Bunnlevel in the days of Elvis

Back in the day we had a school in "the level" Bunnlevel Elementary School to be exact. Now in those days the word Elementary meant 1st grade through 8th grade. The school had 4 classrooms, each housing two grades and having 1 teacher. (now notice the number of teachers, "ONE". This underpaid civil servant did double duty) Anyway, 4 classrooms, two restrooms (boys and girls) an auditorium, library, lunchroom, principal's office and other than a large field for a playground not much else. There was the frame for a set of swings, but I was in the 4th grade before swings were ever installed. There was a merry-go-round (capable of eating fingers and toes at a speedy clip). A jungle gym (affectionately known as "monkey bars"), two basketball goals (repaired once in 8 years), a baseball field and a flagpole.

I could go into hundreds of stories about the school. My dad went to the same school back in the early 1930's. The building was erected in around 1920 with little change until it closed in 1967. Never had air conditioning, only got a water cooler in 1962, but it was home to probably 100 kids for 9 months every year.

Ok, the celebrations I started out talking about. Each school year we had 4 PTA meetings, a fall Halloween carnival and a spring operetta. The Halloween carnival was probably the most fun in that all us kids got to go back there at night dressed in our fall finery (hoboes, princesses, boogers, haints, ghosts and witches.) We several booths for games, a fishing game, house of horrors, fortune teller, haunted house, and cake walk.

Haunted house was a project for 7th and 8th graders. In the library they had stations set up for blindfolded kids to feel various icky things. You know, peeled grapes for eyeballs. That type stuff.

The fortune teller was the most fun. Mary Byrd played the lady and Boy! did she look the part. Although she still had dark hair, you knew there had to be some chemicals involved. She was wrinkled, had sparkling blue eyes, the reddest lipstick you had ever seen and could cackle just like a mockingbird on a spring day. I do not remember her having a crystal ball, but it seemed like she did. I bet there were literally hundreds of strings of Mardi Gras beads around her neck. She looked like something out of a Harry Potter movie. You were always told you would have 4 kids (each a little worse than you) She never could figure out who you were going to marry, but insisted you would find someone. All this for one thin dime, yes! 1/10th of a dollar. Hurry! hurry!

Ok, spring brought birds twittering, warm days, going back outside for recess and the operetta. Yes, we would put on a musical starring the neighborhood kids, not quite as good as the ones on the "Little Rascals" but good none the less. Personally, getting a break from class to rehearse was the best thing about it. The stage lights were installed (yes, the sockets were empty for most of the year) Every class had the one person "who for whatever reason" the teachers would not allow on stage. He would be the curtain puller. Arguably the most important person in the show. (that is what the teachers told him) Steadfastly standing at the edge of the stage, curtain ropes in hand, waiting for his cue to star by opening or closing the curtains.

Pretty kids were always the stars, I suppose that is human nature. The one thing I'll say though, a young Vincent Price or Boris Karloff would NEVER have a starring role in the Bunnlevel operetta. Each celebration pretty much was the beginning of the end for each school session.

After Halloween, the holidays and midterms loomed, after the operetta, you had final exams

I met what I think will end up being a good friend last night. Being invited to look at his blog, I noticed his entry on all the automobiles he had ever owned. This all got me to thinking about cars I've had the privilege of driving and some of the stories about them.

1961 Volkswagen beetle- this car had an insult added to the injury of ownership. When the original engine wore out, they replaced it with the motor from a '59 beetle. It had 36 horsepower on a good day. One thing I'll say for them though, "you can not tear them up" God knows I tried.

This would have been the summer of 1969. Me at 15 1/2 years old with my own car. Now Dad paid $500.00 cash for it and $500.00 was more then than it would be now and it definitely was more than I had ever made working in tobacco. Anyway, I used to drive it through fields, woods, water deep enough to come up through the floorboards. I even hooked a tobacco trailer up to it and pulled it through a field. It would go 55 miles per hour in a tailwind downhill. That was about it. Took it to the Dunn-Benson dragstrip and raced it once. It was the only entry in its class so I got a trophy by just driving down the dragstrip once.

After that came a 1966 Mustang Grande. Perfect car except for the color, beige... I cannot imagine a more rotten color for a pony car. Had the 289 cubic inch V8 engine and would haul ass. Trust me on this one. I tree-ed it against a light pole in the middle of Bunnlevel one night. Was so drunk that I left the car, walked home and went to bed. The patrolman came, woke my parents up who woke me up asking about my car. I guess I was still drunk and had no idea of where I left it. Although the left front fender was all that was seriously damaged, the car was totaled. We parted it out, making more for the parts than the car was worth.

I then got a '64 Ford Galaxie 500 XL. We took the engine from the Mustang and put in the Galaxie. Although I hated it at the time, I'de love to have it now as that model had limited production, air conditioning, leather interior and was the cats ass for its era.

Now the sad story. Dad had a friend who loaned a guy $1000.00 against a MG. The guy could not pay so the friend repossessed it. He came by the gravel pit one afternoon complaining about being in such a small hard driving little car. Offering it to Dad for $1000.00 got his interest. I test drove it. This was a navy blue MG Midget with a TURBOcharger on the engine. The prospect of a convertible two seater was just too much. I contained my joy and said the car was just OK. Yeah, sure. I would have given my left one for it. (and I ain't talking about kidneys) That afternoon Dad was talking with a friend who knew me who told him , "give Kenny that car and kiss his college career goodbye" The next day he went out and bought a new red and white AMC Gremlin X. What a letdown....

Now you may have picked up on a recurring theme here. I have yet to pay for any of my vehicles. Thirty eight years later I have to admit that the biggest mistake my father made was giving me cars. I was the most ungrateful kid ever. Took it all for granted.

I'll finish this later.

This isn t really about Bunnlevel, the area, or even North Carolina, but I think it is a thought that needs to be put down in black and white.

Did ja ever like westerns? Growing up in the 50 s and 60 s we were on the tail end of the great western genre. This goes for television as well as movies. On TV, Gunsmoke and Bonanza were the last of the great ones. As far as movies, maybe Silverado would have been about it.

Anyway, at one time western movies were almost made like cookies, die cut from the same mold. I think there was a John Wayne quote to either Robert Mitchum or Dean Martin, Who plays the drunk this time? I think this referred to either El Dorado or Rio Bravo. There was typically a heart throb played by Ricky Nelson, James Caan, or in one case Roman Gabriel (pro football hero). A drunk was one of the good guys as was a dude . Lastly, you had to have an old coot or geezer to inject bits of wisdom and comic relief. (In between the bull he threw)

A couple of weeks ago, I caught a Roy Rogers movie, start to finish on a Sunday morning. Yes, he wore a white hat. No, it did come off once during a fight scene on a moving train. And yes, somehow it did not blow off the moving train car during the fight even though the fight was on a flat car with nothing to keep it there. The cowboys even had a Tuesday morning breakfast where they all sang songs of enduring friendship and brotherhood in the west.

Now ole Roy did not smoke, but most of the others surrounding him did, especially the bad guys. There was even a villain who took a shot of whiskey without taking the cigarette out of his mouth. Now that is a neat trick. I’ll have to admit, leading women had definitely developed artistic talent in the way they handled a cigarette. No wonder there were so many smokers in the generation preceding mine. They were taught well.

The funny thing about this movie was Roy wore the traditional cowboy duds. A shirt with piping around the pockets, a gun on his hip, pants with piping again around the pockets and pointy toed boots. This movie was set in the 1940’s Oklahoma and Roy was a news reporter, still wore the clothes though. Trigger was there, Dale wasn’t. After looking at the way the leading lady handled a cigarette, I am glad she wasn’t there for Roy’s sake.

Gabby Hayes played the coot. Gabby not only created that role, but perfected it in every way. Anyone else playing a coot was just ripping him off. A coot always fought with an exotic weapon. I have seen them with bow and arrow, bugle, slingshot, sawed off 10 gauge shotgun. Even though they never died, coots were doomed though. They never were married, got the women or had any children. Natural selection was working at its best. That’s why there are no good coots these days.

Now, you see sidekicks. These creatures can occasionally end up with a woman (typically one the hero either passes over or a sidekick of the leading lady) Sidekicks usually were overweight, jovial, never had good ideas, but occasionally could come up with a helpful change to a plan brought on by the hero. Side kicks could reproduce. That is why you see them in movies now in days.

By the title, you know this is going to be weird. Today, I'm telling the true tale of a strange kid from Lillington.

Jay was one of those off kids who couldn't sit still. I was several years older than him and when I was in high school, he just appeared as what I've previously said "a weird kid" always moving, making goofy faces, loud noises, and generally being a pest. He was the kid you would love to thump on the head. Old folks used to call kids like him wormy. We just called him "Jay Bubbly".

He was the one you could dare to do anything and he would try it. Hey Jay! try peeing on the electric fence. Bet you won't do it! I'll buy you a coke if you will try once. Yes, the look of shock (literally and figuratively) on his face was worth the quarter for the coke.

Jay disappeared one summer, I guess he went to live with a relative. I believe his parents had separated and who ever he was living with couldn't handle having him around. I think every elementary teacher in Lillington had just about given up on him.

Well, the summer I got out of college, I came back home to live. One evening while cruzing Hardees I see a familiar face. Jay was back!! Puberty had put a few pounds on him as well as stretched his skinny frame to a more adult height. He still had the goofy expressions, but with an attitude now.

I parked and walked over to where he was entertaining a group of kids. Jay was kicking the fence pickets behind the Hardees, breaking them one at a time. He stated he had lived with a black belt karate teacher in Florida and had been entrusted with the secrets of his masters dojo. He was proving his prowess by breaking the fence pickets. As I approached, a friend began telling their tale of the previous night. Where they went in to a black juke joint/pool hall. Jay had thrown his black "Billy Jack" hat on the closest pool table and challenged anyone man enough to move it off the table.

Now so the story went, he whupped up on a couple of black guys, bought a couple of beers and then went his own way.. Don't think I believed it though. Anyway digression being the better part of valor, I decided to make a quick retreat before Jay remembered me bullying him around years ago.

Well, I wasn't as lucky as I thought. Jay saw me and had to come up and grill me as to my whereabouts for the past few years. He reveled in telling me how much he had learned in Florida, and how he didn't take crap from anyone any more. Told me his new nickname was "Rain", and if anyone didn't like it they could take it up with him. I thoughtfully remembered I needed to mow grass at home and left Lillington for the evening.

Ok, a couple of months later one Sunday morning I hear a car run the stop sign in front of our house in Bunnlevel. Looking up, I saw the small Fiat zoom by, speeding from the Bunnlevel Erwin Rd to Hwy 401, never slowing for the stop sign. Evidently they had taken the muffler off the exhaust system because you could hear the car for blocks. About 30 minutes later the car came back by, doing about 75 in a 45 mph zone with an additional passenger. Oh yes, Jay was at the wheel with Melvin Byrd as the passenger.

Around lunch, I rode down to the railroad tracks and heard the same noise again. Here was Jay, driving the car on the train tracks. They had let some of the air out of the tires and were on the tracks. The car's wheelbase matched the track spacing and hopefully there were no trains running on Sunday.

All you could do was to look and shake your head, thanking God that you were smart enough not to be riding with Jay. Melvin was still there though. You just knew nothing good was to come of their being together.

I guess it was about three PM when I heard the wail of an ambulance in the distance. The closest one had to come from Lillington and it sounded like it was in a hurry (good old doppler effect).

Now I have called lawyers ambulance chasers, but even I couldn't resist following the sound to see what was going on.

About 3 miles from Bunnlevel, the ambulance turned up a dirt road, headed toward the tracks. I wondered if there was an errant train on Sunday. Just before the tracks, I rounded a curve and saw the lights in the distance. A small blue Fiat had overturned in a ditch. Breathing a sigh of relief that there was no train wreck I drove on, expecting to see Jay with maybe a broken arm or something minor.

I passed the car and saw Jay standing, but Melvin was not easily visible. As I went by, I noticed Melvin's leg out from under the car (it was on it's side)

Jay disappeared again after that. I understand they went to a bootlegger in Lillington and had bought a 6 pack or two and this was the result.

I was at home this last weekend and noticed Melvin's grave while looking for relatives resting spots in the Bunnlevel cemeterys and remembered that Sunday.

Lets go forward a few years. I am in my last year at NCSU, have gotten an job being a bartender at the Lakes apartments and am meeting some of Raleigh's finest citizenry.

Mickey- a retired (medical disability, not enough mouths to drink all he requires) prison official. I guess both he and his wife were the stereotype bureaucrats working for the state. In bouts of being sober, Mickey showed true intelligence, but when drunk (90% of the time) he was purely a prick. I remember his true brilliance when his friends got scammed by a guy selling club memberships. His comment, "Why do you think they call him Rob?"

Mickey died of a heart attack on a golf course. Strangely appropriate.

His wife, who's name I don't recall (possibly Irene) was the prison librarian in the Harnett County Youth Center. She was just as much a drunk as Mickey, in fact they were divorced, still lived together, fought when drunk, and loved when sober. She was a cancer survivor (don't ask how I know that)

She committed suicide by stabbing herself in the stomach about 30 times.

Titus- a much loved lanky drunk who had more jobs than I could count. The last I knew of him was that he woke up one morning dead. Huh????

Then there was Rob. This was a big guy, loud, center of attraction, polarizing, loved to gamble. You always knew when Rob was around. He always had some idea that was going to make millions. Well one day we got a pong machine there at the bar. I don't know why, but I had some natural talent at pong. It was weird, I would zone in at the machine, become oblivious to what was going on around me and just move the paddle. I guess I was good at seeing the angles that the ball would take off the side of the screen. Pong was so easy, I could beat the machine on a regular basis. I would even talk to the machine as I was beating it. This particular machine had levels of play and I would eat its lunch on the toughest level.

This evening, I was off work and decided to spend a quarter on the machine. I had to wait my turn, watching the machine ruthlessly humiliate a couple of novices then I got my turn. Rob was there and had been disgraced by the electronic game. I think he was trying to impress some sweet young thing watching him. I put my quarter in the slot and Rob asked if I was any good. I didn't even respond, just moved the paddle on the machine. He asked again, this time I said I was fair at the game. Then he asked if I would like to wager on the game, him taking the side of the machine. I said ok and he dropped a five on the screen. When I saw the money, I lost my concentration and allowed the machine to score. He just laughed and looked back at the lady. I suppose he was already counting on winning at least some respect back by seeing the machine beat me. I believe a game was 11 points and I proceeded to score the next 11 without batting an eye.

I took the five when he said loudly, "Double or nothing" All I said was, "It's your quarter" Well this time he made sure the game was set to the most difficult level and prepared to watch the carnage. I beat it again, 11-0. This time he said I had some switch under the table that I could hit to make the machine lose. I assured him that was not the case and listened to him shout double or nothing again. Well, 11-zip once more and I asked for my $20. This time, he snarled "think you are so good, cover this!" and dropped a $100 on the table.

Now I am going to tell you, if I had a $100 bill I would have sat up with it like at an Irish wake. I knew I couldn't cover that bet. Another patron watching this said, "I'll cover that and will spot you 8 points" I looked at him and said he didn't have to. He just said "play the game, kid"

All the machine had to do was to score 3 times for me to lose. Well, even with the pressure, 11-0 once more. The guy covering the bet gave me my $20 and $50 of his winning, telling me it was worth it just to see Rob eat a little crow.

Ok, about 2 months later, Rob came back in and announced he was opening a private club. He had pictures of a bar with a deck overlooking a creek. This looked interesting. He was selling memberships and did a good job of talking this promotion up. Not only did he sell several memberships, he contracted Titus and a few other barflies to sell memberships for him. I think their commission was free drinks. Now the bar had not opened yet, but was going to open soon.

They were better at selling the memberships than Rob was. God only knows how many they peddled.

I didn't see Rob again and one day heard Titus moan that he was going to have to refund someone's advance membership. Inquiring as to what was going on, he told me Rob had disappeared, taking all the membership money. The bar looked like it was opening, but the owners knew nothing of Rob's scheme.

My last comment on this is to quote Mickey. "Why do you think they call him Rob" You know that made a lot of sense.

16 years old and my best friend Robert was 17. Neither one of us could legally buy beer, but we both had a taste for the flavor of hops. Actually the taste was for the cheapest beer we could find, more often than not in generic cans that just had "Beer" printed on the side. We always thought these were made for the military, anyway, I digress...

Saturday night..and Robert's family had gone to the beach and left us at home. Wow...what a mistake.

I had been playing guitar since I was 13. Robert's dad had taught both of us some of the basics in bluegrass, but we were interested in rock and roll.

Our local popular barber, Joyner had been in a band at one time and still had some of his equipment, among which was a ten speaker Sears Silvertone guitar amp (with reverb) Joyner had offered it to us for a measly 100 bucks. We, not to let lack of money keep us from a career in music pooled our resources to buy the amp. Robert had two electric guitars, both Silvertones, and I had one and a small one speaker tube type amp. Joyner also gave us one unbalanced mike and stand. We were set up!!

Now as long as the song only had three chords we were ok. The amp was cranked up so much we had to have cotton in our ears. Standing in front of it exposed us to vibration like you would not believe. Johnny Be Good was the song that we agreed on and boy! could we play it. Again, Saturday night and half way into the 12 pack of the "Beer" things were going great when there was a knock at the door. Actually more of a bang than a knock in that we would have never heard something as light as a knock.

Who ever was on the front porch welcomed themselves in and proceeded down the hall, opening the door to the living room and to us, rocking the free world. Damn!!! one of Robert's aunts coming by for a visit.

13 years old, ready for action with no where to go. Fall evenings found Melvin, Sammy, maybe James and me on treks down the railroad tracks, toward Lillington. Typically we would have pooled our money, bought El Reeso Sweet cigars, pack of hotdogs (Jessie Jones) a loaf of Merita bread, and small jar of French's mustard. (All for under $1.50) We would have water in our trusty military surplus canteens strapped to our waists with military surplus web belts. Ending up on a red clay bank just before the Little River Trestle we would build a campfire, impale the hot dogs on sticks, cook our dinner and smoke the cigars. By this time, yellow flies and mosquitos were gone for the season.

It is funny, we didn't get into any trouble, plot destruction and mayhem, or even cuss much. We would just talk, try to solve the world's problems, look for coke bottles to turn in for the deposit and generally have a good time. I can't remember how many times we did this, but there had to be quite a few. To this day, the smell of burning hotdogs brings back the memories of Friday night on the railroad tracks.

The train would pass twice a day, and we were always after the second passing. We would cross the roadbed of the "Old Stage Road". This roadbed was rumored to be from the famous old stage coach road traversing our state dating back to the Indian trading trails. I never knew for certain, but there were places where this road was cut 7-8 feet deep in the ground..

The next time I am home, I plan to walk back to the hill and see if there are any reminants of one of our fires.