Insomnia: Two Wives, Childhood Memories and Crazy Dreams

By Jack Hawn

It was so many years ago when I first met her, but almost like yesterday. Charlene, the love of my life, dominated my thoughts deep into the night and early morning hours. After seven years, I still grieved like a lost puppy missing its mom. Insomnia can be dreadful, incur

• Language: English
• Publisher: PageLink Solutions
• Release date: Dec 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798989700448

Jack Hawn

Jack Hawn never studied journalism and never aspired to be a writer. After almost four years assigned to the army's public information offices, he faced civilian life with a wife, infant daughter, wild ambition, bursting optimism, unshakeable confidence--and no job. He found work as a copyboy at a Hollywood newspaper, was paid $5 to review plays and nightclub acts, and a year later filled a sports desk vacancy. He eventually earned extra income as a television dramatist and wrote TV and radio scripts for sportscasters. In 1970 he was hired at the L.A. Times, where he worked in sports and entertainment. During his 41-year career, he covered Muhammad Ali, 1984 Olympics boxing, Sugar Ray Robinson, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr., the Andrews Sisters, Dinah Shore, and other celebrities until his retirement in 1991.

Book preview

Acknowledgements

She’s not a boxing fan, so it’s likely Marilyn June Janson M.S. Ed., a Multi-Award-Winning writer, text editor and manuscript analyst, would have wanted me to explain the phrase pulling his punches. I wouldn’t have won the dispute, so I rewrote the line. However, I rejected an explanation for slam dunk.

A prominent member of Arizona Authors Association, Marilyn unveiled a list of professional writing rules I never knew existed. For that alone, I am grateful. Her many red-lined no-no’s and numerous suggestions helped clean up a manuscript that required serious polishing. Her most valuable suggestion—particularly for this book that has virtually no continuity—was before each chapter numbers, anchor your readers in the year and locations of your scenes. That solved my major concern despite adding hours of mental anguish searching through boxes of old photos of yesteryear and dusting off a 1951 wedding album.

Prologue

Southern California, 1948

The light emanating from the glass Virgin Mary on a small stand next to the window cast a dim glow in the master bedroom.

I fumbled for the remote beside me, lowered the foot of my twin bed, then made a quarter turn to my left to check the clock: 3:18 a.m. Another sleepless night.

I was reminded of the wonderful Simon and Garfunkel song, The Sound of Silence.

My mind raced, recalling the first time I laid eyes on the prettiest girl I had ever seen.

Shapely, long-legged with dark hair and light, unblemished skin, she surely would have been a top contestant that night at the high school beauty pageant, but she was too shy to enter.

It was spring, 1948. I was visiting Bea Lamb and her daughter who lived across the street from my former home in Southern California.

Wearing my Army uniform on my first three-day pass after completing basic training at Fort Ord, I was seated at a piano tapping out Elmer’s Tune with one finger when she walked in the door.

Carrying a few school books, Charlene West had stopped on her way home to see her nextdoor girlfriend.

Onalee Ayres, Bea Lamb’s daughter, introduced us.

Her family moved next door after you left, Jack.

When I left, it was a vacant lot, I said as I turned to Charlene. Bad timing on my part.

The words, laced with a hint of sarcasm, scarcely crossed my lips when I regretted them and which Charlene ignored, then acted as if I were invisible.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

I have to go, she told Onalee as she moved toward the front door. I just stopped by to show you my black and gold senior sweater.

It was nice meeting you, I quickly interjected as she headed out. I hope we might see each other during the weekend. I don’t have to be back till Monday.

I’m going steady, she said matter-of-factly, with Onalee’s brother Don. He’s in the Air Force, away for a while. Bye Lee.

Onalee closed the door, turned to me and shrugged. Sorry, Jack, she said. Guess she’s unavailable.

Unavailable? I didn’t immediately know my next move with only the weekend to make a date. I decided to forego my original plans to visit my neighborhood buddies. After all, she’s right next door. Better yet, Don’s away.

***

Lingering thoughts about that day and what abruptly followed ended when a nasal wheeze intruded upon the silence.

I rolled to my right. Lying in the twin bed next to me, my girlfriend stirred, opened her eyes, looked at me and smiled through a deep yawn.

Hi, honey. What time is it?

Too early to get up, I said as I checked the clock. Ten to four.

She sat up, ran her hand through her hair, planted her feet on the carpet, got up and stood next to the window. Motionless for a moment, she yawned again, then moved away from the Venetian blinds.

What a dream, she mumbled. I’ll tell you about it later.

I can hardly wait.

Be right back.

Chapter 1

Southern California, 1939

Nearly two years before the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7th of 1941 my father purchased his first house—a nearly new, two-bedroom tract home costing $3,400 with a down payment of $50.

Jack and his family, including Pudgy, in-front of their new home in 1940

Seven years later, my parents sold the house for $10,500 when they bought a beer and wine tavern in Oak View, California, a rural community about sixty miles north of us. The family moved, and I stayed across the street in Don Ayres’ unoccupied room for three months until I graduated from high school.

It was early on when I first met Don, about three years older than me. He should have had me pinned under him as we wrestled in the street between our houses. Whatever led to our confrontation, I don’t have a clue. But I remember having the edge.

Get off me, he yelled as tears trickled down his face. Get the hell off. Okay, I’m sorry.

We weren’t friends but with Don having a well-developed blonde sister my age, we frequently came into contact.

Also, there were other instances from time to time, such as the day Don was showing off his frisky pinto horse and letting friends ride it around the vacant lot that bordered one side of his house. Several were waiting to climb into the saddle.

When it appeared to be my turn, I stepped back. No thanks, I said. I’ve never been on a horse.

What’s the matter? Afraid you can’t handle him?

Don kept it up, embarrassing me, until I attempted to mount his horse, slipped out of the stirrup and fell to the ground.

I’m sure Don and others laughed. I wasn’t hurt but had the wind knocked out of me. I didn’t ride a horse for years after that.

***

At age fifteen or thereabouts, my hormones were raging, but under control while Don’s sister Onalee had targeted me for her first conquest, because, I suppose, I was available.

Now, numerous decades later, I no longer recall the circumstances other than we were alone in her house one early evening when she was demonstrating weight-reducing exercises she performed.

Slightly overweight, Onalee stood in the middle of the living room.

Wearing a form-fitting sweater that accentuated her breasts, she bent backwards, placing her feet and palms of her hands on the carpeting.

Wow! I said or, more likely, something that made it clear I was sexually