The move back to Washington

 I made the decision to ETS (when you leave active duty military service).  I remember the plan was for us to move back to Tacoma and I was going to go to work with my brother.  He had started a mobile car detailing business, and him being my big brother and wanting me to come home, sold me on this.  It really didn't take much selling.  At the time I was ready to come home. I am certain, even if she didn't outwardly say it, Cyndi was likely wanting to be closer to home so she could at least have family and friends to support her. Our marriage was still intact, but it wasn't always pretty.  Remember, lots of drinking, lots of pot smoking, and, massive issues with money management.  Or, should I say, no money management.

Thus, we packed up our 1989 Datsun B210 Wagon, cat and all, and headed home. You might remember me saying our first car was old Plymouth Grand Fury, well, that one didn't last long.  I could not keep my foot out of the pedal and it loved it's fuel.  Thus, we had traded it in and bought the Datsun.  Typing that, just reminded me that we did consider me staying in the military. I remember we went out looking at newer cars we could buy if I signed a new contract and stayed in. I wanted to get a Nissan Stanza at the time.  I am not sure what the deciding factor to not re-up was, but, it didn't happen.  Likely for the reasons I stated above. 

So, here we go, heading home.  Cyndi has some pictures somewhere of the day we left.  We had that little car packed inside and on the roof with everything the movers didn't take from our apartment. Even our cat Chelsie. That cat was a pain in my ass. Huh, I still say that about any cat I have to this day.  I must love them though because I always seem to have one.  Chelsie lived to be like 15 I think.  At any rate we hit the road...heading home. 

This is June of '87.  I had signed a 3yr enlistment for active duty.  I somehow successfully fulfilled that obligation. Even with all the drinking and crazy behavior that followed.  Even while smoking pot/hash and doing some acid within.  I should give myself credit though.  Our family has always worked. All the years of our crazy childhood mom worked. Always. All of my siblings have always worked.  Always.   Even through all the crazy. When you sign up for the military you are actually signing an 8 yr commitment. It is split up however you initially sign up for active duty.  Thus, I was not in the inactive reserves for 5 more years. 

The drive back, well, we almost made it. Not surprising really, the Datsun's transmission starting losing gears somewhere within a few states of Washington. First loss was fifth gear, than fourth, than third, following was second.....We made it to Boardman, Oregon where the transmission was done.  We had been in contact with Cyndi's dad throughout.  He was pretty good with cars for the most part and I didn't know much.  I say Bob was pretty good, and it gives me a laugh to say this, because that guy would fix a car with a coat hanger and duct tape....No shit.  The car would kinda work for a little while. He had told me to just keep going when we started losing gears.  It was going to go anyway at that point.   Thus, we made it to Boardman.  Bob drove down and towed us the rest of the way home. I am certain we were either very low on cash, had borrowed money from them, or any other number of ways we would finagle our money. It was always a stress....always. 

We made it back. We stayed with Cyndi's parents for a bit.  They had just bought some property in Yelm.  Bob, even with all of his stuff that was pretty similar to mine with daily drinking and behavior that followed, well he had a knack for figuring shit out in his own world. Thus, we moved out there while we got on our feet.  This is where I floundered a bit for work.

The plan with my brother didn't pan out.  Thus, I needed work and I needed it now.  This is pre-internet 1987. I hit the want ads and hit the streets looking for a job. My skill set was not real high at this point in the game. I had some restaraunt experience, was now a veteran who could drive the shit out of tank and could hit a target with a firearm, oh, and, was skilled at repelling from a helicopter.  Certainly, having a strong work ethic was highly desirable in the work place and just saying "I am a veteran" were helpful, but actual skills, not many. 

I started applying for police work.  I applied with Tacoma PD, the State Patrol, and I am sure others.  I made it to an oral board for Tacoma, but didn't get any further.  I made it to an orientation with the State Patrol, but, because I raised my hand when they asked who had done drugs outside of occasional pot smoking, I was thanked for my time. Looking back it was probably good decisions on their part to not hire me. I was barely 21, or nearing 21 that I remember, and not real mature. Just think for a minute about what you have read about my past and life to that point, yeah, good thing really.

I did a phone soliciting job......ugh.  Painful. I did side jobs that Bob found for me here and there when he wasn't on the road.  And than, the idea was floated about me doing long haul trucking with Bob. I kinda laugh at this as I type it.  I am guessing Bob wasn't to keen on this idea, even though he might have been the one to bring it up.  You should know he loved his daughter so he wanted to find a way for her marriage to succeed.  Even if he knew that she pretty much married a younger him.  Maybe he thought taking me on the road would help.  It didn't.  I think it was about a year in total. I remember our first load was from Portland, Oregon to Portland, Maine.  He was in the moving and storage business and worked for United Van Lines.  What that meant is hard ass work at each end loading and unloading entire houses. Bob, he was really good at all aspects of this.  Really good. I had moved as a kid myself many times so I had that experience, but Bob knew how to move other peoples stuff, and usually, nice stuff.  He did some military moves, but also, corporate moves. Thus, we moved peoples treasures. Bob had a real craft with how he interacted with people from all walks of life.  I learned how to be in the world in many ways from him.  He DID NOT meet a stranger.  He just didn't.  And, because he had been trucking for years of his life, he knew people across the country.  No shit. We would roll into some small town in the middle of no where and he knew people. I was always in awe of his skill in this arena.  

Now, he also drank on the road.  While it was a bit less, and, for the most part he didn't drink and drive while driving an 18 wheel truck loaded to the hilt, he would catch up when would stop for overnights.  He also knew all the bars he frequented across the country.  His 'not knowing a stranger' played out in bars too. He and I didn't mesh to well on the road.  When you are with someone 24/7, two people who are generations apart and had different ideas of how each should be in the world, well, it didn't pan out to well. Thus, the family plan of Dad and Son-in-law partnering up for the open road didn't last to long.

I ended up back in a restaurant cooking. Cyndi and found our own place off of 84th and Pacific in Tacoma, a really nice apt.  Thinking about it now I am sure her mom and dad helped us get in there.  Likely to do a couple things...one, a true desire to help us out, and two, getting us out of their place in Yelm.  Oh and, I know we wanted out of Yelm.  This is Yelm in 1987......not much going on and job opportunities were minimal.

So, here we are, in our own place, back to civilian life. I was working as a cook at a restaurant in the north end called KCJ's.  I had found the job because my Grandma Turco and my brother's dad, Gerry Emmerson were both working there.  I know typing this will bring up stuff for Cyndi.  She ended up working there as a waitress and it is where I cheated on her with another waitress. I was a shit husband. I don't think that is a surprise based on what you have read to this point, I just was. Being faithful in our marriage just didn't happen.  

To shift gears a little I need to go back to my childhood and tell you something since Gerry Emmerson is coming back into the picture.  For my entire childhood I was told Gerry Emmerson was my real father. I went by David Emmerson for much of my childhood.  When Jonny adopted me I went by Revell, but when he passed I went back to Emmerson. That was even easier to do when mom married Tom Emmerson (our Uncle who became our Dad) after Jonny died. Again, my entire childhood I believed Gerry to be my real father. It wasn't until I went in the military that I was forced to use Douglas.  Why?  That is what is on my birth certificate.  Even than I only used Douglas because I had too, not because I had any knowing, or, any knowledge that this Danny Douglas guy was really my biological father.  Family stories for me, to that point held much more weight than a guy I had never seen.

I never challenged any of this story....why would I?  It doesn't become something I even considered challenging until I am about 28-29 and really start peeling the shit show of my childhood and starting seeking the "why" of Danny Douglas being on my birth certificate.

So, in 1987-88 I am still of the belief that Gerry IS my real father.  I remember Grandma Turco thinking it would be great for me and Gerry to work together and become close.  Ha!  Nice try Grandma, nice try.  Gerry was a shit show himself. 

More tomorrow......