Pettit Mike - Raised By Wolves

RAISED BY WOLVES

GROWING UP POOR IN AMERICA

Recollection, Memories, and Other Travesties of My Childhood

Mike Pettit

Im telling this story, not because it needs to be told or that Im looking for anything out of it. I just want to tell it so someday someone will read it and smile knowing that there is more that binds us together than we like to admit. Youre born and you die, what happens in between is up to us and in the end usually makes for a good story. This is my story of growing up poor in 1950s Houston. Everything in it is true as I recollect it. Being a storyteller, I embellished a little for entertainment purposes, but I tried to stay true to my experiences as much as possible. I have used place names and individual names where appropriate, other names I changed so as not to embarrass anyone.

This is all true to the extent that I can tell the truth. Its my story, and Im sticking to it.

MP

IN THE BEGINNING

It was midday when they came for the old man. Two cops crammed through the backdoor and three through the front door, screaming and shouting with faces all scrunched up in a rage. They spread around the place with pistols and nightsticks drawn ready to take on any criminal that was crazy enough to fight back. They were tough cops, they had seen everything bad there was to see, so it didnt take long to understand that the only two criminals in the room was Pop passed out on the mattress on the floor, and me. My feet were frozen to the floor in terror, my eyes were big as headlights, and my mouth open to scream, but nothing came out.

Bundle this bum up, lets get out of this dump. It stinks to high heaven, one of the cops said as he beat the palm of his hand with his nightstick.

I could tell he was disappointed that the old man didnt put up any resistance. Thats a joke, my Pop put up a fight, Ha. The old man was a softy, smart as a whip, but harmless. Oh, he could talk a good fight after a few drinks, but I knew him better than anybody. He was what you might call a renascence man, a bon vivant, a chap for all seasons. But he was also a scoundrel, a swindler, and a hopeless drunk. He couldnt, and wouldnt hurt a fly.

What about the kid? You got papers on him, Sarge?

Nah, just the wino here.

The big cop walked over to me and grabbed an ear.

Whats your name boy?

I was petrified, I knew I was going down, my short life was over, I had less than a second to live

I I aint got one, I said. It would only be a second before Pop would come to and beat my butt for talking to a cop.

Pops Thou Shalt Nots had talking to cops right up there with confessing anything to a priest, or looking a gypsy directly in the eye. Thank God he was passed out or I would have caught hell for sure.

Wadda ya mean you aint got a name. Everybodys got a name, ya little turd.

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I peed myself and began to cry.

The little turd pissed himself, lookie here, boys, the big cop guffawed and pointed.

Leave him alone Sarge, hes just a kid, a hulk said from the front door.

Watch your mouth Peters, or Ill have you back walking a beat, the big cop said.

In an instant of insanity, I saw my chance. I bolted for the front door, squeezed by the hulk, crossed the street, and disappeared into the big vacant field across from us. Once down in the weeds I knew I was safe. This was my turf now and I knew every inch of it. I watched as two cops came out of the front door carrying Pop between them, his head lolling back and forth. He had been drinking nonstop since the first of the week so he was carrying a full load for sure. Just at the last minute as they were pouring him into the back of a squad car, I swear he looked straight at me and winked. I smiled, knowing the old man was gaming them.

***

I stayed out in the field almost until dark and finally gave up fighting all the chiggers and skeeters biting me and headed back to the shack. My brother Burt had named the lot Snake Skin Pass after a Saturday movie matinee he had seen back before he went in the Marines. He came home one day and told Momma and Pop that he had joined the Marines to go fight the chinks. I didnt know who the chinks were, but if Burt was going to fight them then I was with him a hundred percent. He said he needed Pop to sign for him because he had just turned sixteen and needed them to sign saying he was seventeen. That was back when the family was still together but beginning to falter. Momma had a job clerking nights at a hotel downtown and the old man was just beginning to sink into an alcoholic spin into oblivion. Pop signed for him wishing him all the best and saying how proud he was of his son serving his country. We hugged and promised we would write each other (at the time, I knew my letters and could print pretty good), but we never did. I never saw Burt again. Later on, a man in uniform came around to see Pop, but he was passed out and I couldnt wake him. By then Momma was gone too. She was working somewhere but no one ever explained what she did or where it was she worked.

San Felipe Courts (The Projects)

With Burt gone, that left six kids still home to feed and raise. Pops drinking got worse with every passing payday and Momma would disappear and be gone for days at a time. She would show up every week or so with some groceries and a few dollars for us to use for necessities. To us kids, that meant luxuries like toothpaste, bar soap, toilet paper, things that went fast with that many bodies to wash and little butts to wipe. To Pop, it meant booze, and he would shake us down for any money we might have got from Momma. It wasnt long after a visit from momma that we were back to basics using salt to brush teeth and a course cloth to scrub with.

Most people dont know that in a big poor family everything is shared. I look back now and cant remember a time ever having more than two toothbrushes for the bunch of us to share. For sure, a bath alone was unheard of. When I did bathe, it was always with at least two or three of my sisters in a room temperature tub. Sitting in a row, we would take turns washing each others backs, passing the cloth forward like a little assembly line, singing and yakking about nothing. I love my sisters dearly, but the worse beating I ever got in my life was the time I peed in the tub just to see what they would do. I think it was Sue sitting in front of me that noticed it first, then Patty sitting behind me. The next few minutes were a blur of scratches, screaming, yelling, hitting, and slugging. In the next instant, I was standing wet, alone, and sobbing. I had just received my first ass whipping from members of the opposite sex. I was shattered and left to die with a bloody nose, a black eye, bruised arms and chest, ears ringing, and deep scratch marks all over my body. Although I cant prove it, I am convinced it was Sue that tried to rip my little wiener off, but she denies it. (well, I didnt do it to myself, girl!). To this day, I have a mortal fear of bathing with a woman, although, I have peed in swimming pools occasionally since then, but thats not the same.

My oldest sister Carolyn and Pop would go down to the Relief Office every Friday morning to receive the next weeks rations. They would leave early to get a good spot in line so Carolyn could get to school without getting a tardy mark. The other reason was that certain items went fast. For example, each week a family on Relief would receive 2 lbs. of lard, 5 lbs. of either pinto beans or lima beans, 10 lbs. of rice or hominy grits, 5 lb. bag of sugar, a box of dry milk, and a bag of dried fruit. The early birds could choose whether they wanted the pinto or lima beans, rice or hominy, or a choice of dried fruit (we liked the dried apples best). It didnt take long for one or the other choices to run out, so it paid to get there early.