‘Papa Was A Rolling Stone’

Lydia Crochet Wednesday, June 22, 2016 Comments Off on ‘Papa Was A Rolling Stone’
‘Papa Was A Rolling Stone’

One Man’s Vow To Be The Kind Of Dad He Never Had

By Lydia Crochet

We all have a story. And when it comes to telling the tales of our fathers, no two are alike. Good or bad, right or wrong, not all fathers fit comfortably into one category.

Smokey and Margie just after they were married — late 1930s.

Smokey and Margie just after they were married — late 1930s.

Wikipedia describes Father’s Day as “a celebration honoring fathers and celebrating fatherhood, paternal bonds and the influence of fathers in society.” Cards are bought, gifts are given and calls are made in an effort to express how much dads are appreciated.

While Father’s Day is certainly a celebration for some, it’s quite complicated for others.

John’s story is one that fits well into the complicated category. His children and grandchildren always made Father’s Day a joyful occasion. From the moment John became a father in 1967, he took the job of fatherhood very seriously. His family was his number one priority; co-parenting with his wife and providing for his family — sometimes by working multiple jobs — became his reason for living.

He loved being a dad.

But his relationship with his own father was certainly nothing to celebrate. John wasn’t raised by his biological father, and he didn’t know much about him until late in his life. His mother, Margie, left his father when he was just a toddler. For years, it was all one big puzzle to him. He wondered whether his biological father ever thought of him. He wondered whether he had siblings, and if so, did they even know he existed?

Did his father remarry? Was his new wife aware that her husband had a son? Would his father ever come for John? What kind of life was he living?

John never let his sense of rejection plague his life. In fact, he was actually OK without his biological father. But there was always that “what if?”

John in 1942, the year his mother left his father.

John in 1942, the year his mother left his father.

John’s parents, both from north Louisiana, married in the late 1930s. Margie was attractive and petite; feisty and head-strong. “Smokey” was a tall and handsome playboy; sly and mischievous. He was a bit of a socialite but also a roughneck — both on and off the clock. It was no secret he liked to frequent the bars.

When the pair moved to Texas soon after John was born in 1940, Margie was often left home alone with the infant. But in early 1942, something happened. Whatever it was, it was enough to prompt Margie to pack a bag, bundle up baby John and board a bus headed for north Louisiana. She never looked back.

Margie filed for divorce, wanting nothing but her freedom. She never forgave Smokey. She hated him. The very mention of his name altered her mood. This made it nearly impossible for John to see his father, or even inquire about him. Margie never spoke about what happened in Texas and dared anyone else to; it just wasn’t an option.

John and his stepfather Mitch.

John and his stepfather Mitch.

Margie and her young son settled in the small town of Vinton, La. She married a man named Mitch, providing John with a father figure for several years.

In fact, John was Mitch’s only child. John loved and respected his stepfather, who was a good man. He certainly filled a void in John’s life. But complications involving alcohol often strained their relationship.

His step-father passed away early in life when John was in his 20s — only three months after John’s first child was born.

John in 1955 at the age of 15, around the time of the track meet.

John in 1955 at the age of 15, around the time of the track meet.

John in the U.S. Army.

John in the U.S. Army.

Life went on. In spite of not having his father around, John did very well for himself. After graduating from high school, he spent four years in the Army, where he specialized in Morse Code interception. He then enrolled in McNeese State College (later to become McNeese State University), where he earned a degree in chemical engineering. He married and had four children, and went on to retire after many years with the Dept. of Energy.

In later years, when Margie’s grandchildren were old enough to ask her questions about their grandfather, the only man she would acknowledge was John’s stepdad Mitch. But when she developed Alzheimer’s in her 70s, she began to mention Smokey. Her bitterness was palpable. Although she never spoke about their marriage or gave any details about her first husband, he did acquire several new R-rated nicknames.

Margie was a bit of a hoarder; not in a hazmat, cat-carcass kind of way; but she did keep lots of old pictures (along with old lipsticks, chewing gum and water bills from the ‘50s) hidden in old suitcases. Margie shared a few of these pictures with the kids. Smokey was in some of them. The children’s favorite pictures were the ones of her with Smokey, AKA “Sinatra,” when he’d dressed like a crooner. Both man and wife wore stylish hats, while Smokey sported a cane. He appeared cocky and debonair.

Margie and Smokey, Aug. 10, 1936.

Margie and Smokey, Aug. 10, 1936.

There was one picture in which the two posed like Bonnie and Clyde, with Margie pointing a gun at him in a playful manner. It’s not clear whether the gun was a real one or a toy. But written very clearly on the back of the old photo were the words “should have shot him.”

Through the years, the questions remained and John’s mother continued to honor her self-imposed gag order.

In 1991, John decided he was tired of wondering. Papa may have been a rolling stone, but John figured he couldn’t roll forever. He decided to search for his father, and eventually found that he was living in the Toledo Bend area.

Margie just after they were married — late 1930s.

Margie just after they were married — late 1930s.

Throughout the years, John had brought his family to Toledo Bend for mini-vacations. He never dreamed his real father was right there under his nose. He decided to pay him a visit.

He and his wife loaded up the station wagon in true “Griswald” fashion with four confused and sarcastic teens and headed north. The two-hour car ride was saturated with non-stop questions and comments: “Does Sinatra know we’re headed his way? So where’s this dude been, in the Witness Protection Program? He’s probably in the mafia. Will we be collecting 50 years’ worth of child support? Have we finally found Waldo? Is he rich? Is grandma coming too?”

The last question was answered with a definite “no.” In fact, the kids were under strict orders not to tell grandma anything about the excursion to grandpa’s house. To teenagers, this request was naturally seen as leverage.

The family drove up to a double-wide trailer and knocked on the door. A leathered, elderly gentleman opened the door. A tiny, silver-haired, wide-eyed woman stood behind him in the smoke.

The kids stood there in amazement as they stared at the man who looked exactly like their father, only with white hair. He was a bit taller and smelled like a campfire, but the two did bear a striking resemblance. Hello, grandpa!

Smokey in later years.

Smokey in later years.

Although the meeting was a bit awkward at first, it was monumental for both father and son. John was finally able to find some of the missing pieces of his puzzling life. He learned that Smokey remarried and divorced several times. John also learned he had a half-brother and half-sister, but their relationships with Smokey were somewhat strained.

Smokey had lived a hard life, littered with lots of bars, barmaids and bar fights. After the kids saw Smokey boil crawfish in a metal trash can, it was apparent to them that he wasn’t rich. (So much for the child support fortune.)

But the fascinating stories he told over their crawfish lunch painted him as worldly, street smart and a complete badass, and that was enough to win the kids’ approval.

The best news John received that day was that his father did think about him through the years. Around 1955, Smokey happened to be passing through the town of Vinton when he noticed a track meet being held at the high school. He parked his car and made his way to the fence, hoping to catch a glimpse of his son. He did; his son was easy to recognize. He saw John run a race or two that day. John never knew his father was on the sidelines, silently cheering him on.

Smokey was thrilled to hear all about John’s accomplishments and meet his grandchildren. He was proud of John, and relieved to know John turned out to be a wonderful husband and father.

But nothing was mentioned of the fateful day in 1942 when Margie and John loaded that bus; Margie’s reason for leaving was still a mystery.

The two men called each other and visited several times over the next few years — even on Father’s Day.

Smokey passed away in 1994. And even though he didn’t have all his questions answered, John was thankful for the time he’d had to reconnect with the man he’d longed to know for so many years.

He later met his half-siblings.

Margie passed away in 1997, leaving behind her 50-year-old lipstick and bank statements, and taking the bus ride secret with her to her grave.

Ten years later, John received a phone call from a woman claiming to be his sister. The woman’s name was Marcie, which happened to be a variant of Smokey’s real name. She explained to John that when she was 13, her mother revealed to her who her real father was. Her mother admitted to having an affair with a married man named Marcy, who lived in the same Texas town in which Smokey and Margie lived. She became pregnant as a result of that affair.

She alleged that after he left his job one day, Smokey was arrested for “desertion or abandonment of his family.” She cut ties with the married man and left. His name is listed as Marcie’s father on the birth certificate. Marcie, John’s half-sister, was born in August, 1942. Was this the reason for that infamous bus ride?

John believed he had finally found the most important piece of the puzzle. And he had a bonus sister to show for his efforts.

John was my father. He passed away in January of this year. We miss him every day.

John.

 

When it comes to fathers, I was fortunate to be blessed with a great one. I was blessed with a loving, hard-working dad — one who would spend many nights at the kitchen table tutoring me in math and chemistry homework or working side jobs for extra money.

I happily celebrated every Father’s Day with him by taking him to lunch, buying him a useless gift, or at the very least, calling him on the phone.

This is the first Father’s Day I’ll spend without my daddy. He wasn’t perfect — he inherited Margie’s hoarding gene — but he was a great man. He was a father in every sense of the word: father to four, father-in-law to four and grandfather to 13. He was a mentor and substitute dad to several aspiring hunters and mechanics. And when he remarried after our mother’s passing, he became a step-father and step-grandfather.

I often felt sorry for dad for not having his own dad to honor on Father’s Day for most of his life. But to him, Father’s Day was about his own kids and the needless, yet appreciated, gifts he received.

When Dad was on his death bed, I asked him if he was angry towards Smokey. “No. I’m not mad,” he said. “I forgave him years ago. He never gave me anything, but he did give me life and he even gave me siblings. He wasn’t much of a father to me, but I learned a lot from him anyway.”

And I knew exactly what he meant; Smokey taught him life lessons in endurance, forgiveness and how not to be a good father. My dad was the perfect example that a man can break the “deadbeat dad” cycle and be the best father he can be.

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