Have Thumb, Will Travel: A Samaritan's Walk

By Mike Woodrum

This book is one mans quest to find his own version of a pot of gold which is found in the corner of any part of America where one can find beauty, brotherhood, or natural phenomena as beautiful as the Badlands, or man-made Mt. Rushmore. It is more than that, it is about having a disability while seeking out these riches, and not letting it be a burden, while finding ways to mix in with the common people of the country who are the ones who give the true meaning of the character of their towns and cities. Faced against so many who are unable to let themselves even try to understand what epilepsy is like, he often finds it easier to take to the woods and live with nature, if not for the times he must resurface to find a way to get more medication so his quest can continue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479709533

Mike Woodrum

Mike Woodrum, who grew up in a strong family environment that soon was to break away, just as he was findin out that he would be haunted by a life of seizures due to epilepsy, yet, with strong will, decided not to allow the seizures take over his life. Instead, they were used as a catalyst to turn dreams into reality and make him realize how easy it is to get across 3,000 miles of America. Not once, but four times!

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Copyright © 2012 by Mike Woodrum.

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I DEDICATE the book to my Dad , Jack L. Woodrum, (may he rest in peace), for all the patience he had with me as I ventured, and to my sisters, Clare and Helen, who showed me how to be thankful for what I DO have, which was the opportunity to live life to the fullest. Not to forget my loving son, Jonathan (‘Bud’ to me ) who I’ll always be proud of for doing the same, to this day.

In this day and age, I can’t say that I had a more mobile family than others, but when I was in 5th grade, I attended 3 different schools in 3 different towns within 2 states. It made it hard for my 2 older sisters, along with my 2 younger brothers and myself to continuously re-adapt to new schools. I, for one would always be behind because of the fact that for the first 5 years I was drilled by nuns on how to be so righteous to the lord, then we ended up in the public school system, where you had a choice of what and who you wanted to believe in. It was almost like a re-birth, in a sense.

Not to knock the Catholic ways, because in fact, they were sure to give you the proper guidance for what your parents did not cover.

As for my Mom. She was a beautiful woman, born and raised in Donegal, Northern Ireland. My Dad ran across her in England while he was in the U.S.A.F., serving as a Drill Sergeant. I, myself, along with my two sisters, Susan, and Anne, were both born in S. Ruislip, England, at the U.S.A.F. Base. From there we came to the states to Orlando, Florida, which was where my brother Ed was born. The youngest one of all of us was Patrick (may he rest in peace), who was born in Springfield Massachusetts, which was where I started schooling.

Discovering the Country

It wasn’t until after leaving parochial school that I actually got a look at what the real country, the real outdoors was. That was when my Dad got a job clearing land in Middlefield, Ct., where the boss he had kept making promises that he wouldn’t keep. He had a big contract in upstate New York that took us all to live there for a month or so, while he did the work. We camped at a popular Saranac Lake, where my brothers and I would spend most of the time around the lake, fishing or hiking. To us, it was great, except when the state came by and put toxins in the lake to kill off some of the seaweed, because there was getting to be too much overgrowth. At the age of 11, I wasn’t sure about how much it affected us, but it certainly did kill off a lot of fish, especially the pickerel. They were afloat all over the lake.

That summer ended with my Dad having it out with his boss who always had excuses for not being able to pay him the right amount. The real truth was that he was a damn drunk who couldn’t even take care of his own family, so my Dad told him to ‘Take the job and shove it’ kind of and we headed back to Connecticut, where us kids lived with our Mom at a friends house until our Dad got re-situated with another job.

Farming in Durham

The first thing my Dad could come across for work that was steady enough was a nearby chicken farm, which had a separate section where there was a riding stable run by the owner’s sons, Jonas and Fred. They were twins, in their late teens, who both had beards. They often would drive down the main drag in town and put a police light on top of the car just to chase people then blow right by them. Later on, one of them became a State Trooper. Ironic, isn’t it?

As for the horses, that was a whole new thing for us. Ed and I would spend a lot of time with the guys and their horses (Ed more than me), and we also had a couple BB guns we got that X-mas that we used all the time we could. Even when we were almost out of BBs, we would dissect frogs that we killed just to get the BBs out to re-use. Now THAT’S economizing! Also, since we were 2 miles from the closest store where we could get more BBs we had to do what we had to do.

Because I had a difficult teacher and I was new, my grades were suffering. For some reason, I was feeling bad about how the whole family was suffering compared to how we were doing a couple years earlier, I was very sensitive to how I saw my parents, but somehow I also had this strange feeling that I couldn’t put my finger on. Almost like a guilt, maybe somehow blaming myself for what was going wrong. It made me feel as if there was always something more I could say or do that would make things better than seeing our parents always arguing because Dad’s job wasn’t good enough and Mom had to work with 5 kids to take care of. I just felt like we all should try to pitch in like a family. But, little did I know at the time that the truth of this underlying feeling of guilt were my first auras of what was to be the dominant illness to take over and try to control me until I found a way to control it-EPILEPSY.

My seizures were yet to be noticed by anyone else for a couple years, but they did take their toll as I was the only one to notice them.

As Ed and I got comfortable with Jonas and Fred, the school year came to a close. During that summer, our Dad just stepped out of one of the older coops, which was 4 stories high. Just after he was out, the coop collapsed! He was hot! Needless to say, by the end of the summer, we were at a different town, at a different farm with a different owner.

Portland Years

Starting off in 7th seemed to be a continuation of 6th, in a sense where I had few friends and our parents were always arguing. What made it easier was a couple teachers who saw potential. That and when I wasn’t in school, Dad would often take me to the farm to work with him. That’s where I began driving at 12 years old, and like any farm-boy would say I was only 12 when I began driving, but that’s only because you can’t reach the pedals at an earlier age, unless you’re an early sprouter! Anyway, at the farm, we would pick eggs, shovel the chicken manure, and maintain the feeders/ waterers. In between, Dad and I would play cribbage on the steps of the 3 floor coop that we took care of. He taught me how to play there which increased my math scores in school. Also, I had a great english teach who not only was the hottest (no offense, ladies), but to a young-un just turning 13, she was hot! Also she was with the ski club, so I got involved just to try what I call a ‘non-challenging’ sport. Something that one can do at their own pace, without trying to outdo another one or team. It’s the same way I look at fishing or hiking, where I do it the way and pace I want, without someone else telling me No, you got to do it ‘this’ way. That way, I always enjoyed my own style of recreation.

One day, Dad and I were almost home from the farm (which was about 15 miles away), when we came to the top of the hill, and all we could see was police and firetrucks! They were at the apartment we were living in, because the person downstairs fell asleep while smoking. Next thing to happen was Dad went right through the firemen up into the 2nd floor where we lived just to get his paycheck, which he left in the bedroom!

Since the building was owned by the farm owner, we got re-located at another for the summer while the house was remodeled. During this time, I spent almost every day with Dad at the farm, working away, getting closer.

A Step Closer

As I turned 13 that summer, Dad took me to a nearby gun store, to buy me my first real gun, a .410 shot-gun. It was a nice Ithaca single-shot. The first thing Dad did was to give a me gun safety course, since he was a Drill Seargent in the U.S.A.F. and he grew up in Kentucky and West Virginia, where gun safety is a necessity. So, during all this time, while I find myself being trusted to drive a stake-body truck (when I can just barely reach the pedals), go shooting out in the woods alone, improving my math scores with cribbage, and becoming good friends with most of my teachers. Guess what? The seizures disappear! I never felt better! Also at home, we were all getting along, with enjoying Saturday night television, calling it Woodrum Laugh-In, like the show! I was cracking jokes right and left! Dad would do his impersonation of Jackie Gleason by saying How sweet it is!, which was a power booster.

A Step—Family

As I felt this was my Utopia, I had no way to go but down. When high school began, it was back to the old ‘new guy in school’ thing again. It was about a 2 mile walk to the high school, so I ran across a guy, Joe, who was pretty cool. We both played football & hockey in the neighborhood, and since he lived half-way to school, I stopped by his place, and then we walked from there. Sometimes, on the way home, we would play a game, as long as we brought a football, or ice skates, season permitting. But before the ice had a real chance to freeze this year, the split-up came. My Dad took me aside and said Mick, you’re the Man of the house now, so I expect you to help Uncle Ed (Later known as Happy Pappy or HP), in every way. So, I promised him that I would do that for him. At the same time, I was promising to myself that I would do all I could to find Dad when I was out of schooling, whether it came to college or not. I was hoping to find that ‘Utopia’ feeling that I had the previous year, but in order for that to happen, it would take ALL THE SAME FACTORS to bring it back. Not only to find Dad. Yet, he was a big part of the puzzle for me. I had to find a way to get back that feeling that may help me regain control of these electrical impulses I feel going through me which I think of as ‘the creeps’, but is just a treatable series of petit-mal seizures, of which to this point in my life, I’ve never heard of.

Although Dad was the first to notice my seizures at the farm, when I was working only half as fast as usual, it was when we moved in with Uncle Ed, or as I prefer—HP. When I was seeing my first specialist, it was hard for me to accept. Not because I didn’t believe it could happen to me, but because the Dr. that we saw was a psychologist, and I was humiliated because I was only 14 with both my Mom and the shrink telling me that I was ‘different’, to a point where I was being made feeling like it was my fault. Although we did come to find that it was due to the fact that I had encephalitis when I was 3, which almost killed me when I was in a coma. So, when I reached puberty, the change in life caused the seizures.

My only problem was the only medicines they had during the 70s was Dilantin. Along with many, many other things, I will start with something about HP. He was an information man. I learned alot from him, and he also had the books to learn from. One of them was a collection of Encyclopedia Britannica which I read and read, and one of the first things I read about was epilepsy and my medications. I found out that Dilantin was not good for the bones, so I didn’t take it regularly, only when I felt I needed them. Bad move! I would strongly have an aura when I was to have a seizure coming on. That’s the only difference. But my seizures without medication were as hard as grand-mals, and I wouldn’t wish them on anyone.

With HP came his 2 daughters, Clare and Helen, our step-sisters. They’ re older than the rest of