Holloman's Trailer Park, Seffner, FL
Was watching the CBS show SWINGTOWN this morning. I had 4 episodes DVR'd from when I was traveling a lot. I watched 2 yesterday morning and 2 this morning. The story line is pretty standard soap opera type fare, but the music and references are pure '70s, which means, of course, pure nostalgia for me.
So a Bob Dylan song came on (Liz Phair has her hand in the music selection for the show) and I flashed back to 1978, Holloman's Trailer Park, and the steep, steep learning curve that is moving out on your own. Oh baby!, I remember a new surprise every day... and not the pleasant kind. And I know that you know.
I was 18 and moved from home with the intention of never going back. And with the exception of a couple of weeks right before boot camp, I never did. Not a family friction kind of thing but a stubborn streak kind of thing. An Ed thing although I can hardly be alone. I had ended up in Seffner, in a trailer park, in an old trailer that I paid $90 a week for. I was working for $2.85 an hour, and even with huge amounts of overtime, you can do the math and deduce the struggle. As a side note, the same trailer still sits in the same spot and is still renting out.
I came to the realization gradually that I was never gonna get anywhere from where I was. Freedom is a powerful feeling when you are 18 and in charge of your own destiny, no matter how messed up the route you choose. But the hits, they just keep on coming. Take a $140 paycheck and deduct $90.OK, that's cool. Oh, wait. Need to pay electric. OK. Oh yeah, and gas. And for that matter, gasoline. Oh, and some food. And the motorcycle payment. And insurance. And the chain needs to be replaced. And...and...and...OH MY GOSH!! Everybody has their hand in my pocket!! Welcome to the real world. Nothing's free. Or easy.
So I took in a roommate. Yeah, that's the ticket. He was my best friend. My unemployed best friend. That helped matters out - NOT. Well, truthfully, it did kinda help. We kept each other from taking the trip out to Depression City as we figured our way in the world. And, cliched as it may be, that which did not kill us made us stronger.
We had a TV. Physically, we had a TV. It did not work. It was one of those that had 4 legs and was almost a console TV, but not quite. We kept a plant on it. Didn't want anyone to know we were too poor to buy a TV, although I think the trailer and the park probably gave at least a hint of the real situation. And eventually, one year when my income tax check came in, we both skipped school (yes, I was actually still in high school, due to a certian lackidasical attitude on my part in some of the previous school years. And yes, even more surprisingly, I still tried to go every day, at least most of the time I did) to go cash that check and then go get ourselves a functioning television. Used maybe, but functioning. And that we did, two teenage boys on a Kawasaki KH 400 , hauling a pretty good sized TV between us. Me with my crotch all but straddling the handlebar and him with his butt all but off the back, and the TV safely on the padded seat in between us we putted on home to hook our new (to us) TV. This little excursion, although I didn't realize it at the time, served as a test run for later shopping trips on a motorbike to the weekend market in Thailand.
But before we got rich enough to own a new used TV, we had a record player. And records, for those of you who remember records. At the time, albums were going for about $3, which seemed kind of expensive. But as a free spirited, living on his own teenager, what ya gonna do? You have to have tuneage. And we did. John Prine, Marshall Tucker, Dire Straits, Elton John, Grinderswitch, Pink Floyd, Commander Cody (& His Lost Planet Airmen), Elvin Bishop, Rick Wakeman, and certianly, Bob Dylan. And as much as we loved Dylan... as much as we respected his talent... sometimes the lyrics would be just sooo self important and, when sung in that nasally voice and that inconsistent pitch of his, well, we would literally roll on the floor laughing. Couldn't help ourselves. And hearing that clip on Swingtown took me back for a moment to two poor trailer park boys, prone on that trailer's threadbare carpeted floor, holding our sides with tears in our eyes. An instant smile from a not so simpler time.
Early one morning the sun was shining and I was laying in bed, out
Ramblin Ed
Liz Phair - Polyester Bride:
So a Bob Dylan song came on (Liz Phair has her hand in the music selection for the show) and I flashed back to 1978, Holloman's Trailer Park, and the steep, steep learning curve that is moving out on your own. Oh baby!, I remember a new surprise every day... and not the pleasant kind. And I know that you know.
I was 18 and moved from home with the intention of never going back. And with the exception of a couple of weeks right before boot camp, I never did. Not a family friction kind of thing but a stubborn streak kind of thing. An Ed thing although I can hardly be alone. I had ended up in Seffner, in a trailer park, in an old trailer that I paid $90 a week for. I was working for $2.85 an hour, and even with huge amounts of overtime, you can do the math and deduce the struggle. As a side note, the same trailer still sits in the same spot and is still renting out.
I came to the realization gradually that I was never gonna get anywhere from where I was. Freedom is a powerful feeling when you are 18 and in charge of your own destiny, no matter how messed up the route you choose. But the hits, they just keep on coming. Take a $140 paycheck and deduct $90.OK, that's cool. Oh, wait. Need to pay electric. OK. Oh yeah, and gas. And for that matter, gasoline. Oh, and some food. And the motorcycle payment. And insurance. And the chain needs to be replaced. And...and...and...OH MY GOSH!! Everybody has their hand in my pocket!! Welcome to the real world. Nothing's free. Or easy.
So I took in a roommate. Yeah, that's the ticket. He was my best friend. My unemployed best friend. That helped matters out - NOT. Well, truthfully, it did kinda help. We kept each other from taking the trip out to Depression City as we figured our way in the world. And, cliched as it may be, that which did not kill us made us stronger.
We had a TV. Physically, we had a TV. It did not work. It was one of those that had 4 legs and was almost a console TV, but not quite. We kept a plant on it. Didn't want anyone to know we were too poor to buy a TV, although I think the trailer and the park probably gave at least a hint of the real situation. And eventually, one year when my income tax check came in, we both skipped school (yes, I was actually still in high school, due to a certian lackidasical attitude on my part in some of the previous school years. And yes, even more surprisingly, I still tried to go every day, at least most of the time I did) to go cash that check and then go get ourselves a functioning television. Used maybe, but functioning. And that we did, two teenage boys on a Kawasaki KH 400 , hauling a pretty good sized TV between us. Me with my crotch all but straddling the handlebar and him with his butt all but off the back, and the TV safely on the padded seat in between us we putted on home to hook our new (to us) TV. This little excursion, although I didn't realize it at the time, served as a test run for later shopping trips on a motorbike to the weekend market in Thailand.
But before we got rich enough to own a new used TV, we had a record player. And records, for those of you who remember records. At the time, albums were going for about $3, which seemed kind of expensive. But as a free spirited, living on his own teenager, what ya gonna do? You have to have tuneage. And we did. John Prine, Marshall Tucker, Dire Straits, Elton John, Grinderswitch, Pink Floyd, Commander Cody (& His Lost Planet Airmen), Elvin Bishop, Rick Wakeman, and certianly, Bob Dylan. And as much as we loved Dylan... as much as we respected his talent... sometimes the lyrics would be just sooo self important and, when sung in that nasally voice and that inconsistent pitch of his, well, we would literally roll on the floor laughing. Couldn't help ourselves. And hearing that clip on Swingtown took me back for a moment to two poor trailer park boys, prone on that trailer's threadbare carpeted floor, holding our sides with tears in our eyes. An instant smile from a not so simpler time.
Early one morning the sun was shining and I was laying in bed, out
Ramblin Ed
Liz Phair - Polyester Bride:
That's what I'm about. Ramblin' Ed at 6:39 AM
2 comments:
Quite a journey, Ed. Plus, it ain't over yet, eh? Or least we like to think so. :-)
I really like Liz Phair...Phair enough...Get it?
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