Episode 9
Train tracks run right through Jackson, Mississippi, north to south. Head north on the tracks and you hit Memphis. Southward you hit New Orleans. Everyone can hear the trains, however faint.
As a child, the train meant freedom. I’d listen to the clanking of freight cars rolling through the early morning, hoot owls hooting, and I’d dream of “bigger” places. London or New York is where I belonged. I was going to be famous. Famous for what? I hadn’t thought of that yet.
My mother took us on vacation to London. That’s where I met her, a punk rock girl. She had jet black hair, a bob haircut, a ring in her nose, and skin tight leather pants. Just like Siouxsie Sioux or Joan Jett! It was like she just stepped right out of MTV! Awesome!
By the way, she was an American on vacation too. She was from Houston, Texas, which was a seven hour drive from Jackson. What could go wrong?
As a child, the train meant freedom. I’d listen to the clanking of freight cars rolling through the early morning, hoot owls hooting, and I’d dream of “bigger” places. London or New York is where I belonged. I was going to be famous. Famous for what? I hadn’t thought of that yet.
I cooked up a plan:
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- Drop Cathy, a schoolmate I drove to school, off at school. Drive back home.
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- Write my parents a nice note expressing my love but also the need to fulfill my destiny.
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- Change into my Sunday best to look respectable, then withdraw all my money from the bank.
- HEAD WEST, Pickup my girl, and go to LOS ANGELES!
This plan while imperfect, had the virtue of being easy to execute.
I jumped in my 1979 Ford Fairmont, turned up the Black Flag on the cassette deck, and hit I-10.
I made it to La Porte, the working class suburb of Houston where my punk rock girl lived.
La Porte, an industrial area, was covered in oil refineries. It wasn’t LA, but it wasn’t Jackson either. The whole place looked like Bartertown from the Mad Max movies, and that made it COOL.
I was not in reality. I was in fantasy land. I was no longer a nerdy kid who liked riding bikes and reading overly dramatic gothic German literature. I had transformed into Iggy Pop. No money, no worries, no future, no problem.
San Jacinto for the win, esse! Take all made up cultural references, swirl them around in the head of a 15 year old boy. A fool is born.
We went to night clubs, went downtown, drove around in her awesome camero. Picture a young boy driving around in a camaro with a punk rock girl by his side. Music, cigarettes, fire shooting from oil refineries at night…the situation made for an instant transformation from nerd to tough guy.
I was not in reality. I was in fantasy land. I was no longer a nerdy kid who liked riding bikes and reading overly dramatic gothic German literature. I had transformed into Iggy Pop. No money, no worries, no future, no problem.
Next step: CALIFORNIA!
My parents, who were wise beyond measure, contacted my girlfriend’s mother to make sure I was safe, let me stay a couple of days, and then calmly came to my rescue. My father asked a friend with a small plane to fly him to Houston and just showed up at the house with the police in tow to make sure I complied.
I came peacefully. The 7 hour car ride was an opportunity for a long heart to heart.
I do not know what happened to that girl. It suffices to say that I got very lucky in that my parents somehow played this like Cool Hand Luke, in a subtle way.
As a side, I listen to train sounds sometimes on my headphones as I lay in the bed. But now, It reminds me of home.
