With this being my 100th post, I wanted to do something special. Write something halfway decent and maybe even sentimental. Though I had many topics to write about, nothing really hit me until after I came back from visiting my kids last weekend. On the trip from Warrenton to St. Claire and back I passed through Washington, Missouri. Memory upon memories rushed back and displayed themselves to me. All four of my kids were born there, its where I met their mother, where I met people that I will never forget, had things happen that I will never forget. It’s a place where, if I could go back and live again , I would. Right now, without hesitation. So here’s a little history with me and that quaint little town that sits on the south side of the Missouri River.
I moved to Washington in January of 1993, with nothing but a couple of bags of stuff and five dollars in my pocket. I was moving there because I was about to begin a job and there was a chance for a place there. I didn’t know where I was going to stay when I left my Uncle’s house, which was in New Haven, Mo, about twelve miles west of Washington along highway 100. I had just barely gotten out of the city limits when a woman and her daughter stopped and asked if I needed a ride. I accepted of course. (I thought nothing of accepting rides back then, I even hitchhiked at times.) She felt sorry for me and told me of a place that housed people with no homes. It was called Pheonix Place. I was able to stay there which I did for nearly six months. I met some people there that were something else. This alcoholic rehab place which I cant remember the name, usually sent their clients there to live. Though I can’t remember their names, except for a few, I can’t forget them. One that had probably the most significant imput into my life up until that time was Dallas Jackson. He befriended me and stuck by me through everything I did whether good or stupid. The last time I saw him was in 1998. I miss him. He was a good friend. There was this older guy and was really trying to sober up. he was a a character. Most of the time you couldn’t understand what he was saying. When he was sober, he was as nice as could be. He really wanted to be sober for his daughter, who was 16. I believe her name was Edna, but I’m not sure. Another guy whose name I wish I could remember was this country dude. Big, tall feller. He was a mean, mean dude if you pissed him off. His girlfriend would always come over and he would sneak her into his room upstairs and have his way with her, which was against the rules. There was a family that moved in, and though I cant remember their names, I remember their kids names; Angela and Tommy. There were others that I remember, just not their names. There were some volunteers who worked there, One was named Wendy and another Inga and they were both beautiful. I did become friends with them, though Wendy took awhile to open up. She was a bit of a snob at first.
When April of 1993 came, a lot of things changed. It began when I started work at McDonalds.