Welcome to our 50th Episode everyone. Sure been fun. And we are just getting started.
Why we fight:
Here I am again in Joplin
Today’s story is twice baked. Told two ways. It begins and ends at a Waffle House – involves a set of keys — and starts up again on the open road ahead of us.
If this were a movie scene, we might open it like this.
EXT – WAFFLE HOUSE – JOPLIN, MO – EARLY MORNING
It is April 2021. It’s overcast. The early morning sun has not fully got outta bed yet.
We hear faint traffic noise. Some junior high school kids are on a sidewalk raising money for a charity by selling cheese puffs.
Off in the distance we see the Waffle House sign. We’ve all seen them. Black letters in yellow blocks arranged in two rows.
WAFFLE
HOUSE
The words and blocks are hoisted up on twin 30 foot tall pillars – tall enough to be seen from I-44, the nearest highway
A cross bar about two-thirds of the way up makes it all look like goal posts. The kind you see at High School football games. The kind that don’t get moved, unlike my family’s.
At the bottom, the pillars are sunk in yellow concrete overshoes. It’s like old time gangsters are getting ready to push a stool pigeon into the awaiting harbor.
Or, in this case, a parking lot.
Further away, in all directions, we see all kinds of signs, showcasing all kinds of establishments, attracting all kinds of customers.
Source: The Internet
We slowly close on the Waffle House sign and the pillars holding it up. As we move in, we see a tall silver haired figure. He is wearing a black leather jacket and faded jeans. He is leaning his left shoulder on to the left pillar and facing us.
Keith Morrison Voiceover
The big moments in our lives are easy to see. They are indeed momentous. A marriage. A birth. A new job. Or even a death. We cannot miss them. They stand out like those Waffle House signs visible from just about any Southern Highway.
Do we ever pay attention to the small moments, though? The ones that might last only a few seconds but end up changing our lives. The ones that come out of nowhere and seem like nothing at first. Like little gifted lights in a sea of fog.
In our busy times, sometimes the smallest moment has the biggest impact -- if you stop and notice. Maybe you’ll even laugh. And maybe, after some time passes, you will think back and realize there’s a whole new road out there for you to drive down. And you have the keys.
In today’s story, our road is marked by a sign and leads to a catchphrase.
Like the nearby Waffle House.
RE-ESTABLISH ON WAFFLE HOUSE SIGN
We move slowly past the sign and stop in front of this Waffle House, just across the parking lot.
We see the black lettered yellow front, sitting atop a red metal awning. Glass windows below. Inside, we see tables and chairs and not very many customers. It’s early still.
There are two or three cars in the lot. Older models. One pickup truck.
A black Batmobile car swerves left slowly into the parking lot, crossing our view. It then turns right and parks next to the Waffle House glass door.
CUT TO:
INT WAFFLE HOUSE – EARLY MORNING
CORNER BOOTH
We see a most delicious selection of breakfast foods being served up – scrambled eggs, real country grits, waffles, pancakes, biscuits fighting for their lives under a soothing ocean of gravy. And, of course, Tabasco sauce. A total cornucopium of breakfast delights.
DISSOLVE TO:
We see the hands of two people on either side of the booth arranging the plates, spreading butter, pouring gravy and syrup, gearing up to presumably consume these earthly delights.
They begin to open up the paper napkins bundle and we see a set of paper Waffle House hats sneaking out.
Cool! Paper Hats!
We pull away from the table and see a couple at the booth. This is GOLDEN GIRL and DOLPHYN. They are looking at each other, wearing Waffle House hats, laughing like newly escaped hyenas on a water slide as they ramp up their antics while modeling the hats.
We pull further away and see a middle aged well dressed man in the table behind our couple man enjoying his own cornucopium of breakfast delights and nursing a cup of coffee as it grows from hot to lukewarm. Waiting for the next refill.
Off screen we hear laughing. More like giggling. It is early.
Our elegant gentleman is reading a newspaper. Or at least pretending to. He is really listening to the enjoyable antics of our couple.
He smirks quietly and laughs almost silently.
GOLDEN GIRL
Oh man. We need to get a picture. I think I left the camera in the car.
DOLPHYN
No problem. It’s in the travel bag, I think. I will get it.
CUT TO:
EXT – WAFFLE HOUSE – EARLY MORNING
PARKING LOT
We see DOLPHYN open the Waffle House door – while still laughing. He approaches the Batmobile and extends his arm and hand to the door handle.
We close in on his hand as he reaches the handle.
The hand pauses for a moment and then gently pulls the handle out.
KABLANG! The car alarm screeches and screams like Nuclear Seagulls. Or like pumped up coyotes on Helium.
DOLPHYN
OH, CRAP!
CUT TO:
INT – WAFFLE HOUSE – EARLY MORNING
CORNER BOOTH
We see a set of car keys on the table. Next to the bathing biscuits and gravy.
The well dressed elderly man in the nearby booth, laughs lightly.
WELL-DRESSED MAN
And you got the keys. Ha ha.
And that is exactly how it happened that one early morning in April 2021. Here is the cut to the aftermath scene. By the way, I still have the hats.
Image Courtesy of PFFK#7
Fried Lean Tomatoes at The Waffle House Cafe
After a night that ended somewhere between 3 am and nearing sun up, the only next stop is Waffle House.
I had just spent Easter 2021 with my Grandmother, Muff, in Gruverly and was on a 1,300 mile road trip to somewhere that was not Gruverly.
I arrived there on April 2nd and stayed for around three weeks. This was the second time this year I had stayed for a longer period at Muff’s. The third time was at Christmas that year. That was the last time.
This trip was “monumentous”. I miss the bright early spring blue skies and the early flowers in full bloom.
Here are some tulips from this trip.
Image Courtesy of PFFK#7
Everything from the tulips growing in her yard to wearing her hats on Easter Sunday and other Sunday church was wonderful.
Here are a few of those pics.
Images Courtesy of PFFK#7
I call these Girls in Hats.
This Easter was somewhat important. When we sat down in church that day, as the Pastor Steve opened by asking for Prayers and Concerns, O.P. -- my friend and Leading Elder Lady of Gruver -- shouted out “June Barkley is here for the first time in a year.” Pastor Steve nodded and moved on. O.P. – not one to be moved on from – shouted out a few minutes later “June Barkley is here for the first time in a year.” I love O.P. And her friend Dot Cat. And all her other friends.
I did not know, however, that Muff had not been to church in a year. I asked around and found out someone was stopping her -- because the troubles. You know what I am talking about. I do know who stopped Muff from going to church, and so did O.P. I reckon she was calling him out. She was right.
A Horse’s Ask
It was such a nice time that I had hoped Muff missed the fact that neither my dad, Fredo, nor any of his bosses, had even called to wish her a Happy Easter.
My aunts sent gorgeous flowers, and my uncle hosted Easter lunch and an Easter egg hunt.
From what I could tell, the last hint of Fredo, was a bulk package of Sam’s paper towels tossed in her garage. For some reason. Fredo or Hannibal tossed the paper towels on top of Muff’s garage refrigerator. Were they placed there on purpose so she could not access them? Were my parents losing more and more of their manners or, in some cases, common sense? Was Hannibal laughing about it?
Some might say yes. Including me.
Both Fredo and Hannibal seemed so far removed from everything deemed sacred in years prior to 2020, prior to my brother(?) Myron and his wife, the unfortunate Marm, landing in Amarillo.
So, Fredo did not turn up for Easter. He didn’t send anything. He didn’t even call. Not Muff anyway. I heard later that he had been calling Uncle Ricky to ask how long we were going to be in town. What a coward.
But there is good news. One day while walking around the 13 or so acres on my way to the barn, I came across this scene which reminded me of Fredo.
Image Courtesy of PFFK#7, and a horse
You Can’t Handle the Waffles
Who are my parents? Do they eat at Waffle House?
I have several filters for gauging people. Wait. Do filters gauge?
Anyway, this is one.
At Easter 2021, I had only just started running the filters on my parents. So, as I sat in Waffle House in Joplin, MO. How could they not eat at Waffle House? It has so much good going for it. Not just the delicious breakfast items served up with a warm smile. With free hats!
Waffle House was founded by Joe Rogers Sr. a WWll B-24 Liberator bomber pilot and Tom Forkner a WWll Military intelligence and security officer with the 8th Air Force in England. Jimmy Stewart, the actor, joined the Air Force during the War and also flew B-24 bombers. The flight crews called them Flying Coffins, though, as a lot of them got shot down. The German fighter pilots considered them easy targets.
Since opening in 1955, they have served over 5 billion eggs, over 2 billion waffles and over 1.5 billion orders of grits. I am LITERALLY responsible for at least 1 billion of those eggs and large portion of them grits.
There are 2,000 + locations in 25 states. Anthony Bourdain was quoted as saying it’s an “irony-free zone where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.” Talk about a non-irony-free statement! Beauty ain’t supposed to hurt. I think he even said the Waffle House experience surpassed The French Laundry – which doesn’t even do laundry. The Waffle House, by contrast, is open 24 hours and, like its companion the French Laundry, also does not do laundry, except maybe for the staff. Anyway, open 24 hours, for breakfast, what an absolute convenience (I love those).
So there I sat at Waffle House, the morning Sun now awake and pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, thinking stuff and then more stuff. Easter in Gruver showed beautifully -- from nature, to the church services, to the celebratory traditions.
Show No Get No
Respect, that is.
What didn’t show beautifully, or at all, my parents. That same thing would happen again at Christmas when I did the Famous Gruver Tree Lighting of 2021. It was meant to honor and respect my Grandparents and all those who came before us, who sacrificed, who never came back, who worked hard, who created a thriving community out of dry dirt.
We invited the entire town and many turned out. Muff gave a speech about how this now giant 80 foot tall Blue Spruce tree came to my Grandparents as a tiny sapling, barely scraping by. Aunt Ella gave it to them and said “now, you look after this tree”.
I created the invites – which Fat Jenny later copied. You know what they say about imitation and where you can keyster it.
Some, like my Aunt Ju Ju, came from hundreds of miles away to help with the tree lighting and to make the treats, like the Poppycock.
Not my dad, Fredo, though. He didn’t turn up. No one from my family turned up. To an event to celebrate Fredo’s own dad, who was taken away from us at the young age of 60 and who had many years to live.
I can tell you that did not go unnoticed around town. I will write about the tree lighting for our Christmas Episode, which is in less than 2 short months.
Putting on My Thinking Cap
For now, back to Waffle House. April 2021. Joplin, MO.
I hoped the cheese n’ eggs, table full of food and the tilted Waffle House hat would lead my filters and thoughts to better assessment of my parents. The previous ones were just wrong. I was tempted to just think the opposite of what I had previously thought and chances are I would be right. Not that there’s anything wrong with that approach, of course, but this deserved more dissection.
Specifically Fredo, he did not wish Muff a Happy Easter or even acknowledge Easter. How did he go from growing up with Muff and Dayton, being loved and supported by them to now acting like some heathen? Like a “Phyllis Stein”, which is how I thought that was spelled when I was 5?
From what I could tell, up until this point in 2021, he wasn’t born bad like Hannibal. He became bad. What changed or did anything?
So I played back a conversation I just had with Muff.
ME
Was my dad a good baby?
MUFF
Yes, he was a good baby. He really didn’t cause much trouble.
ME
How was he when Aunt Ju Ju came along?
MUFF
He was good with her. He would stand at her little crib and keep an eye on her. He was curious. His older brother wasn’t very curious about her but your dad was. He was pretty sweet.
OK. So Fredo at one point in his life was a human.
If you have followed along with our excellent Episodes here at the Handbook, you’ll recall that I had serious doubts whether I was my dad, Fredo’s, biological daughter.
Then, you know, through a lot of research – otherwise known as Ancestry.com –it turns out I am. By the way, here is the list of all the people I have discovered who are definitely Fredo’s biological offspring:
1. Me
2. That is all
So I really wanted to understand how my parent’s behavior could be so different than mine. I hadn’t changed. Muff hadn’t changed. Why had their actions become so hostile and vacant toward two of the people who loved them. Who had done more for them than Muff and I had? Not to mention Fredo’s own dad.
Was this a real example of one of Hannibal’s classic lines “no good deed goes unpunished”? By her, I think that means.
By the way, Hannibal has a habit of taking common quotes like this one and making it seem like it she invented them. So, no good deed goes unpunished you say? Oh yeah? How would you know, Hannibal, having never done one. And what about bad deeds? Do those go punished? I hope so. Or, more accurately, I am writing these exact words here today in an effort to ensure that they do.
Unbecoming of a Gentleman
I started with the basics. The primary role of a father is to protect his children, to take the weight of the world off their kids. Not to put it there.
OK. OK? I thought about this. Throughout my life, it felt more like my dad’s role was to protect Hannibal. I mean he was raised by loving, protective and hardworking parents. Naturally, most of us are going to hope that the warmth and love I received from my Grandparents, would also come through in my dad’s parenting. You know, like some integrity existed inside of him. It has to, right? Some small semblance or shadow of integrity must be there someplace. If I wait long enough, surely I will see it.
I’m still waiting.
Back at the Waffle House
I went to take a sip of coffee. I noticed an older gentleman sitting in a corner booth behind us. He was alone and seemed completely comfortable, almost like right at home. He seemed to have an unspoken rapport with the waitress. I got the feeling he had breakfast there everyday, alone. I watched him with his breakfast, while he read a newspaper and made no expressions. Pretending not to listen to us over here with the Waffle Hats.
His coffee was kept refilled while he never looked up. He reminded me of a book The Man Without a Country. It’s about a US Army officer convicted for treason along with Aaron Burr, like a million years ago, and sentenced to spend his the rest of his days in exile at sea. In this case, a sea of butter, with silky smooth pancakes swimming beneath the waves made of luscious eggs. All while sailing along in a gravy boat, catching the grainy warm biscuits that jump like flying fish onboard. Hmmm. That sounds fun. Can I get exiled please? Oh, wait. I am.
Well, really though, I wondered if it was more like The Man Without a Family. Was he by himself? I thought he must be widowed. He did not seem sad, though.
At least he starts his day with a delicious breakfast, in a bright sun filled Waffle House where he is taken care of. I wondered if he was a dad, and I got the feeling that he was probably a good dad.
Dad or No Dad
Back to my very own dad, Fredo.
Could it be that Fredo chose to emotionally withdraw some where along the way? Or was he forced to? I don’t remember him being at many of my events. If he did show up, he would criticize not just me but also the organization I was with.
Like this one time at Lions Club.
It was Fall 1994, when I was Amarillo Downtown chapter’s Lions Club Queen. One of my most favoratey roles and honors yet. The club of people were mainly older veterans. Really nice people. Philanthropic, engaging, outgoing, supportive and successful. I enjoyed every minute with every member on every Tuesday at noon. I invited Fredo to a lunch. As a favor to me, the members seated Fredo at the front and center table, which is normally the table kept for those in a position of recognition or honor. I don’t recall Fredo speaking to any single person. Several members introduced themselves to him but that was about it. No one really mentioned Fredo to me that day or any time after.
Later that evening, back at home Fredo said to me “what a bunch of goof balls? Why do they meet every Tuesday?”
“What a total Ask!” I thought.
Are you talking about today at Lions Club? By they paid for your lunch. Did you happen to notice how many WWll vets there were in the crowd? You being such a self proclaimed WWll history buff.
Fredo went silent while he titled his head and rolled his eyes.
Talk about buzzkill. I mean, if you can’t say something nice . . . just shut the hell up and take it up with manager.
Could it be that while he inherited the dignity of his lineage, he ditched it for subservience to a predator? And by predator, I mean Hannibal. And then transferred that same servitude to my brother(?) Myron.
Like he chose to align with her abuse rather than stand up to her? Or was he compromised early on and slowly and suddenly lost the ability to stand up?
By most appearances, his failure to act, refusal to protect and rejection of accountability made him a full partner in the system of abuse. I would almost feel sorry for Fredo, but I don’t. You can pick on me all you want. I’m a grown up. It’s happened my whole life. I can take it. When you take it out on kids, you have become irredeemable.
While Hannibal sought total control over resources, narratives and targets ole Fredo chose comfort, cowardice and image maintenance. Call it willful blindness. As long as I was absorbing Hannibal’s rage, she didn’t target him. Did he not ever see that Hannibal didn’t stumble into harm, she planned it and for material or psychological gain? I don’t think he was part of it. Not in the beginning, at least.
Piece of Mine
I can, however, envision a scenario where Hannibal is involved in a stunt – like the cattle theft in 1979 in Pineville, MO, a town of 3 people – and later tells Fredo about it. At that point, Fredo would have had maybe one day to come clean or, as they say, forever hold his “piece”.
More thoughts. Hannibal could not seem to stand seeing me with my own independence or success. She enjoyed diminishing, co-opting or claiming ownership over anything I created. Or just stealing it.
She relied on the normal instinct all mothers are good and love their children. Consciously or not, was Fredo’s objective to keep his predatory bride appeased? Or stop her from ratting him out on something he probably didn’t even do? By feeding me to the predator, becoming blind to it, he could have his own peace and quiet. Like afternoons watching Gunsmoke and Jeopardy.
If you are wondering what happens when Fredo is confronted, by people or reality. He can’t handle it. The person, usually me, bringing up any issue or injustice, or just a true actual fact, is the problem. The actual doer of the harm is not the problem, in Fredo’s view point. Especially if it involves my brother, Myron(?) or my Evil Mommy.
While he may tell himself his hands are clean, because he didn’t do any harms, they are not. Doing nothing is not a virtue.
Cheese Factor: 5
Back to Waffle House and the Hats.
We needed a picture of the pile of delicious breakfast items and us wearing paper hats. The scene was so outlandish, I needed a picture to make sure I was not dreaming.
Dolphyn went out to the Batmobile to get the camera, forgetting the keys. The car alarm goes off. Loudly, I might add.
The elderly gentleman in the next booth chuckles to himself and says, without taking his eyes off the paper, “ha, and you got the keys”.
To Keith Morrison’s point above, sometimes the most impactful moments of your life happen in a split second, or during an unexpected detour, or in a place where you are not even thinking.
Yes. I totally have the keys. In my hot little hands. And I am driving down this open road to answer these questions I have been asking.
I guess you could say I am hauling ask.
