Delmer Sibley:
CLASS OF 1976
Canton High SchoolClass of 1976
Canton, TX
Martin High SchoolClass of 2000
Arlington, TX
Roosevelt High SchoolClass of 1984
Hyde park, NY
Nordhoff High SchoolClass of 1977
Ojai, CA
Arlington High SchoolClass of 1977
Arlington, TX
Delmer's Story
Life
My "Then" photo depicts one of the many tough decisions I have had to make since I left Canton. Let me fill you in on some of the events that lead to the present.
On graduation night, I went to Dallas, Texas with friends and wound up at the Travis Street Electric Company. It was much like Club El Lago in Gun Barrel City but was bigger, louder and filled with sinful city women. Being youthful and naive, I was persuaded to drink liquor and consume other substances of which I was not familiar. My last memory of that night was of a transvestite midget dancing to Rubber Band Man. I had never seen a transvestite midget in Canton and I was beginning to wish I had never left.
I awoke the next morning to an annoying rattling sound. It took several seconds to realize that I was in a dumpster and the sound I was hearing was a bum collecting aluminum cans. It became apparent that I wasn't in Canton since Canton didn't have dumpsters (at least not back in 1976).
I climbed out of the trash and surveyed my surroundings. I was clueless as to where I was or how I got there. My head was pounding and I was hungry. There was less than a dollar in change in my pocket and needless to say, I was getting a little concerned.
NOTE: I realize that nobody wants to read a day by day account of my activities since graduation but, I am leading up to how I became a pig rancher. This seems to be the most FAQ I receive so I decided to recount the events that lead to my agricultural venture. Honestly, I have grown tired of telling the story and by sharing it here, with all of you, perhaps I won't have to tell it as often in the future.
OK where was I, oh yeah, as my head began to clear I determined that I was probably still in Dallas and had been abandoned by my friends. Well, I really didn't know if I was abandoned since I had little recall of the previous evening's events though I was pretty confident that I was still in the evil city. I started looking for a pay phone and was considering who I should call for a ride when I almost tripped over a sleeping derelict. Beside this happily slumbering individual was a scruffy looking dog and to my surprise, lying about two feet from the dog was a five dollar bill. Now, I'm generally an honest person, with the exception of mildly stretching the truth on occasion, but I'm certainly not a thief. I convinced myself that it was merely a coincidence that the man was sleeping near a bill that someone had accidentally dropped earlier. I didn't want to wake the guy because I was afraid of the reaction I might get. Anyway, how would I know if his response as to the ownership of the money would be an honest one?
As I stood there thinking about how to proceed, I was overcome with the aroma from a nearby bar-b-que restaurant. A sliced beef sandwich sounded pretty good at this point. Now, I know it wouldn't be as good as the stuff from Russell's Bar B-Que at the intersection of Hwy. 64 and Hwy 19 but even city bar-b-que was starting to sound good now.
I convinced myself to grab the bill. Anyway, I could borrow five bucks from my ride, if I could get one, and repay the sleeping gentleman. If the bill wasn't his to begin with, I'm sure he would enjoy the windfall and I would feel better for helping the less fortunate.
As I reached down to get the bill, the dog, which was not sleeping, bared his teeth and let out a low guttural growl. As I retreated, the dog relaxed. I tried again and the dog reacted in the same manner. I certainly wasn't in the mood to get bitten and I didn't want the guy to awaken with a stranger hovering over him. I thought for a moment and decided to
pick up a brick that was lying nearby and smash the dog's skull in. No, I'm just kidding. Actually, I decided to go back to the dumpster and scrounge around for something that smelled like food and use it to distract the beast. I found a discarded box from Chicken Lickin and removed a leg bone from inside. I returned to where the bum and the dog were and slowly held the bone in front of the dog to allow him to smell it. Yeah, I know that chicken bones are bad for dogs but, I was desperate and this was more humane than my original brick idea. Well, the bone appeared to really have the mongrel's attention. I pitched it to the other side of the alley anticipating that he would go after it. The dog immediately jumped up and latched on to my left arm. Partly out of panic and partly out of pain, I let out a blood curdling scream. The sleeping fellow instantly jumped to his feet and took off running down the alley. The dog released my arm and quickly followed his master out of site.
I just stood there for quite sometime, rubbing my arm and almost in shock then I remembered the five dollar bill. I looked down and there it was. I snatched it up and started walking. My appetite had been replaced with the desire for a quart of Old Milwaukee. Remember, I was 18 years old at the time and my tastes were not yet refined.
Within a few minutes, I located a 7-11 Store. Following Delmer's hierarchy of needs, I purchased the beer and headed out to the pay phone to make my call for a ride. I spent the remainder of my money making long distance calls to the two friends I rode to Dallas with. Neither was home, but I did speak to both of their mothers. Both moms told me that their child had spent the night with the other. This had always been a useful tool though; it was biting me in the butt right now. They also asked if we had enjoyed ourselves during the previous evening. Of course I'm thinking, if we did I freakin can't remember it.
I sat down beside the phone and leaned against the wall of the 7-11 and contemplated my next move. I didn't know anyone in Dallas. To call anyone in Canton would mean a collect long distance call. If I did that, I would probably piss off somebody's parents as well as generate lots of questions that I didn't want to answer.
About an hour went by. I'm just sitting there dejected and my beer was getting warm. Earlier, the assistant manager of the store came out and informed me that I couldn't drink on the premises. I was getting up to leave so I could consume my tepid beverage when a guy and a girl in a yellow VW Beetle drove up. The guy hopped out of the passenger door and went into the store while the girl sat in the car listening to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. I walked over and complimented her on her taste in music, threw in a disparaging remark about disco and told her I would give her 20 bucks for a ride home. She said, "hop in" and I did. Yeah, I know I didntt mention where home was or the fact that I didn't have $ 20.00 with me, but I figured that like a salesman I had a better chance with my foot in the door or my ass in the seat at it were.
Before I could begin to explain my situation, she put the car in gear, backed up and left the poor guy in the 7-11 buying cigarettes. When I asked, "what about your friend" she replied by telling me what he could go do to himself. I responded as if I knew that she was right and changed the subject to getting me home.
I explained that I lived in Canton and that I could pay her when we got to my house. She looked at me like I was giving her some kind of Johnny Lewellyn story. She then pulled into a park and we sat there discussing it while drinking the warm quart of beer.
I don't know if it was my charming personality or the beer but, she finally agreed. She added that there wasn't enough ...Expand for more
gas in her tank to get to Canton and she also didn't want to drive back by herself. She said we could go to her friend's house in Grand Prairie, borrow a few bucks for gas and talk her into riding with us.
We headed for Grand Prairie, which I slowly realized was in the opposite direction of home. It also struck me that I was depending on a chick that just left some poor guy at a 7-11 Store in Dallas and who was putting another 20 miles between me and Canton. On top of that, it suddenly occurred that I was probably slowly dieing of rabies from that dog bite.
We arrived at her friend's house, a mobile home in a community next to a huge drive-in movie complex with several screens. I thought that was pretty cool. In the evenings, one could just go outside and watch any of several movies. It would be hard to hear the soundtrack but, you wouldn't have to worry about Joe Hackney or Sleepy Jack calling you by name and telling you to get your feet off the seats.
We went inside without knocking. There must have been a dozen people in there. It smelled like the trailer was on fire and nobody got excited when we just walked in unannounced. I scanned my surroundings and I can remember thinking that this place could stock a head shop with paraphernalia.
The home owner, at least I think it was the owner, let me use the bathroom to clean the wound on my left arm. It turned out that the skin was barely broken in a couple of spots and was easily cleaned with some hydrogen peroxide and the last few sheets of toilet paper left on the roll. I was glad that it didn't take long to do because that was the nastiest bathroom I have ever been in, well maybe with the exception of the bathroom at Steve Cross and Greg Galloway's house in Tyler, but that was a couple of years later.
I walked back in the kitchen and some long curly haired guy with a missing tooth offered me a beer. I gladly accepted. He opened the door to the fridge, which was nearly as funky as the bathroom and grabbed the last two bottles. I told him that I didn't want to drink his last beer (I might use his last sheet of toilet paper but I wouldn't take his last beer). He replied that it wasn't a problem and that they weren't his anyway
Curly, as I'll refer to him because I'm not sure about statuate of limitation laws and he owns about 50% of a hardware manufacturing company based in Austin, suggested that we go pick up some more beer. Now keep in mind that we don't know each other from Adam and haven't even exchanged names. That's the way it was back then. Beer was much more important than knowing the names of the people you were hanging out with. Well, I explained that I didn't have a car or money and that I was just trying to get home. He said, "No problem". It turned out that he had borrowed his room mate's car and had just cashed his paycheck. I checked with my VW friend to find out our departure status. She said that she was still working on it. She also thought it was a good idea to go get some more beer.
Curly and I headed to the beer store in his roommate's car. Unfortunately, he was from Arlington and didn't realize that beer was not sold in Grand Prairie. We quickly found that out when we stopped at the first convenience store we encountered. He said we could go to Arlington and I agreed, but asked if we could go back to the mobile home so I could tell my VW friend that we would be gone longer than expected. He said, "No problem".
We rounded the corner into the mobile home park and found four cop cars (two unmarked units and two cruisers) parked in front of the house we just left. Cops were pulling people out of the trailer and spreading them out handcuffed and face down on the front lawn. I didn't have to suggest to Curly that we not stop.
He calmly turned on a street prior to reaching the drug bust in progress and headed out of the community in a different direction. Now keep in mind that I in no way broke any laws that day, but I certainly was glad that I didn't have to explain that to the Grand Prairie Police.
Curly and I headed to his apartment in Arlington stopping only to pick up some beer and burgers. On the way, I told him of my recent adventures and realized that what seemed like a week had actually been less than 24 hours.
Curly's home was in a complex called the Snooty Fox Apartments. It was located on Cooper Street, approximately a half mile south of the University of Texas at Arlington. As we dined, he told me that he was a second year engineering student at the University and that his family footed most of the bill. I can't remember what kind of engineering student he was, but he certainly was adept at turning nearly any object into a smoking apparatus. He also had a part time job at Six Flags over Texas as an operator of an amusement ride called the Mexican Sombrero or Mexican hat for those of you who are Spanish deficient. Curly commented that it was a fun place to work and that I could probably get a job there if I was interested. I reminded him that I didn't live in Arlington. He quickly added, "well, you're here now, you've graduated high school, you dont have a job and you're broke, sounds like a good time to move". That made sense to me and definitely sounded better than spending another summer working at the Tomato Shed on Highway 19. I made the decision to follow his suggestion without even considering that I had no transportation or place to live.
I hung out with Curly and his roommate for the rest of the weekend. Curly's roommate was a journalism student at UTA and also had a summer job at Six Flags. He was actor that played a gunslinger in a western show. I thought it was humorous because he a two foot long pony tail that he had to stick under his hat. Another weird thing about him was his preference to wear women's undergarments. Most people have a mental picture of the bad guy in a western motion picture as a dude in a black hat. I unfortunately, have the image of a guy with a black hat, pushup bra and crotchless panties. Don't get me wrong, I never actually saw him in his feminine garments, it's just the strange image I get when I think about it.
Well anyway, I hung out with Curly and his roommate through the weekend. I can't remember the roommate's name so I'll just refer to him as Louise. Since my clothes were pretty smelly from sleeping in the dumpster, I had to borrow some. No, not from Louise.
On Monday morning, I rode to work with them and headed to the personnel department. In less than two hours I was gainfully employed and being indoctrinated into the Six Flags machine. I was not exactly ecstatic to hear that I would be working in food service and/or park sanitation. What I had really desired to do was sit in that glass air conditioned control booth at the Shock Wave, a huge double loop roller coaster. I dreamed of operating the ride from a vast electrical console with lots of switches and colored lights and a sign that said "Do Not Talk to the Operator" but instead I got a broom and a dustpan on a stick.
My first job was to wander a section of the park and sweep up the refuse carelessly discarded by the park patrons. How freaking degrading. I was a high school graduate, not some kind of social outcast relegated to collecting the wastes of others. Hell, I didn't even clean my own room.
(LOOK IN MY BULLETIN BOARD FOR THE CONTINUATION OF MY BIOGRAPHY, START WITH THE MAY 22, 2007 ENTRY, IT'S AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LAST PAGE OF BULLETINS)
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