Homer

By H. Edward Bailey III

Homer, a playful and jovial elderly gentleman, relates tales of his adventures at the request of friends and neighbors. The humorous stories range from childhood antics, youthful diversions, military mayhem, daily distractions, to travels abroad. His memories are so full of happy thoughts one wonders if he ever really did a serious hard days work in his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: May 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466990074

H. Edward Bailey III

H. Edward Bailey III is a graduate of the University of South Carolina with a Bachelor of Arts degree and retired from the South Carolina Department of Education. He is currently living in South Carolina with his wife of twenty eight years with whom he has two children, three dogs, and three cats.

Book preview

IT’S A NAME THING

I took a break for a few days to attend to a few things around the house and realized that I’d already begun the ramblings of an old man. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I think maybe I should have started with a little bit about me for those who either don’t know me or will move into our little community in the future. P.S. I’ll not bore you with the family-tree bit because I can never follow along when someone rattles off all those begets.

Everyone calls me Homer. That’s not my real name, but I was given this moniker as a youngster. For some reason, it has stuck with me through the years. In fact, it was so long ago, I don’t remember how or why the name came to pass. About fifteen years ago, give or take a few, I decided, once and for all, to investigate the origins of my curious name. Don’t think I hadn’t pondered the question over the years, but life, comforts, problems, and maybe even apathy seemed to always hinder my progress.

Anyway, one day, I decided to investigate the matter until the bitter end. I told myself, This time, you will not stop until you have an answer.

Each time before, I had used the age-old investigation tactics of wandering around town asking questions, taking notes, and searching the phone book for people I might have overlooked.

Speaking of phone books, I can remember when no one needed one. Yes, I have been around so long I can vividly remember picking up the telephone in order to ask the operator to connect me with whoever I was trying to reach. In fact, I’ll even explain, for the youngsters, how a phone call was made years ago. It went something like this:

Upon picking up the receiver, one waited to hear the operator say, How are you today, Mr. or Mrs. Smith?

Fine. How about you and yours? We were always nice to the operator so she couldn’t tell others in town that you were rude to her.

She would reply Good, ask about your family members, or tell you about the problems of others. You see, she would often listen to conversations out of boredom or simply being nosey, probably the latter. She was always a good source for local news that never made the papers.

Eventually she would patch you through to whomever you requested. Remember, one never knew if she was listening or not, so we always tried to have a guarded conversation.

Actually, I remember the telephone further back than those days. I remember when the Hayneses were the first people in town to get a working telephone. Oh, how we laughed behind their backs. After all, no one local had a phone. Who would they call? About six months later, the question was answered. Their next-door neighbors, the Jacksons, had one installed. Oh boy, now the jokes got even better. For example: What’s the definition of lazy? Answer: The Hayneses and Jacksons who are too lazy to holler across the yard for each other’s attention.

Finding people is relatively easy nowadays, so I’m told, with all the Internet tools, but back when I was a youngster, no one had ever heard or imagined www.whatever—in other words, the Internet. Needless to say, I’m not a computer person. Maybe the statement is not completely true because I did learn how to play solitaire as long as someone had the machine turned on for me.

Back to the subject at hand. Over the years, I learned that most people thought one of my childhood friends gave me the name. Ever tried to find a childhood friend? I found out the process was harder than I had ever imagined. I not only remembered his moving away but also the sadness of losing a friend. This was the first pal I had ever lost. Their moving would have been easier if we had not been such good friends. I think he may have been my first best friend.

We enjoyed typical boy activities like playing ball, riding bikes, telling dirty childhood jokes, and conducting science projects. Actually, just about all our secret adventures were labeled science projects. One in particular was still in the early stages when he and his parents had to move. The idea was to see how many times it took to pee in a large Mason jar in order to fill it up. We hid it under some shrubbery beside my house. Every time one of us had to pee, he would walk behind the bushes, pick up the jar, and make a deposit. When the project had been reduced to one scientist, I quickly lost interest.

Unfortunately, I also forgot to destroy it. Months later, Momma was cleaning up the shrubbery when she came across it. Discovering a half-filled jar was apparently not a concern until she removed the lid. Boy, she was not happy when she removed the lid only to find a rather aromatic substance within. Amazingly, she immediately not only suspected me but was certain the culprit was her son.

Yes, she confronted me.

I eventually confessed.

Yes, I was embarrassed. Oh, not about the project, which I still considered a worthwhile attempt. Not about being caught. I was ashamed at how careless I had been not to remove the evidence. Geez, no self-respecting sneak should ever be so thoughtless. Right then and there, I vowed to work on this obvious flaw in order to ensure future projects would remain a scientific secret.

Maybe that little episode was the beginning of my great career of getting away with things. Who knows?

I sure enjoyed that little trip down memory lane, but the subject at hand is looking for Willie. Did I mention that Willie was my first best friend?

I spoke with people who remembered him and his parents, but no one seemed to know for sure where they were or what happened to them. It’s amazing how small-town USA can keep track of your every move but easily drop contact with folks when they move away. Don’t think the locals didn’t try to help me by referring others who might have had information. The gestures were greatly appreciated but always ended in a wild goose chase. Other than the pleasure of speaking with and/or meeting lots of people, I was nowhere closer to an answer than when I began. Despite all the disappointments, I continued in hope of some miracle breakthrough moment.

I finally got my wish while enduring a longer-than-usual layover in the Atlanta airport. Becka and I were trying to embark on one of our temporary escapes from the real world. We still take one or more of these trips each year despite our advanced age. I know many of you consider these exotic getaways a frivolous way to throw our children’s inheritance away, but it’s our hard-earned money, and we’ll spend it any way we wish. On this trip, we were going to Jamaica to enjoy the sea, Dunn’s River Falls, and the local hospitality one more time. If you have never experienced the no problem country, you really should take the time and go.

Anyway, while waiting, I ran into an old coworker whom I had not thought of in years. We enjoyed catching up on old and current personal news. All of a sudden, I vaguely remembered a conversation he and I had years ago. The idea popped into my head, kind of like the lyrics of a song emerging from nowhere, and refused to go away. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think years ago, you and I talked about a friend of a friend who knew my old childhood playmate, Willie.

Sort of, I think.

Do you remember who that is?

Huh? His face clearly reflected bewilderment, obviously caused by my suddenly changing the casual passing of time to such a crazy request.

Sorry for the confusion, I stated, realizing my errors. Let me start at the beginning. You see, I’m trying to find that old friend to see if he can solve an old mystery for me. Do you recall who that person is that knew him? If so, can you still contact him?

There was a nerve-racking long pause, causing my hopes to become dimmed with thoughts of yet another dead end. You see, his eyes slowly went from confusion to regret to pity before he uttered, It’s been a long time, Homer.

I hoped he was not humoring a crazy old man now or, worse yet, trying to brush off a lunatic. I guess I did kind of throw that at you out of the clear blue. Sorry for that. I offered to buy him a coffee or a drink in the hopes that the extra time would help jar his memory.

He politely declined my offer since his flight should soon begin boarding. We did exchange contact information, in case something came to mind, and promised to stay in touch.

To answer y’alls usual questions:

No, I did not get in trouble with the wife. She was right there with me.

No, we did not miss our flight this time.

No, I will not tell you if I got any.

Yes, we had a great trip.

Yes, I was disappointed from yet another dead lead.

Weeks later, my airport friend called the house while I was at work. He spoke to Becka, giving her not only a name but also a contact number. Maybe there was a light at the end of this tunnel, after all.

Elated with the news relayed to me upon my arrival, I immediately called the new contact. We played phone tag for a few days, but eventually, we were able to talk. I carefully explained my strange request to this person from beginning to end. Not like at the airport, which I thought I had handled poorly. He knew of my friend but had not stayed in touch over the years. Once again, I got another name and number.

Numerous calls later, I would eventually get in contact with Willie to reminisce old times and set up a time and place to meet. It ended up being a Braves game. I did not ask my burning reason at the time because one can’t just blurt out such an important question over the phone. Some things are better off done face to face, and this was one of them. I mean, you don’t ask for a pay raise or a girl to marry you over the phone. Why should this be any different? Why be rude and impatient after all these years?

If the boss lady was reading this over my shoulder, she’d be shaking her head, declaring, I told you then, and I’m telling ya now, that’s a dang fool notion. Your question does not need to be face to face. Waste of perfectly good money. Money we could have used for the children’s school clothes or supplies. Something like that is much more important.

Good thing she’s not the nosy type. Truth be told, I not only wanted to see him once again, I decided it was a good excuse to get away for a short while. Oh, one more reason—I would finally get to see the team that left Milwaukee to play in my backyard, the deep South.

I can publicly admit this now because Becka will not be allowed to read this. Folks, remember rule number three. Yeah, the one I added as a condition of this work—the wife will not be given access to my writing. You and I know she’ll try to change everything and, in the process, ruin it.

Another bit of rambling on my part. Sorry it occurs in the middle of a tale, but after all, it is my story, and if my brain diverts me, it’s not a problem since I am the boss of these pages. I’ll try better in the future, but this little stray bit is too funny to run the risk of my forgetful brain.

You see, today, the wife sent me to the store for bread and bleach. Crazy combination, I thought, but like a good husband, I honored her wishes. While in line to check out, I noticed a nice-looking fortyish-looking woman ahead of me with nothing but a twelve-pack of beer and some chips. When her time came, the cashier asked for an ID to verify her age. The customer was so happy about being carded, she reached over, grabbed the startled employee, and told him, Thank you. You’ve just made my day. I’m so happy I could kiss you.

The sudden movement scared the hell out of him. I thought the poor soul would have a heart attack on sight. The clerk never allowed the woman to plant her grateful kiss. He did everything but holler for the police. That small setback did not sour her delight one bit. Right then and there on the spot, I made a note to myself, Look into getting a part-time job here. Easy way to get kisses from pretty ladies.

Back to the plans on my reunion with