Which One Are You

By Ronald Wagner

"Which one are you?" were the words Roger and Ronald would hear starting at the age of understanding what those words actually mean. In the first grade, they wore name tags. After years attending school, Roger and Ronnie would be asked that question in many ways, which one is the smart one, mean one, good-looking one, and many others. Going through life, it always seemed those words were always reaching deep within their soul. Really, those words apply to everyone as they go through life's struggles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887311494

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Introduction

Chapter 1: History

Chapter 2: The Twins Are Born

Chapter 3: Farm Chores

Chapter 4: The Garden

Chapter 5: Critters

Chapter 6: Accidents

Chapter 7: School Days/Baseball Days

Chapter 8: Egg Show/Jobs/The Rabbit

Chapter 9: Knives/Exploring/Hunting Mess

Chapter 10: Tree House/Squirrels/First Hunt with Pa

Chapter 11: Bloody Fight/Bad Decision

Chapter 12: Summer on the Island

Chapter 13: Friends

Chapter 14: Ride Adventures

Chapter 15: Chris

Chapter 16: War and Girls

Chapter 17: Mistaken Identity and Festival Days

Chapter 18: Separated and Farm Out

Chapter 19: Swimming/Robert/Poker

Chapter 20: Time for Goodbyes

Chapter 21: Basic Training Days

Chapter 22: Leave Time/Remembering Years Past

Chapter 23: Advance Training/Awakenings

Chapter 24: First Heat and High

Chapter 25: Why Me/Trailer Time/Letters/Attack

Chapter 26: Camp Charlie/Should Never Have Happened/Blue Eyes

Chapter 27: The Letter/Buddy Steven/The Move

Chapter 28: At the Rivers Edge/Can Tho/The Wallet/Affair/Smack Time

Chapter 29: Hi/Slick Move/Assault/Busted/The Beating

Chapter 30: Den/Here We Go/Snakes/Roger Gone

Chapter 31: Silence Is Golden/Ball Room/Bad Decision/Kimberly/Roger Home

Chapter 32: Walt Sharon/Shitty Deal/Block Cutter/ Bad Mouth

Chapter 33: Why Tell Me/Chicken Coop/Sheriff/The Rocker

Chapter 34: Hole Card/Mentor/Blackout/ Felling Timber/Disco Time/Got Land/Listen Dad

Chapter 35: Sunshine Claim/Jail Time/Penny Time

Chapter 36: Mistaken Identity/The West Affair/Are You Sure/The Log/Please Stop

Chapter 37: Two Fer Time/250 Large/Next Door Delight

Chapter 38: The Dream/The Bug/A Little Prayer

Chapter 39: Back in the Sin/North to Alaska

Chapter 40: Living in Ketch/Spring Flower/New Love

Chapter 41: School Days/Must Shake Hands/New Beginning/The Gem/The Met/Fishing Time

Chapter 42: The Sprout House/Bourbon Boy/Walt Re-Married

Chapter 43: Bear and Drena Days/Maggie May/Captain Frank/By the River

Chapter 44: Shy Dog Days/Déjà vu/Two-by-Four/On the Green Show down/The Bond/Secrete Service

Chapter 45: Dusty Days/Bad Trip/This Is Gonna Hurt/Jolene

Chapter 46: Living in Granite/The Twins/Treatment Backfired/Mice Take Over

Chapter 47: In Closing Now

About the Author

cover.jpg

Which One Are You

Ronald Wagner

Copyright © 2023 Ronald Wagner

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

ISBN 979-8-88731-148-7 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88731-149-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

In cherished memory of Walt and Roger.

And in loving precious memories of family and my dearest thoughts of friends that have gone to heaven for their final resting place.

Introduction

This story was told with every intention of being honest, to the best of my ability, with the recollections and remembrances of all events and stories told between Roger, Walt, and me (the author). It is written with respect to all characters, fiction or nonfiction, and all situations that were played out. My life journey will reflect on trials, tribulations, hardships, misfortunes, confrontations, accidents, death, and mystery. It will also reflect the fulfillment of happiness above everything and those current relationships as well as the ones that may seem over, which doesn't mean they're dead, simply that they aren't growing.

A good, healthy, and happy life is not measured, in my mind, by achievements, wealth, or by an individual's stature in society, but how well one can adapt, adjust, and change the negative misfortunate obstacles that we all are confronted with throughout our lives.

Chapter 1

History

Walter Wagner, my grandpa, came over from Germany in the late 1800s. Grandpa purchased one hundred plus acres and started a dairy farm. The property was glacial farmland and was located in Lewis and Thurston counties outside of Centralia, Washington. It was an area carved out by glaciers that left deposits of seashell that we dug out of the banks of the land. The dairy farm was located on higher ground where the Lewis and Clark Oregon Trail Road ran through it. The property also had an access road that ran east along the property. This road would be later named Wagner Road. The dairy was very up-to-date in technology in the early 1900s.

Walter raised a family of six, five boys and one girl: Howard, Walter, Albert, Carl, Leonard, and Wanda. All the children helped on the farm and did chores. Walter's son Carl, my dad, had a plot of land located on the southwest corner of his father's property. Carl raised beef and had one milk cow with an assortment of other farm critters. As kids, we would travel through the fields up to Grandpa's farm. Those days exploring the farm as kids were very exciting. The barns were our favorite places to play. Chasing barn owls and going after mice to kill was always welcomed because they would eat the grain in the grain sheds and silos. The old western hardware such as spurs and chaps were always play items, except the pistols which were off-limits. The farm was mainly a play area where Carl Wagner's kids were raised. Carl built a two-story home for his wife, Dorothy, and his five kids at the time: Shirlee, Jerry, Richard, Tom, and Jane. Shirlee was delighted when Jane was born to have a sister to enjoy and dress up and mother. The house that Carl built still stands today.

It was the night before Christmas, December 24, 1950. Dorothy was taken to the Centralia General Hospital to have two more children. She knew she was having two, but that was all anyone knew.

Chapter 2

The Twins Are Born

I was born fifteen minutes after Roger. It was a very hard delivery, and Mom became very ill following our birth on that snowy, wintery Christmas in the early morning hours.

Shirlee, Richard, and Jerry shared time taking care of us. Mom's sisters, Aunt Harriette and Aunt Ada, were called in to look after the twins. Dad was around to help, but his job as a carpenter and taking care of the farm required his time elsewhere.

Tom and Jane were excited to have twin brothers. The town, neighbors, and many relatives were all abuzz with curiosity and concern for Mom. Mom began to have epileptic seizures shortly after birth. Up to ten a day. Lupus followed the seizures in the years to come.

It was very scary to watch Mom start to lick her lips as it was a sign that a seizure was about to start. We kids were told not to let her swallow her tongue. We were told to put a spoon in her mouth and get her to sit down.

There was the time when she removed her clothes as a seizure was happening. It was so frightening, and it seemed so out of place for Mom to be naked. It became one of the most terrifying things to happen as young kids, and we never did feel like we would ever see the day the seizures would stop for good.

Mom, Jane, and Roger were at the county fair one time and got on the Rock-O-Plane in the carnival area. Sis asked the carny man how to prevent it from rocking, and he said pull on the hand bar to lock it in place. The ride was like a Ferris wheel, and the plane turned over as they neared the top, and that's when Mom began to have a seizure and sister was yelling to stop, but everyone was yelling from excitement and nobody could hear her. Dad finally realized what was happening and stopped the ride with force.

Jane was in some ways taking care of Mom in those years. Mom was doing food shopping once, and Jane was waiting in the car when an ambulance pulled up and carried Mom out of the store. Jane was scared and in shock. Mom was given nitroglycerin to stop the seizures if she knew they were about to happen. We kids were most afraid that she would have a seizure out in public. The thought was more horrifying than when it actually happened, and it did more often than imaginable. As the years went by, the seizures would begin to subside to the point where we wouldn't think about them in public. Roger and I would have each other in those times and seemed to understand the seizures as we grew older.

Mom was unable to breastfeed me and Roger, and we were raised on whole milk from Boss the Guernsey, the family cow, and molasses. We came to love the stuff and added it to milk as the years grew by growing older. Those were happy times for having a baby and having future beef on the table.

Chapter 3

Farm Chores

Milking Boss was a chore for mostly Pa and the boys. Dad would mostly milk in the morning and the boys in the evening. You never wanted to miss an evening milking, and sometimes we would forget, and the next morning was time you found out you had forgotten. Dad would find Boss dripping from a very full udder.

Roger and I would always blame each other and say it wasn't our night to milk. We took turns, and it was one of the chores, among many, that had to be done.

It was a big event for the birth of her calves. Bets were made on the day, and hopefully we would witness the birth in person. You could tell by the way Boss was acting. Once you knew it was getting close, then came the challenge to find the spot where she would drop the calf. There were wooded areas, and she would try to hide in those spots. Roger and I would always make a challenge of finding the spot. Dad would always know when the time was due and usually be the one to break the news. Then came the chore of raising the calf. I remember the first chore for me and Roger was feeding the yearly calf that Boss would have. Dad would not let the calf nurse on Boss. Boss was the family's only source of milk, butter, and cream.

The older boys, Jerry, Rich, and Tom, were the first to learn what had to be done. You had to teach the calf to drink out of a bucket, and it wasn't easy chore, but it had to be done. The easy way to start things off was have the calf learn to suck on a nipple on the side of a milk bucket located at the bottom. Dad would take the calf away from Boss so it would not nurse at all. Sometimes Boss would stay hidden in the woods and have fun nursing before he would separate them. The longer the calf would nurse, the harder it would be to get it feeding out of a bucket. Sooner than later, we had to get the calf drinking out of the bucket on its own. Once the calf was sucking on the nipple with ease and comfort, that was when it was time to get it drinking instead of sucking.

The next step would get messy for us kids and the calf. This would involve shoving the calf's head down into the bucket enough to put your hand into its mouth so the calf would suck on your fingers and be getting milk as it sucked. The calf wanted none of this and would fight to the point of spilling the mother's warm milk everywhere, which included us kids.

So slowly we would gently pull our hand from its mouth while sucking our fingers and hopefully it would start drinking on its own. It would take more than a few times to get him or her to drink by itself. The key was you had to be sneaky when pulling your hand out.

The most cherished gift from Boss was the cream that would rise to the top of the gallon jar. The first child to be up first in the morning would always skim the top inch, after a night of cream raising, and put it on cereal with sugar for the topping. It was better than the best whipped cream ever! That's where the Wagner boys would have a new farm chore that had to be done and done twice day.

My first memory, from what I can remember, around three years, is seeing a deer standing in our driveway while eating breakfast with Mom and Dad and siblings. Our table was not much different than the TV Waltons. Seven kids and parents surrounded the oval oak table with all the extra leaves added to be large enough. Dad was usually the first to come to the table followed by who was the hungriest and within earshot when Mom said Time for dinner. The table was framed by two large windows on two sides. And Dad was at the head of the table with a window at his back. Mom was at the other end where the stove and fridge were located. Roger and I were next to Dad, I was on his left, and Rog was on his right side where he could keep us under control. Shirlee and Jane flanked Mom at the other end. Jerry, Richard, and Tom filled in the middle. Rog and I couldn't sit together at suppertime, but breakfast and lunch were festival seating, and we always played grabbing ass to a level of hurting each other as the years go by.

The first time I realized that I was different than the other kids was most likely when I could understand what the word twin meant. Mom was more than likely where we heard twin from and then our siblings. Being called twin or the twins is what we responded to when called upon because no one could tell us apart, so twin was the word to get our attention most of the time. Mom couldn't even tell us apart, and that was frustrating more for her than us. In the early days, before I could remember events, we were paraded around dressed the same while being cared for by Rich or Shirlee, and they were really not taken to the idea, from what I've been told. Being a twin had its own comfort twenty-four hours a day from the day we knew we were twins. I'm thinking that was in our third year of life, and you never felt alone ever!

The diaper days, I think I remember, but most likely neither I nor Rog don't, who was potty-trained first. Well, Mom, Richard, or Shirlee would have known that, and Dad would not have known for sure and most likely never bothered with that duty, I'm quite certain about that. It was totally different from what I experienced raising my own five children from two different mothers. That memory of diaper days and what happened when Rog and I were locked in our room, and that most likely was the case, when we removed our diapers that were fully loaded and began finger painting pretty much throughout the room. The evidence that we saw many years later was a baby book that we covered with our mess. I'm not sure who found us, and we had been finger painting long before the smell told someone that we had a situation. That story was told to us countless times over the years. Whose mess was it, both or just one of us, we never knew or for that matter was told and forgotten. That smell couldn't compare to the smell of a skunk. I suppose that memory was and came early and not too far from the finger painting days.

Chapter 4

The Garden

We had a huge garden. Weeding and watering were our summer jobs after planting seeds and transplanting all types of vegetables. The garden area was so large that it was plowed with a tractor. Besides having the vegetable garden area, we also had a berry garden with strawberries, loganberries, raspberries, and blueberries. Dad's favorite was asparagus, and he had a special little area in the garden. We learned to love the spears. Some of the kids didn't care so much, and that was fine with Pa, 'cause he loved asparagus very much.

Mom enjoyed the garden time of the year and loved getting fresh vegetables. For snacks, Mom would say, Go get your snack out of the garden, which we did almost every day. Then Mom would say, Do some weeding while you're snackin'. Everyone took part in weeding. Around the large garden were fruit trees of all types except peach trees. Dad would say it's not the right weather where we lived for them to grow good and have plenty of sweet nectar. Corn, peas, strawberries, and blueberries grew on larger neighbor farms in every direction from our home. If we didn't grow it, Mom would tell Roger and me to go get some corn or something out of the large fields. That was fun 'cause I guess we were stealing, and that was our first taste of stealing, so to speak. The farmers could care less to some degree. Other people would come from the town and pay, but we didn't.

Mom enjoyed giving what came out of the garden to friends and family and mostly to her mother, my Gramma Lee. Her maiden name was Nye, and Mom happened to be the cousin of Bill Nye the Science Guy, which she never knew because Bill hadn't been born and/or most likely wasn't the famed guy then as he is now. Jane was named after Gramma Lee. My bloodline Nye goes back to the 1600s with Benjamin Nye born in 1620 in County Kent, England. Gramma was born in 1889 in Wisconsin and died in 1970 (which happened to be when I would later be in Vietnam). Grampa Lee was born in London, England, on June 13, 1889, and passed away in 1968 in Centralia, Washington, where he lived together with Grandma Lee. He left England at the age of four with his mother to Canada where he lived until he left for Seattle. He could never return to Canada under law.

Chapter 5

Critters

Skunks, for some reason, would get under the house, and then Rex, our back-door dog, would follow, and then the skunk would defend itself. The smell was so bad you could taste the spray. It stayed throughout the house, downstairs and upstairs. No bedroom was safe from the stench. It lasted for days, and Dad swore it wouldn't happen again, or he at least told Mom it wouldn't. For some reason, it happened again and again. There was only one crawl space entrance, and it couldn't be fixed, and I'm still baffled why, because it would seem that I could have fixed the problem once and for all, if it was my house when I was raising my families in at least ten different homes. Rex had many duties and bad habits that created certain situations. Rex would camp by the back door in such a way wedged between the screen door and the wall. So when you opened the door, you would have to squeeze past him to get through. Sometimes we would squeeze him on purpose to see if he would leave, which never happened. He seemed to enjoy the pressure or the massage. If he didn't know you, you would never get in, and there were times when strangers were taught a lesson not to push the issue.

There was a time when he tangled with the neighbor's German shepherd, King. Rex was a white dog, and the blood was everywhere on both dogs but more noticeable on Rex. Rex and King fought for what seemed like forever with blood now flying off both dogs. We tried to call them off, but that wasn't even coming close to ending the brawl. Mom told us to get the garden hose and spray them and that would cool them off enough to stop. That didn't work, and pulling them apart was not even an option because they had no collars on, and more important was the fact they might turn on us, which was most likely for King and Rex. Well, you just never knew about him. Mom thought that hot water might make the difference ending the feud, so she boiled a pan and told us to throw it and get out of the way, because you didn't really know that they wouldn't turn on the thrower. That ended the fight, and King was on his way back home. Rex was covered with so much blood that you didn't even know where he was bit or more likely bitten many times. It wasn't about checking him over because he wouldn't have cared for that inspection in the slightest. We were told that King was so mean that if you pointed at him, he would attack. Don't know that for sure, but I never pushed the issue. While playing in the woods which was about the time we left the yard, Rex would follow Roger and me, not so much to guard us, which in his mind maybe he did, but to chase wildcats, and there were plenty to go around in the woods. All the dairy farms had cats that would stray into the surrounding woods. When we were out exploring or hunting later in our years with Rex shadowing us, Dad would let us carry a .22-caliber rifle.

Dad absolutely forbade BB guns of any kind, and so when most kids (under ten) somewhere would get a BB gun, we would pack .22s for shooting pretty much anything that moved or not. Dad's reason was simply put, a BB gun could shoot out an eye but most likely not kill you, even though .22s could kill you. The .22 was the gun of choice for hunting bullfrogs and occasional bird of some kind. Dad would say, If you don't plan on eating it, don't kill it. So when Roger and I came home from a day of shooting birds, that was not mentioned to Pa. Rex, which was Richard's dog from a puppy, would tree cats and stay barking and wait for the cat to make a break for it. When he started barking, there was no end to it, and it could last for days. We all knew what was happening, and the barking would not stop, maybe long enough to think it came down and got away or the other. He was known as the cat killer. Sometimes Dad would shoot the cat or tell us to end it. I'm not sure any of us cared to end the relentless barking, but Rex was a watchdog and that we would lay the blame on for having to end it.

The shack, as we all called it, was not far from the house but far enough to be scary when Rog and I became brave enough to spend the night. Rex would stay with us and maybe an older sibling when we were very young. We were challenged during the night from sounds and an older brother sneaking down and putting the scare on us. As we grew older, the shack became a place or should I say a refuge and a destination of sorts. Later, years later, we had a violent windstorm known as the Columbus Day Storm, and that was the end of the shack. I'm sure plenty happened in the shack with the older siblings. Stories were told, but those stories I don't remember. I could make some up or embellish a little to what I do know, but that won't happen in these writings. Years later with my teenage girlfriend, it was explosive, kinda, where the deed was accomplished, so I can only imagine what the older kids did.

Another venture we got started into was raising pigeons for racing homing pigeons. Our two favorites were Sam and Big Red. Mine was Sam, and it was a homing pigeon more so than Big Red. We also had Fantail, Rollers, and Tumblers. We once took Sam and Red to the ocean beach, where I live now, to release them on our family clam digging outing. They should have almost beaten us home, but in fact, they took several days to make the short trip. We figured then that racing homing pigeons took more time and the right kinda breeding to get the best results, which we weren't willing to give. Then we got some Rollers and Tumblers and then let the show begin for all to see. When the family had guests over, Dad would tell us to let the pigeons out so they could fly over our property, putting on the show of rolling and tumbling high in the sky. It amazed everyone that birds would do those stunts right after they were released. Most people had never seen such a display of acrobatics by birds of any type. Mom and Dad were so proud of us, and we were happy to put on the show.

We also raised chickens, ducks, and two peacocks that flew around the area, on top of houses and barns, and would roost in the trees at night. We had a bantam rooster that thought it was the cock of the walk around the barnyard area, and one day when I was younger, it scared the life out of me while I was chasing it around. I was beside the cow barn when the rooster chased me into the corner and displayed a dance that frightened me, something I would never forget. I was actually scared and feared that he was going to attack me. I learned that if you mess with the bull, you could get the horn, and I did learn, but not enough from what happened later in my life.

Chapter 6

Accidents

Shirlee spent some of her time tending us up to the age of three or four until she moved and took up living with Don. How long they were dating before that day, I don't know. Stories were told by Don that he would drive his car over during the night and park it close enough to the house to be able to climb onto the roof and sneak into Shirlee's bedroom. Dad finally caught on and confronted him as he was leaving in the AM and told him to stay away from Shirlee. Don said, That isn't gonna happen, and that was close to the time when Shirlee split. They went on to have five kids with their oldest six years younger than me. A year earlier, Jerry packed his bags and left to eventually end up in Boise, Idaho, where there his hay fever allergies were in check with that kinda country, very dry compared to the Centralia area. One of his friends lived there and said that climate would be best for hay fever.

Jerry married Karen from Centralia and went on to have three kids. Before I finished high school, I spent a year living with Karen and Jerry and their three kids, Rodney, Debbie, and my favorite niece, Vicki. Yes, you can have a favorite when you have more than a few. After the two oldest went their way, Richard picked up the slack, and there was plenty of it, helping raise the two of us. We were not easy to tend to in any way, shape, or form, and became a handful for everyone. I guess we drove Mom to the breaking point more than a few times with our misbehaving attitudes. I don't think we really cared what would happen because at the end of the day, we had each other, and that was our thinking.

There was one time that Don got involved when he and Shirlee stopped by after I believe a call from Mom that we were out of total control. Dad was at work, so the duty fell on Don to get us straight, and we wanted nothing to do with it and fought to be controlled by Don because he wasn't Pa. I got trapped upstairs, but Roger got away and made his way into the woods where he couldn't and wouldn't be caught. I was yelling from the window, telling him to hide and don't come home. I can't remember if I got spanked, but I believe I got manhandled to some degree. That never did settle very well with us, and we talked about the incident over the years as a discipline situation he should have never gotten involved in. I believe we felt violated, and Dad should have been the person to do the whipping when needed, which was often.

It seemed like we were being spanked, whipped, slapped, and switched pretty much on a regular schedule. Don't forget the hacks at grade school and junior high. Dad would usually let us know ahead of time about a punishment that we were going to get. The razor strap was the easiest for Pa to grab out of the closet. It was fast and ended fast with up to maybe four whacks. Dad would always have the courtesy to ask us who wanted to be first, and that sucked to have to sit there and watch your twin get whipped. By far the worst memory was when Dad would tell us a switchin' was coming, and he would slowly, it would seem, walk out to a fruit tree that had runners, that's what we called them, and cut them with his pocketknife. Then as he walked back, with us looking out the kitchen window at him whittling the bark off, he would ask that question, Who wants to go first. The switch was the most painful because it would sting a lot. The saying he would always say is I'll slap your snoot if you don't watch yourself. That happened once, and I'll never forget that slap that Dad gave me. It came fast, and I knew it was coming and it was going to hurt badly, and it did. Dad was rototilling the garden to cut up and tear the weeds between the rows of vegetables, and I was holding the crossbar, standing in front of Pa, and behind the tiller, he had the controls on the handles. Quite often the cutter diggers would clog up with weeds. Dad would have to bend down and clean the cutters while I stood next to the controls on the handles while the tiller was still running. For some reason, I grabbed the controls and squeezed them while his hands were inside cleaning the cutters. I got whacked so fast, and it knocked me off my feet. His hands were cut and bleeding, and then the shit hit the fan. Years later, Rog and I would do the rototilling, and that accident was always on my mind.

Accidents were a part of life as we grew up, and honestly, Rog and I would wonder who might get hurt, and there were times later in our years we would try to hurt each other. The teenage years and before those years were the most dangerous. Why did we try to hurt each other? Maybe because there was nothing else to do for excitement? The first real incident was when Richard and I were swinging on one of the two swings built with three logs, about a foot in diameter. I was around four years old, and Rich was a teenager. He was standing on the seat with me sitting between his legs. I was having a great time being swung by my older brother, which didn't happen that often. After Shirlee and Jerry left home, Richard became our caretaker to a large degree. I don't remember much at that age, but I do recall what happened when he started swinging high and can't recall if I was getting scared or not, but most likely, he was trying to scare me. Then it happened, and the logs fell as we were at the highest. He fell clear, and my head came to rest on the ground with the log falling and landing less than an inch from crushing my skull. I turned my head and realized that I came that close from certain death. I still think about that to this day whenever I swing or swing one of my kids. The swing was never rebuilt, but years later in our teens, Don helped build a swing that crossed over what we called the gully, which was a drop-off into a slough that filled with water during the winter months. It was the ultimate swing with a tire attached, and the rope was at least thirty feet. At the highest point, you would be around thirty or so feet off the ground. It was dangerous, and kids came from around the area and town to come for the thrill ride of their lives. At the highest point across the gully, there were trees that you could, if your launch was a good one, wrap your legs around one and just hang there. Roger and I would do that just to piss off whoever was waiting. Berry, the older brother of Greg, the future husband of Jane, fell and broke his arm, and that started a feud between Mom and Berry's mom. That feud went on for many reasons over the years and included Rog and I and Mom getting into a physical fight with Berry's mom, which ended with Mom slapping Delores. Finally, the tree the rope was tied to met the same fate as the shack, and the swing was gone. It took the right kinda tree to be positioned just right to make a swing like that.

Our younger years were exploring the barn and spending time watching Dad milking Boss and playing in the hayloft making forts with the hay bales. Dad picked up a donkey, and we called it a burro. That was the best animal on the farm that Rog and I could ride and play with whenever it would let us ride him. While Tom was on the burro on the gravel road with Rich nearby walking beside them, he slapped the burro on the ass and bucked, and Tom fell on the road and tore up his arm, and Mom spent time cleaning gravel out of his arm. Jane also got hurt when he bucked and the saddle horn caught her under chin while she was getting on and left a mark like a hickey would. Mom and Dad decided the burro was just too mean and got rid of him to a nearby farmer. Roger and I then had to find something to ride, which ended up being the calf. We would raise calves to about two years old then have them butchered. That was sad 'cause everyone would treat it like a pet. and Rog and I found a new riding buddy. First, we would herd it into the barn and put a bike inner tube around and behind its body and front legs, just like the rodeo riders would do at the fair. Then one of us would open the door, and you never knew what was going to happen. It would kinda buck and run and try to buck us off, and it usually did, but sometimes it would work, and we just rode it like a horse. We always did it when Dad wasn't around because we weren't sure he would care for the rodeo with the future beef on the table.

We began to milk Boss for the evening and would take turns every other day. It was on one of those milking nights that a cousin from the city, LA, California, was watching me milk when out of the blue she asked me what tit does the cream come out of. I at first thought she was just messing with me, but she was dead serious, and I couldn't help from laughing and then telling her how cream rises to the top after refrigeration. I've told that story many times over the years and still do to this very day.

Chapter 7

School Days/Baseball Days

Mrs. Whittaker at the Fords Prairie Elementary School was the first-grade teacher for most all of us kids with the exception of Shirlee and Jerry and maybe Richard. Roger and I enjoyed playing with kids other than ourselves. It seemed that we kinda enjoyed being a twin and having that as a tool of sorts when we began interacting with other kids in activities. The famous last words were Which one are you, and that stuck for much of our school years and beyond. That soon became very irritating, that I can remember, as the years passed. We wore name tags when we spent a grade together, which didn't last long. The confusion in class for the teacher and kids was enough to separate us after the second grade. I don't think we liked it, but it was out of our hands as well as our parents. Before we arrived at school, we had to catch the school bus in front of our house. This was more exciting for Rog and me than going to school on the first day with Tom and Jane. We watched for years, not that I can remember clearly, and couldn't wait to get on that big yellow bus. The biggest issue catching the bus was not to miss it, of which we had two chances to do so. We lived at the beginning of Wagner Road, which was not named at that time in those days. It would go by on its way down, and we could jump on or wait, say, for five minutes or so, to catch it on the return. We were fortunate to have that option because most kids riding about an hour to get to the high school didn't have that option.

Riding the school bus, that seemed to be a rite of passage growing up to eventually climb up those steps and walk the length to the rear of the big yellow bus, and watching the older brothers and sisters walk up those steps, wondering if I won't need help for that first step, and ride off every day was what Roger and I would soon be doing. And we'd grab a paper bag lunch that Mom would have prepared before we got out of bed, with everyone's names clearly visible, and make no mistake whose was whose because the older siblings would give certain requests to Mom the night before, and everyone would get an apple or orange, and, depending on the time of year, fresh fruit out of the garden, full of every possible fruit you could imagine. Fords Prairie Elementary was our first stop. When we would walk to Mrs. Whitaker during first grade and grab our name tags, I can't remember how long everyone would wear them, but for bro and me, it was all the time in that first-grade class.

As grades one through six were winding down, and thinking about junior high as our next stop, that was when Rog and I would start to fancy a couple of local girls riding the bus, Sherrie boarding before us and Debbie after our stop, who were a grade below us and best friends. So brother and I would become fascinated with the young boy excitement. The question between us was who would get whom, and that had to be established, and this being our first rule when it came to the womenfolk, don't mess around with the other's main squeeze, or in this case, just holding hands and maybe sitting together on the bus, and that was not so easy as it may sound. Sherrie took a fancy to me, and with that, the deal was done, with Roger courting Debbie and me with the blue-eyed blonde. The bus ride was long enough to get to know her to the point of me giving her a necklace. Personalities seemed to fit each of us, and with that, getting on the bus soon became a very exciting part of the beginning of the day, and Sherrie's looks weren't overlooked by the other boys, knowing my chances were a long shot at best, and after a failed attempt for a date at the Centralia theater because of certain obligations to her family, it ended with me coming to the conclusion she wanted bigger game, some boy with a ride. That was a few years away for Roger and me to have our ride to school and, more importantly, to go on dates. Brother would stay in touch with Debbie over the years, and what their involvement was, I would never know or, more likely, didn't give a damn, but I would lose contact with Sherrie and would always remember her as my first crush. I hope she still has the necklace.

Mrs. Whittaker had her children take midday naps, and that was new, taking naps for us and most kids, and each pupil had to bring a roll-out mat for napping. Rog and I would lie next to each other, and it wasn't about napping but more like playtime. We would talk and what we would call goofing off with ourselves and whoever would join in with our nap-time antics. Eventually we were separated at nap time, and we figured that was going to happen sooner or later. Getting into mischief wasn't new, and we simply didn't care 'cause at the end of the day, we still had each other.

Another school activity was square-dancing in the auditorium/lunchroom, and that was taught by the school principal. It wasn't a requirement but a choice for each student, and I jumped at the opportunity to dance with a girl, and little did I, to say the least, know dancing would become a very big part in my life. Roger wasn't taken by the square-dancing as much as I was, and looking back, that was the case in most activities we were involved in. It was like we didn't want to follow the other, but do things as an individual. Playing Little League, hardball, baseball, we did together. Dad and Richard started us at home, and we always had someone to play with, each other. Dad and the older boys had constructed a huge backstop and a baseball diamond out in the field. This diamond was a draw for kids from all around the area and town. Roger and I would spend much of our time learning the game from Dad and Richard mostly. I think the fact we had that backstop is what drew everyone for a game of baseball.

Another favorite game that was played was 500. Everyone played including adults and the girls. It was when one person would hit the ball to everyone else in the field. If you caught the ball on the fly, you got a hundred points. One bounce, fifty points, and a grounder, meaning the ball must be rolling when you grabbed it, was worth twenty-five points. This game was more popular because it didn't require as many people as a baseball game. Roger and I, with the help of Dad, tried out for a Little League baseball team, the Bolts. I think the team sponsor was a hardware store in town. The first team we tried out for, we were cut, and that was a big letdown to both of us, but we didn't think about it much because we had each other. We eventually made the team. The big-league players today started the same way with the exception of some kids who had fathers as coaches or players themselves. They would be groomed for a position of their choice. The day came for pitcher tryouts, and no one knew, even the coaches, who would be able to throw the ball straight enough to hit the catcher's glove. That position was kinda intimidating to most all the kids. I remember when they yelled out and asked, Who thinks they can pitch? I raised my hand and said, What the heck, I'll give it a try.

I found out, as did the coaches, that I was fairly good at hitting the catcher's mitt. Pitchers and catchers seem to go together, and with that, Roger tried out for a catcher's position and made the cut. Our dad could not have been prouder of our positions and making the team. Dad and I were playing catch, as we did on occasions, and I forgot to catch the ball, but my mouth did along with the tooth it chipped. Roger was good at being a catcher, and at game time against another team, we would sometimes play as pitcher and catcher. The ball field at the park was the premier of all ballparks, with all the amenities a Little League park could give in the early sixties. Dad and Mom were there in the stands as the announcer would belt out the starting lineup, Roger, catcher, and Ronnie, pitcher. I think back today and realize how proud they would have been with their twins playing the most important positions on the team.

It was very fun to pitch to Roger because we always thought at the time we were in complete control over the batter. Once, we struck out ten batters in a row, then I couldn't get the ball over the plate. Roger was giving me that twin look and I was done, and he looked over at the coach during pitches, and then shortly after that, the coach jerked me out of the game, and I was done for the day. Once, we were rushed to the hospital by ambulance during a game with Mom and Dad watching their twins as pitcher and catcher. A batter popped up a ball between us, and we both knew we were going to get it, and one of us did, which was found in Roger's mitt. We were so focused on catching the ball that we just collided and found ourselves lying on the ground and momentarily knocked out. Mom stood up, as Dad just remained seated, and her hand was over her mouth and watched the coaches and players running to our aid. One of our players yelled out and said, He caught the ball. We felt fine, but as protocol, we were taken to the hospital with Mom in the ambulance with her twins.

Chapter 8

Egg Show/Jobs/The Rabbit

The strawberry fields, not forever, was the first jobsite that Roger and I had to make money, along with the other kids. Jane was the best picker and made the most at the end of the season, that I can remember. I know it wasn't Rog and me because we hated it and went to extreme measures to avoid going to the fields. The strawberry fields were situated all around us there in the country and school buses would bring the town pickers, those mostly being kids in the early teens. Dad wanted all of us to pick and make money for our school clothes and summer spending money, so when he got home from work, he wanted to know how many flats we picked. A flat was twelve half pints square containers. How well you picked was kinda determined by the number of berries on your row that was given to you by the field bosses. I realized later after watching TV shows about cotton pickers and such that it reminded me of the strict supervisors from the field bosses.

There was no switching rows and throwing berries, which always happened. It could get you thrown off the field for the day, and if you continued, that would get you fired for good. Sneaking a few choice big berries out of the next row happened, but don't get caught because that would mean a berry fight and maybe walking up to the snatcher and grabbing a container out of his flat. As soon as a boss turned their back, the throwing started. In fact, we would take the runners, which were growing out from the main plant, to start another plant. We would break the runner, which could be a foot or so long, and then slide a berry on it to where it would lie against a leaf. Now you were ready for the windup a few times over your head and launch it at someone. You could get good distance and accuracy after a while. We hated the picking to the point of rubbing berries, which we had in our garden, on our hands to show Dad we were out picking. We would hide out in a barn across the street or go exploring in the woods and go swimming in the river or go hunt for bullfrogs in the many sloughs around the area we lived.

The fields became a playground for myself and my twin. We felt that this was not the place for us to work alongside the town kids. We thought the farmers would hire us because we lived there, compared to hiring town teenagers. That was how it ended the next years. We even went picking blueberries, and that was even worse, and we didn't last a day, maybe two or three at best. That also was for the town youngins to do, but not for the twins, Ronnie and Roger. Then we met Walter while playing and sometimes picking strawberries. Little did we know, or most likely didn't care, that we would call him Good Golly as the many years would pass. He would become our third twin and a person we could stand to be around together, and that statement may sound rude, but very true. We had many friends that we would hang around, and for the most part, we kinda knew they wanted to be around twins. They enjoyed it, and we kinda used it in any fashion that we saw fit to benefit us in any way, shape, or form. Eventually, it was one of us that maybe didn't care for the kid that we chose not to hang around with, and then we would dump him, as we would say to each other. I guess it was the personality of that person that simply didn't fit with one of us.

Walt was different for some reason, and we both enjoyed his company at the same time. He could handle both of our personalities at the same time, which was not easy for anyone, and that includes siblings and other family members. We weren't easy to be around as I look back, and we were fine with that, because at the end of the day, we had each other, and that's what we care about the most. The three of us in the strawberry field would begin our antics with whoever crossed our paths, and it only took one of us to spark an idea for fun, and that could include fights, which I guess at the time was the most fun.

The first antic was someone, a kid like us, that pissed off one of us and that person then telling the other two, and then bad things could happen and did a lot of the times. Roger got on the kid's ass and taunted him in some way. Walt and I most likely paid no mind until we saw the kid take off into the brush, through a rabbit hole/trail with Roger on his tail. Walt and I couldn't believe it and talked about that for years. Roger had a little blood on him, most likely from going through brush. I never saw the kid come out, and that was it for picking. We ran clean out of the fields. I don't think the three of us ever returned. We figured we would get into trouble and most surely would have. Roger, Walt, and myself would come to be best friends for the rest of our lives.

Roger and I, and once was enough, ran down a young rabbit in a hole through the thick brush. At our age, it was easy to scramble on our hands and knees through the maze of trails that rabbits would live in and travel through the woods, which was our playground in our younger years. Finally, after quite a while of weaving through the trails, I caught the little critter. We decided to carry it home and show Mom. We traded off holding the youngin until we got home, and I showed Mom while she was in the kitchen canning vegetables. The first word out of her mouth was Get that thing out of the house, and we turned around and began to head for the door. When I looked down, the baby had died in my arms, and that hit us hard, and we couldn't believe it was dead. Mom said, That's what happens with wild animals when you try and catch them. We dug a hole out in the woods and laid it down gently and maybe said a few parting words and learned a lesson that we would never forget.

Roger, Walt, and I got a job in the evenings after school at a chicken-egg-laying farm when the real grab-ass bullshit started. The farm was removing old laying hens that weren't producing enough eggs, which required them to be grabbed out of the small cages and carried down long aisles that were in between many rows of cages. You carried two hens at a time, and had to walk them to the truck where someone would grab them.

As you were walking, you had to pass another hen carrier, so that required you to walk sideways for a moment. There were eggs along the way as you passed the cages, which would have been collected later by the egg farmers. That's where the shit stared when the Tenino boys would grab an egg on the way in to get a hen. As we Centralia boys were walking out with two hens in hand, the Tenino kids would crack an egg, and when passing by us they would spill the egg on us on purpose. We were outnumbered by at least four to one and had not much recourse then to take the abuse or just last out the evening. I caught on to what was happening to Roger and Walt and took guard when passing the Tenino boys. It went for most of the night, and we all vowed to take revenge in one way or the other, and also decided that would be our last night. We all ended up with wearing eggs and had no intentions of crying foul to the egg farmer boss about how the Tenino kids were treating us. We left the farm with full intentions of getting even, someway, somehow.

Next day at high school, the talk from Roger and me was the Tenino kids were treating Little Wags (Roger) and Big Wags (me) disrespectfully. Slowly as the day went on, kids were banding together to make an assault on the Tenino boys and teach them a lesson they soon wouldn't forget. Little Wags was the main reason the assault started to take shape because Roger was someone you didn't want to cross. He once got into a fight after school and was being thumped by the other student, pretty good when all of a sudden Kurt, a kid that enjoyed fighting, jumped in and beat the kid bloody. So when Roger got all his buddies together for a brawl at the egg farm, the next night I was kinda surprised, to say the least. Mitch was one of the C boys that was coming on the assault, and this kid was tough, mean-spirited, and had no issues when it came to fighting. He knew how to use his fists and how to use knives. There were a few times that I know of that he left a lasting impression on his victims, and one being me. It was in grade school when I first had an encounter with Mitch J. He sat behind me in I think it was fourth or fifth grade, and when I turned around with my arm lying on his desk, out of the clear blue, he jabbed a pencil into my forearm hard enough to draw blood and leave behind lead that I can still look at just to remind me. I had no intentions of telling the teacher for obvious reasons. I didn't want to pay for my mistake for ratting out on him. The other time was when he was confronted in town by two kids, teenage variety, with one knife and brass knuckles. He grabbed the one kid and put him on the sidelines and then grabbed the knife from the other kid and then swiped the blade across both ass cheeks. I guess I was lucky for just wearing lead for the rest of my life.

We all met at the high school parking lot, and had a convoy of about five cars with about thirteen kids. The plan was to drive the ten miles and then park in the egg farm parking lot and form a plan of attack. By this time, the boss and the T kids knew we weren't at work. Once we arrived, which was now dark, the walk toward the chicken barn seemed long, and I was damn uncertain what the hell was going to unfold when we got to the barn. The T kids were working, pulling hens in all the six rows of cages. So when we entered, we all started filling with two to three C boys in each row of pens. Once the T boys saw us with Roger, Walt, and me leading the charge, the look of fright on their faces could not have been clearer than fear itself. That's when the egg farmer bosses stepped forward and told us there were sheriffs waiting for their call if and when trouble started. We all stopped and looked at one another and then decided it wasn't worth going to jail that night. Roger and I were riding high with emotions that we won even though no blood was spilled. It was a victory, and we knew and the Tenino boys sure in hell felt how close they came to being beat badly. We found out later that one of the mothers overheard one of our gang about the rumble and