Clarksville, Bicycling, and God

A year or so ago, I pedaled around Sun City in Georgetown, Texas for my health. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have gone quite so far the day after donating two pints of blood. Also, if I had it to do over again, I would have eaten breakfast first or at least had some orange juice. I thought about all this while parked on the side of the road trying to decide if I should call 911 or just throw up. After some deep breaths, staying close to the flower garden at the woodworking shop, I managed to get past the nausea. I had already thought of a way to hold on to the branch of a tree for support if needed. But soon, I felt better and was back on the bike heading for home. 

Perhaps I was delirious, but as I rode the rest of the way (mostly downhill, by the way), I had vivid memories of bike riding as a kid. I remember sneaking off when I lived near Clarksville in Austin, so I couldn't have been more than nine years old. My friend, Bobby Bayer, went with me. We told our parents we were just going to see someone a few blocks away and we ended up in deep South Austin, near the Broken Spoke area. I felt terribly guilty for lying to my mother. But not guilty enough to keep me from repeating the trip again and again.

Those memories and reminders of the guilt I felt, made me think about Brian, the male protagonist in Where Love Once Lived. Don't forget I said I may have been delirious at the time all this was going through my head.

In the novel, Brian had been brought up in a Christian family and attended church every Sunday. What's more, he loved to go to church and continued to do so while he was away from his California home attending the University of Texas. Then, he commits a sin and, even though he knows better, the guilt he feels is so strong he believes he is being punished by God. His punishment is to be in a loveless marriage.

He drops out of church for the next thirty years. This is all leading up to my wanting to tell you this is not a biographical story. It didn't happen to me. I was brought up in a Christian home and my life revolved around the church. I still have friends I met at church and we still get together frequently. I'll tell you more about the Combine as we go. I continued to be involved in church in college and while in the marines. After marriage and kids there were times when I wasn't involved as much as I should have been, but that didn't last long. I may tell you about that period of my life someday, if I'm ever delirious again.

How about you? When did God become a major part of your life? Have you ever dropped out? What brought you back?

Texas State Capitol Memories

Texas State Capitol
Austin, Texas

A novel is fiction. It's not true. Pure imagination. Right? Well, yes, but... I suspect every novel contains some little something from the author's past. Where Love Once Lived is no exception. While I didn't make the same mistakes Brian did, there are events in my life I wish hadn't happened. But I trust God lead me to where I am today.

In the following excerpt, I describe a scene at the Texas state capitol that I had with my mother and dad and sisters when I was a child. Photos reminded me of the event for years after it happened. My dad tricked me into drinking the sulfur tasting water that day cementing the memory forever. I also remember a time when I wondered if people were staring at me and a fellow marine who happened to be black as we traveled from California to Texas.

When we reached my parent's house in Austin, I was concerned about their reaction since, as far as I knew, Bill would be the first black person in our home. However, he was accepted graciously. My dad even drove us the rest of the way to Houston, saying we were probably too tired to drive further.

I tied both of these incidents into the book.

In this excerpt, Brian had asked to meet with Mr. McCullough, the 78-year-old father of Brian's best friend Phil, because Brian wanted advice on being close to God. You'll have to read the book to find out more. I only included enough here to describe the setting.

“You know,” Mr. McCullough said as he and Brian walked through the capitol grounds, “a few years back, ever’one would be staring at us.”

Brian was six foot two, and Phil’s dad was five two or three at the most. Mr. McCullough had just gotten off work at the Driskill and still had on his white shirt and bowtie. Brian wore shorts and Birkenstocks. Still, Brian knew Mr. McCullough was talking about race, not stature or clothing. Mr. McCullough was from a time in history Brian could never fully understand, but he’d read about how blacks suffered. It was a time of segregation.

Mr. McCullough looked around. “When I was jus’ a kid, nine or ten I’d say, my parents brought me here.” He motioned toward the spot where they sat. “My daddy told me to drink from a sulfur fountain that was here. Said it’d be good for me and make me healthy. But there was a problem. Back then, you see, we had separate drinking fountains. One marked ‘white’ and one marked ‘colored.’”

He paused, but Brian waited for him to continue. “There was only one sulfur fountain and it wasn’t marked one way or ‘nother, colored or white.” He laughed. “Didn’t matter. We sneaked a sip when no one was about. Only once, though.” He shook his head and made a face. “Terrible stuff. Smelled like rotten eggs.”

See: http://sidneywfrost.com/capitol.htm for photos of the area where Brian and Mr. McCullough may have been.

I would love to hear from you. Do you have family memories about visiting places like the state capitol? What caused the memory to stick in your mind? Have you experienced racial segregation? Have you ever felt people were staring at you because you did something out of the norm? Please comment below or email me: sidfrost@suddenlink.net.

Sitting in My Dad's Barber Chair

My dad, Sidney Henry Frost, was my only barber from the time I got my first haircut in 1937 up until I joined the marines and moved to California in 1956. I have many pleasant memories of the haircuts and the barber shop visits. Dad was different at work, as are most of us. He was outgoing, talkative, knowledgeable, the kind of man others turned to for advice and opinion. He knew all the latest jokes as well as news and financial reports. He knew what was going on in town and around the world. All this with a 7^th grade education.

But, there was more to it than that. Cutting my hair was our private time. I didn't have to compete for his attention the way I did at home. My sisters didn't have this opportunity, but perhaps he found another time for them. He'd talk to me about what I was doing and what was going on in my world. He'd brag about me to the other barbers and to his customers.

Even when I didn't need a haircut, the barbershop would be a regular stop for me. Sometimes I'd go see him to get some money to buy the latest toy or go to the movies. There was a movie theater across the street from Travis Barber Shop on West 7^th Street where he worked for many years that had Saturday morning serials that couldn't be missed. There was another theater down the alley from the shop on 6^th Street across from Scarborough's. The one on 6^th Street would occasionally have cowboy movie stars there to sign autographs.

By the time I'd moved back to Austin in 1976, my friend Jack McCowan had become a barber and opened his own place on Congress. He was a hair stylist and I was drawn to getting the latest styles so I started to going to him. His wife, Doris, would wash my hair and then Jack would cut my hair with a straight razor while it was still wet. Then he'd blow dry it and cover it with a net to shape it while he sprayed it with hair spray.

I have to admit I felt guilty not letting Dad cut my hair any more, but I convinced myself it was for my career. I was working for Bob Bullock when he was the State Comptroller in an important job and needed that professional look Jack provided.

Later, I'd go back to get a haircut from Dad when I needed an old fashioned look for a part in the opera.

Dad cut hair until he was 90 years old. The Sportsman Barber Shop held a birthday bash for him, but he was back the next day, still working. 

Growing Up White Next to a Black Neighborhood

That's me in the middle

The area of Austin called Clarksville is different than it was when I was born December 6, 1936. At that time, and up until the time we moved to South Austin in 1945, the former slave neighborhood was located between West 10th and Waterston Avenue with West Lynn Street on the east extending west to the railroad tracks that are now in the middle of MoPac.

It's hard for my children and grandchildren to understand that time in Austin's history when schools and neighborhoods were segregated by race. Only blacks lived in the area called Clarksville and the children didn't go to Mathews Elementary where my sister and I went.

My family lived in four different houses just outside the black neighborhood. At one house our backyard was up against a black family's backyard. That's where we lived when I was between five and nine, and I remember talking to some kids over that fence there often, or until my parents told me not to. Since most other blacks lived east of Austin, living where we did gave me an opportunity many white kids didn't have. I got to know some of my black neighbors, even though I had to keep it a secret from my parents.

I grew up in a segregated town, not really understanding why, and it wasn't until I was in college in 1954 that blacks in Austin began to be reluctantly accepted in some places. I left Austin in 1956 to join the marines. One of my friends was a black private from Houston. In California, we could go to restaurants together and the beach and just about anywhere we wanted. My friend rode back to Texas with me once and by the time we got to Austin, without discussing it, we started getting our food to go.

Perhaps due to my early experience growing up in Clarksville, I've always believed in equality of the races. I included a character in my novel, Where Love Once Lived, who is about my age and is black. I gave him my experiences, from the other side of the fence, however. Several scenes take place in the neighborhood, including memories of the neighborhood, Mathews School, the Confederate home, and what it was like to live in a segregated area. There is also an interracial marriage in the book.