Back in the Day

 

Life in the Fast Lane

                                By Codis Hampton II

 

 

Joining the Army, I left Milwaukee as a boy and returned as a young man in July of 1965. I was full of ideals and ideas. I was 20 years old and would reach 21 in August of that year. I was so…so full of myself. Although if you asked my father, he would probably say I was full of something else. Nevertheless, I thought I had all of the answers. In fact, I could predict some of the questions before anyone would ask them. I thought I was a man when I joined the Army only to find out I was wrong. But this time, at least that’s what I thought, I was right. I was a young black man with a hell of a future in front of me.

  Immediately after arriving home I did a very manly thing. I moved in with my father. In my mind, I had no intention of going to work for a year. I had just completed the most vigorous transformation from a wide-eyed kid to become one of Americas most prized sons, a Soldier. I had been taught how to kill, defend myself, and survive in the wilderness on nothing but guile. I could identify deadly snakes at a glance.  As a man who thought like a man, I knew that none of these traits would allow me to earn one dollar as a civilian. They had also taught me how to drive anything on wheels. Now that is something I may be able to use. Truck drivers made a lot of money for long road trips. But that would come later. The first thing on my agenda is to make the transition into civilian life.

 Right now, I am single and loving it, I thought. When I ate a hamburger, the family was fed. I had no responsibilities and I didn’t have to be anywhere in the morning, afternoon, or night. And I wanted to keep it that way for a least one year. I had a full wardrobe of the latest men fashion ware, including expensive shoes and several suits that were tailor-made while serving in Korea.  Man! I was ready to live the life. I was eligible to draw unemployment compensation for one year. That and a couple of odd jobs and hustling would see me through. I would pay my father rent and keep my headquarters (most of my clothes and other valuables) at his house. Well! You know how it is. I might spend the night anywhere. Hell! I might even spend a couple of days in Chicago…who knows. I was free, black, and single. I was living life in the fast lane…can you dig it?

 My father told me to save my money. He was glad to help me get started. Of course I had not told him of the master plan. After about three months of my coming and going at all hours of the night, and sometimes not showing up for days, little did I know this type of behavior was not “sitting well” with dad, who I had begun to call Pop. I don’t know why…you know how it is… young people do those kind of things for no reason at all.

 Now you have to understand. My father was a family orientated man. He didn’t talk a lot. But when he did say something, you had better be listening. He was a blue color worker with a menial job that caused him to be very tired when he got home during the week. But he was also a man who liked to have a drink or two or three on the weekends. He loved to fish and usually would combine the two on most weekends. So, looking back on it I would imagine he would worry if I had a place to stay on the weekends he took my stepmother, little brother and sister fishing. Hey! He didn’t have to worry cause I was in the fast lane and landing wherever my travels took me on Friday night.

 Well, Daddy (as he preferred to be called) got off work one day and as he arrived at home I was sitting on the front porch. He looked tired and dirty. I was sitting there in freshly shined shoes, creased dress slacks, and a banlon sweater (very popular in those days) that had buttons from collar to waistline. Of course, the sweater was opened. That’s the way we wore them when we were lounging around. “Boy! We gonna have to talk, he said” “Sure Po…ah…daddy, what’s happening?" I answered”. “What do you plan on doing with your life?” he asked.  That was the first time that I had a chance to tell him of my master plan. Pop! Excuse me. Daddy was not impressed.  But he was a fair man. He gave me thirty days to move my headquarters to another location.  He explained that my type of behavior, no responsibility, etc was not a good example for my younger sister and brother. He said I could visit anytime but I needed to find my own apartment.

 I was hurt. I could not understand it. My own father…kicking me out. “Sporty Odie Codie” was being evicted from his father’s house. After the shock wore off (a couple of days) I started looking for a place to call home.  

 I found a nice little cottage. Shortly afterward, a friend of mine along with his lady moved in to share the rent and life was even more wonderful. New friends and acquaintances were falling out of the sky. There were always people willing to chip in on a party. The speed limit had increased in the fast lane. Daddy had done me a favor.

As I remember this party house lasted about six months. Let’s just say, increased responsibility has rules. The rent and utilities must be paid on time, not when you get around to it.  It’s hard to tell your buddies to go home in the early morning hours. And unlike my fathers house there was no place to just chill out when your house is full of people.  If you don’t have guest your roommate might someone over. The party didn’t stop. And of course the neighbors started complaining. My landlord showed up with a list of complaints. The people were too noisy, the music was too loud and there was a funny odor emitting from the house. It smelled like Pot or Weed or whatever you call it. “What’s going on here?” my landlord demanded to know.  In the end my landlord laid down a few general rules that I had been unaware of at the outset of my renting the cottage.

 I had to make changes in the household rules. I had to start respecting my neighbors’ rights, as I wanted them to respect my rights. The seven-day a week party was over. Well the first people unhappy about these new rules were my fellow fast lane buddies and girlfriends. You can imagine, I started losing those new friends just as fast as I had gained them. In the end, I found myself all alone in a cottage with a space heater that did not prevent me from catching pneumonia that year. Coincidentally, I got sick right after I found a good job and had to be hospitalized for about 9 days.

Shortly after my released the cottage was gone for nonpayment of rent that was already in arrears.  I lost the job. It had been an assignment through a temporary agency and they found someone else who was able to report to work.  Therefore I had to start all over. But this time, I had learned another lesson about being a man. A man has certain obligations if to no one but himself. There are responsibilities that go along with manhood that conflict with life in the fast lane. Choices must be made and consequences will be realized from those choices. It was a lesson that was taught indirectly by a man whom I truly loved…my father.