Galveston, Oh Galveston

It was January of 1979, off season for the show/the carnival. I was hitching around south Texas with a fun, yet dodgy fellow carnie (there’s possibly some redundancy in that statement). We were in Galveston with plans to sleep on the beach and lay about in the sun. Drenching rains and decidedly untropical temperatures threw a huge-ass spanner into our glorious half-baked scheme.

Being cold and wet makes me cranky. Being overheated and all dessicated-like makes me cranky. Hell, I may quite possibly be an all over cranky babe.

In an effort to thwart my infernal crankitude, Doug scored us an invitation to stay with folks (who we’d just met), at their apartment in the historic quarter. He had the gift of likeability and humor -- within moments of meeting, he could make anyone laugh and smile. Plus, it was the ‘70s. It just simply happened that you randomly met people on street corners, shared a jay, cheer and then invited them home/got invited home to continue the chilled out time, the grins.

Was that this planet? Was it even this star system?

It was pretty cool but, after a few days, I was itchy to move on -- things were getting weird. Doug had begun selling his blood in order to buy booze. Me? I bought food.

I wanted to be a pleasant, fun memory for these very gracious people who were letting us crash on their sofa NOT a ‘remember those total skanks we invited home? You know, the ones who would NOT leave?’ kind of a thing.

 Doug suggested we head for New Orleans -- before joining the show, he'd been a street musician there. On the way to the highway where we’d start hitching, we came upon a bunch of pecan trees. Mein Gott this was awesome! Pecans were/are my favorite and here they were FREE and plentiful. We stuffed our pockets and continued on.

Doug’s plan, once we got to New Orleans was to go to some mission or other. We could stay there until he could score us other digs. To my, undoubtedly, horrified look he said ‘oh it’s not bad. They’ll probably want to give you a de-licing shower, we’ll have to sit through some ‘come to jesus’ sermons’ and you’ll be sleeping in a room with the other women and me with the men -- but we’ll get food and a bed there.’

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT no -- not an appealing adventure in any way, shape or form. This was not the walk on the wild side that I wanted to take.  On top of the ick factor was this -- I wasn't a down and out person in need of help and I didn't want to play that role. Not only would it feel like I was tempting fate, it'd be cheating/scamming for a prize I did not want -- de-licing, sermons and a cold, thin cot. Nope.

We got as far as Spring, Texas (just north of Houston) and I bailed. I’d hidden away, in a clever little pocket within my duffle, enough cheddar for a Greyhound back north. I’d learned the ‘always have escape bucks stashed and available’ lesson during my first crazy carnival season.

Missions, detention homes, orphanages, places where you’re at the mercy of folks who are underpaid, ill or untrained OR are holy rollers -- smug and superior in their limited view of the universe... //SHUDDER// The often bitter and resentful staff see you as a number, an inconvenience, a beggar, a leach on the system and treat you accordingly.

Having said that, I know there are good shelters in Boston, here in Quincy too, with tremendous caring, nurturing staff. I’m sure New Orleans has them too.

If you need the help, get it!
The Pine Street Inn
Rosie’s Place
Father Bill’s Place
Bridge Over Troubled Waters