My Friend Frank

      During the transition to Junior High School while living on Franklin Ave. I met Frank in one of my afternoon classes in the eighth grade at Capdau Junior High. The guys I had been running with were now criminals having been caught shoplifting by my Dad.

      I was looking for new friends. Frank and I hit it off right away.   Frank was a Boy Scout. He was taught to recruit other guys to join the Scouts. That very Thursday night I pedaled my horrible bike about 5 miles to the meeting of Troop 87 at the Elementary School in the Gentilly Woods subdivision.  I was nervous. The uniforms were new to me.  

      The Scoutmaster introduced himself. R.R. Eckart is the nicest person I've ever met. He took me in his circle and made me feel special for coming to the scout meeting.  I joined the Battering Rams Patrol led by Frank, the most precocious human I have ever met.          Our group of scouts had every intention of learning scouting and the associated skills that go along with the program. We were determined to break down the wall of confusion that surrounded everyone. The Scouts actually saved me from juvenile delinquency I was surely headed for.
     I'd to go over to Frank's house. It held such fascinating things to see. One night, Frank was sharpening his straight razor with a leather strop. He went too far up and neatly sliced the skin on his forearm . He felt no pain. He show his muscles moving back and forth as we examined the open wound.           

      His father Joe was a great musician and enjoyed of the classics  His hand was deformed. He excelled in teaching instead. Frank had many instruments that he taught me to play. I soon developed the gift of song writing as well as a certain level of musicianship.  The campfire singalongs were memorable.

     Soon we were planning a band. We had a few friends who joined with us to create a new spectacle for everyone to enjoy. You just don't know what you have until its gone. We never thought to make a recording or sought permanence since there were so many directions to go.  We had two female vocalists in the group we dated regularly.
    Being old enough to know better but dumb enough not to care actually saved us from Vietnam. As usual, Frank led the way. He became a conscientious objector or CO which is extremely hard to do. We were swept up in the maelstrom that was engulfing the nation.        I certainly did not want to go fight in the jungles. It is very hard to survive in the swamps of Louisiana.   I knew how that would turn out. When death comes a knocking, don't answer the door. I took my deferment and was happy for that.  The many inner city guys who went to Vietnam never came back. The ones who did were permanently damaged with missing limbs and skull plates. 

     George McGovern III did go and came back with a steel plate in his akull.  His story was brutal. He was driving an APC that was hit by an RPG. He was the lucky one. I also had an acquaintance who was a door gunner.  He wore a bandanna like a cowboy. He said they would fly out and chop up the jungle not really aiming at people.The gunship was terrifying in itself. This changed my life in more ways.  

     Becoming a Scout gave me the confidence to tackle life that gave me a chance to become a man.  I surely would have been a delinquent had it not been for Frank's invitation to come to the Scout meeting.
      I captured a Sparrow Hawk in City Park. I took it to Frank's house since I could not keep it where I lived.  He fed it hamburger until she died from confinement.  

     Frank disappeared one weekend. When he showed back up, he said he had jumped on a freight train and got as far as Vicksburg, Mississippi. I asked why he did this. His reply wasadventure trip..This sounded good to me. I remembered that adventure when I traveled to the West Coast during my youthful escapes by thumb.

     I jumped a train once in Baton Rouge. I lost my hat and rode the thing to some rail yard in the Midwest way out yonder in No Man's Land. You must be careful of the railroad dicks and other hobos who will steal you blind.  I never fooled with those guys.  I kept to myself and the highways. Riding a freight train is a jarring experience so once was enough.  Hitching was not illegal as long as you followed certain rules.You'd always come home somehow. Scouting helped me in more ways than I can tell in these few words.
     As the years went by, Frank and Ellen moved to Ringgold. His Mother had given them a piece of rural Louisiana. They had a passel of kids.  We played in many musical groups. He wrote me one year while I was in Medical School that he developed Tourette's Syndrome which is a nervous affliction that causes one to do odd things. One curses uncontrollably and twitches. You can't control what you are doing. You become angry.  

I wrote him back saying to pursue treatment because you can beat this thing.  Frank never took my advice about anything. He questioned what a 40 yr old man would do with a medical degree. If anyone represented the beat generation, it was Frank.  He exemplified the beaten. One day, he and Ellen showed up on Franklin Ave. He wanted me to see his homemade Ho Chi Minh sandals made out truck tires and bed sheets.  I became interested in sandalmaking right then without the political overtones, though. I am a good American with good American values who makes his own decisions whether it's good or bad. Any decision is always subject to revision and adjustment. Compromise works only if both parties receive what they want from the deal.

   Sandals became a thing with me. I designed the most comfortable pair of durable sandals ever made. I accidently left them in LA during my tour with the Divine Light Mission. These houses are called Premie houses for followers.