Looking for Mountain, Trying to Find my Sanity

I’m speeding down the road in Northeastern Wisconsin with my dear friend, Joe Palooka. He and I go back a long time, friends since we were kids. I remember when we first met in George Piazzi’s variety store on Main Street where we would visit several times a week for candy and comics. I had seen Joe there a number of times, and when I walked up to him and said “Hi, I’ve seen you here before”; he just responded with “Yeah so what is your business here?” I told him, “The same as yours, getting some candy and the latest Superman comic book”. He said, “Why Superman?” and I responded “Because he is the best”. He said “I agree”. And so this started a long term friendship which moved into bonding as we would pool our money to get that candy and share comics, while coming up with ideas for making a bit of money—like picking through the garbage bins to get aluminum and talking older citizens into contracts for mowing their lawns or shoveling their snow. Maybe we could convince a couple of shop keepers to sweep the sidewalks outside of their stores.

           Now we are heading to the cabin of my older sister Beth who is married to a banker in Green Bay. They have this cabin in the woods near Mountain. It is a rustic, restful place that has a way of soothing the mind and washing away the pain and suffering that life can hand out.

           My pain and suffering was from living with my aunt and uncle. I was doled out enough pain in the time I lived with them to last several lifetimes. During that time I was living at my aunt and uncles house as both my parents perished in a auto accident. And, wow, was my uncle ever an asshole. He would come home in a drunken rage and for no reason beat me with his wide leather belt that he kept hanging on the back of the bathroom door. My aunt would say nothing during these beating sessions but would later come to my room with soothing lotion to rub on my wounds. After these beatings my uncle would inevitably fall asleep on the day bed in the back room. When he was sobered up the next morning, I would always confront him about his beating behaviors and the pattern was always the same, first he denied any knowledge of his actions. Then when I showed him the marks on my back, my arms, legs and butt; he admitted he remembered something about the event, and then would profusely apologize with  a sorry, it won’t happen again attitude and give me five or ten dollars as if this was his penance or his license to continue the practice. Uncle Ro was a beast. I would often ask aunt Bee why she stayed married to him and she would respond “Well having food and shelter is better than being homeless. Besides when he is not drinking he treats me fine”. The times that he was sober were few and fleeting. I would always save the bribes he gave and kept it in an envelope under my mattress separate from my other money. Over the three years that I lived with them and suffered these beatings, the money in that envelope mounted up to nine hundred and fifty dollars, enough to buy this AMC Rambler that I am now driving.

           The beatings started when I turned nine years old and continued until I was twelve. For my twelfth birthday, I received a package in the mail from my second cousin, Bill who was eighteen and lived in Omaha, Nebraska. When I opened this birthday present, it was a long Bowie knife in its sheath with a note attached. “Happy birthday, and now you don’t have to take shit from anyone!” Wow, did Bill know that I was getting these repeated beatings from uncle Ro? I wasn’t sure, but I immediately used that knife for its first project. I took the scotch tape dispenser and the knife and headed for the bathroom. I grabbed that strap hanging on the door and cut it into two inch strips and then into four inch pieces. That knife was so sharp and cut the leather like a knife through warm butter. With the tape dispenser, I taped the pieces back together as I was cutting that belt to pieces.

           Now I was tall for my age and athletic as well. I was recruited for the middle school football, wrestling and the spring rugby team.  I joined all the teams and vigorously worked out and lifted weights to build muscles and gain conditioning capability so that I was speedy, well coordinated with a flexible and well balanced body. I knew that I needed this body building as I planned to confront uncle Ro when he next tried to beat me while in his drunken stupor. With my knife and sheath fastened to me under my shirt I was prepared for his next on sloth

           I didn’t have long to wait. My birthday was on a Tuesday and it was the next day Wednesday when aunt Bee and I having finished our dinner and the clean up including washing the dishes, that we heard uncle Ro stumbling up the front steps complaining and clearly loaded for bear. “John, John” he slurred, “get ready for your punishment, you bad boy you”. Well I was ready for him. As he was woozy, he swayed toward the bathroom and grabbed his favorite torture instrument. “Come here boy and take it like a man”. I jumped up from the sofa, with a pillow in one hand and my new knife in the other. I calmly said, “Uncle Ro, you can’t do that to me ever again, and now you will be repaid for your bad deeds”.

           Hearing that he swung that belt toward me, but the knife and the tape had done its job. As he struck the pillow I was using for defense, the belt shattered like a glass window into little strips and pieces and all falling to the floor at the impact with the pillow. He weaved backward in surprise and disgust and muttered “What happened?” I immediately leaped onto his back, and grappled him to the floor; deftly slicing both of his arms with my knife and grabbing a huge knot of his hair cut a goodly sized set of his locks off, sprinkling the falling hair onto his bloody arms. I looked him straight into his reddened eyes and said. “You are fortunate that I have a bit of compassion because the next time you try to attach anyone in this house, I will be cutting off your nose”. Then I drew that knife across his face to ensure that there would be a reminder of my threat.

           He just lay there quieting down and then began to cry. I said “Shed no tears for me as I am moving out tomorrow.” Then I got up off of him, went to the sink to wash my knife and headed for my bedroom to start packing. Aunt Bee was paralyzed in her recliner, and only after I left the room could I hear her footsteps on the stairs. Then there was her knock on my bedroom door and she came into the room quietly crying and whispered “Where will you go and what will you do?” I said, “Aunt Bee, I’m sorry it had to end this way but I couldn’t take it anymore and something had to change. I’m out of here. I will be staying at Joe Palooka’s house, they have a room in the basement that they have agreed I can use. And there is one more thing, if uncle Ro ever lays a hand on you and I find out, I’ll be back to carry out my threat.”

           So now, as we are driving north toward mountain, these experiences are receding into the back of my mind, but the physical and emotional scars remain. As we are just about to arrive at the village of Mountain, Joe remarks “Where is the mountain, I don’t see one”. I say, “Look there on the side of the road in the ditch. See that huge rock? That’s the mountain” “Oh” says Joe, “I’m not impressed.”

           Now this is a hilly region, however there are no mountains piercing the sky to be seen as you scan the horizon. The only mountains are the rocks in the mind which require a climb, a conquering and a healing attitude to remove those obstacles from your life. Perhaps the early settlers brought some pain and agony with them and found a healing place here.

           As we arrive at the cabin, unlock the door and take our packs into the bedrooms, we can gaze at the lake at the bottom of the hill that the cabin is clinging to. The birds are singing, the wind is whispering through the trees and the peacefulness is settling over both of us. Joe looks and me and says, “Let’s go for a walk, maybe take the woodland trail, or the lakeside trail and maybe even go fishing”. I agree as I know that the peacefulness of this place will be healing and centering and helping me to release my pains as the experience of true joyfulness penetrates my soul sharing the positive that life can give.