the asphalt, climbed on top and began pounding the tar out of him again. About that time Mom showed up and told me she thought he'd had enough and that I should let him up and come home. She knew of the bad blood between Jim and Rick so she wasn't giving me hell, just wanting me to come home. I told her if I let him up he'd probably kick my ass and I was in no mood for that. Rick was pretty quiet at this point, saying only that his fight wasn't with me. That I would have no trouble from him anymore. I never did. But Jim got kind of pissy later...thought I was trying to steal his girl. I became a hero that day.
There was an incident just off campus from the High School that pretty much secured a reputation as pretty good brawler for me...but that story can wait. It is late now and I must rest....
I was standing with a group of high school kids across the street. My next door neighbor was about to mix it up a character name of Leo. Leo was a jerk and I really wanted to see Tom knock this guy into next week. Well, he was doing a pretty good job of it until he slipped in a patch of mud and fell. Leo was a jerk, but not a stupid jerk. He stepped up and planted a boot right in Dorny's nose. Fight over.
I caught up with Leo that evening at Ransom's pool hall. I called him out. Told him to meet me after school next day. I was going to whip his ass WITHOUT using my feet. Bring friends, but so am I. Tell everybody. I want the whole school to watch. Next day Leo's not in school. That night I came down with whatever it is used to plague me. Nasty cold. Can't breathe. Stuffed up. Spent all Thursday in bed covered in Vicks with a hot plate boiling water trying to break up the conjestion. Friday afternoon I told Mom I had a test at school. What subject. History!!
Still not able to breathe well I knew the fight couldn't last long. Knew I needed to put in a couple good licks and maybe he'd quit. His buddies knew of the fight with Rick, were telling him "don't wrestle with that guy".
We squared off and he threw a couple punches I dodged easily. Noticed he was holding his hands apart about face level so I put a couple right jabs smack dead center. Blood spurts from his nose. But he didn't quit. Boxing didn't work for him, now he wants to wrestle. When he closed in to grab me slipped past his grasp and countered with a hip throw that landed him face first on the windshield of a car moving slowly through the crowd of kids that had gathered around to watch the excitement. I think there were something like 1500 kids enrolled at River City High that year. Probably 1498 were watching this contest of macho. I didn't notice at the time but there was this rather attractive young lady and her mother in the front seat of that Chervrolet sedan. As it turned out she later became my first failed affair of the heart....
Back to the action...When Leo bounced off the windshield of that Chevy a lot of the fight was out of him and about that time the police arrived. A friend of mine had his car door open telling me I should get in and just not be there when that cop got through the crowd.

The following Monday I was suspended from school, so was Tom, so was Leo. But everybody was talking about the fight. I had kicked Leo's ass just like I said I would! I passed the history "exam"!

Dad talks of how tough his uncle George was, how he won that fight in a beer joint with some guy who thought he pick on the geezer. I fought that fight even though I was sick with bronchitis. Even though I was not sure of the outcome. The fight was probably stupid. But if being a Crum means having courage and standing up to those who would push you or your friends around...I'm a Crum, have been from the get go.

Dad gave me a book of Floyd County history a while back. There is a chapter on Martin Crum. Martin was dad's grandfather. In it he is described as the "best damn superintendant" the county farm ever had. Well these Methodists think I am the "best damn custodian" they've ever had. If being a Crum is about being the "best" at something, I've been good at a lot of things I've tried. I was a damn good soldier...as a musician I was self taught and worked in different combinations on and off for over thirty years...I turned a few dusty guitars into a $150,00 a year section of a music store in a little under 4 years....when the music scene was taken over by D.J.s and all but destroyed by ASCAP and the toughter DUI laws I went to work in manufacturing... was told "we're sure gonna miss you" when I left Armour. I was sausage kitchen utility, I could operate all machines but the Franko-matic, was responsible for all weights and measures, ensured supplies were available for all machines so the operators could produce product and not shag neccessaries. When I left 'Bago my lead man told me "Why does it have to be you?" If being a Crum is being good at your job, I've been good at about everything I've set my mind to.

So if being a Crum means you are good at what you do, I've been a Crum since I was a Boy Scout. Even then I was Patrol leader, then Senior Patrol Leader, Junior Assistant Scoutmaster, Den Chief. I am a legitimate descendant of those men who moved west as our country expanded and settled communities from wilderness. I have Williams blood flowing in my veins. For dad not to see this is on him, not me.