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What was going on in the 1950’s?
What was it like being a Hippie in the 60’s?
Free Love in the 70’s.
Disco in the 80’s.
Was there anything really going on during the 90’s.
And now, the 2,000’s?
My story is not my alone.
It is also a story that I have shared with many other people.
The people I met along the way during this journey.
Innocent souls as was I.
All playing our role in this never-ending story.
I will share with you what I experienced as our country was changing.
Awakening to a new era.
To a new generation of people bringing forth a new light, a new vision.
The Hippies.
Take a break and let me share with you stories of what I saw and experienced.
The places.
The people.
The things I did.
Pour yourself a cup of coffee or a glass of wine.
Pack a bowl or roll a fatty and pull up a comfortable chair.
Sit back and relax.
Enjoy reading…
Yes, this is my story.
Yes, this story is real.
And…
I now pass you along to a much
younger version of myself
who will recall and tell you
Who Chip Ragsdale
…really is.
This episode is my journey to discovering music.
How I obtained my first guitar.
And how I learned to play the guitar.
We begin when I was the age of ten.
In The Beginning
When I was 10 years old after school I would meet my brother Rusty.
We would meet at our local corner mom and pop grocery store.
My mother was a waitress and my current stepfather was a truck driver at the time of this story.
My brother and I went to different schools.
We’d meet at that store because no one was at our house when we got out of school.
Our stepfather didn’t trust us alone in his house.
Rusty was almost three years older than I was.
Despite the age difference we were pretty tight and got along great as kids growing up.
He didn’t mind me tagging along with him when he went over or out with his friends.
These guys were 3, 4, 5 years older than me also.
Several times I recall my brother standing up for me to let someone know exactly why I was there.
” Because he’s my brother,” he’d say.
“Where I go he goes.”
And that was usually the end of that.
I had to hold my own though, my brother expected that of me…and I did.
My family life wasn’t a pretty one.
My mother had married five times.
At least that’s what my brother and I were told.
We would meet these guys when they would move in with us and start to rule the nest.
Then they’d be gone.
And then…another one would be there.
My brother and I never attended any weddings…not one!
I never knew my real father.
My mother told me that the day she told my real father she was pregnant with me…he left her.
All I can say to that is…
“Thanks dad…thanks a lot.”
I never got to meet him or even see a picture of him and never bothered to find one.
I was told once by an old friend of my mothers that I was a spitting image of him.
When I would ask my mother about him she would unload onto me all the reasons that she hated him.
So needless to say I stopped asking about him.
Then eventually I stopped thinking about him.
As I’m sure he did of me.
With these new fathers my brother always made sure I stayed by his side.
He always wanted to keep an eye on me.
He did this because for some reason I was always getting into trouble.
Even at that young of an age.
Trouble would find it’s way to my door step for one reason or another.
Don’t know why?
Can’t explain it.
But it’s true.
Every time I’d take a status check on myself…I was in trouble for one thing or another.
Smiling while someone would be correcting me for something.
Wrong place at the wrong time.
Expressing my opinion when being corrected or punished.
Stupid things mostly.
I was the runt of the family.
That made me an easy target for my new ‘Father’ to lash out at.
Rusty took a lot of smacks and blows because he’d step in to try and stop one of the ‘dads’ abuse.
My brother was my hero back in those days.
…back to the story.
After school Rusty and I would hang out at the store for a little while with some of the other guys from the neighborhood.
Then we would head over to Rusty’s best friend’s house.
There we would usually do our homework then goof off and have the greatest, craziest of times.
When it would start to get dark outside we’d head to our house for supper.
Dishonorable Dismissal
Rusty’s best friends name was Stiffy…please don’t ask.
He was the greatest guy.
The things he would do and say kept me in stitches all the time.
Most other kids didn’t like him for all the reasons that I did.
He brought a lot of happiness to my life, which was so needed at that time.
He gave me precious moments of being an innocent, unafraid kid allowing me to just be what I was…
a kid hanging out with friends.
Stiffy was 14 years old.
He had a fascination with Brenda Lee the female recording artist from the 1950’s, from the 20th Century.
I feel so very, very old right now.
He wrote to her all the time and received many letters back.
Mostly written by the fan club with Brenda Lee’s signature stamped on it.
But hey, no one else had anything close to this.
A stamped signature was good enough.
He was also a member of her fan club.
That gave him some extra privileges.
He received several copied letters where she actually signed them including several photos.
In his bedroom he had quite a display of Brenda Lee’s memorabilia.
Photos, letters, figurines, magazine articles, all types of goodies.
He got most of the things from the fan club and stuff he collected on his own.
It was really cool, I mean for a guy to have something like that and all back in those days.
One day after school when Rusty and I arrived at Stiffy’s house we found him sitting on his front porch steps crying.
As he was crying he had a piece of paper in his hand that he repeatedly batted against his head.
As he cried he was saying “I can’t believe they did this to me?” over and over and over.
Rusty and I could only watch as he tormented himself and would not respond to our questions of concern.
Stiffy finally calmed down enough to start talking with us.
He then began to explain what was the cause of his despair.
It was a letter that he had received from the Brenda Lee Fan Club that he was batting himself with.
Stiffy had written a letter to Brenda Lee.
The letter was brought to the attention of the Officials of Brenda Lee’s fan club.
It had caused “great concern and worry as to what was written in your last correspondence” the letter stated.
Apparently he had written to her suggesting that he wanted to be with her forever and ever.
He also suggested that she should start to sell all her things.
Leave it all behind so that they could travel the world together…
TOGETHER!
FOREVER!
That’s the way he put it.
Apparently his letter went on and on.
Along with the notification came the blow that he was being dishonorably dismissed from the fan club.
Also his name was to be removed from the Brenda Lee Fan Club roaster, FOREVER.
I swear that’s what the letter said…”You are here-by dishonorably dismissed from the Brenda Lee Fan Club.”
It was also requested of him to never write or try to communicate with Brenda Lee…
or any member of her fan club.
In doing so: “The local authorities will be notified.”
Poor Stiffy really screwed up this time.
He was crushed.
What Just Happened Here?
After Stiffy pulled himself together we went into his bedroom.
He began pondering over what he was going to do now?
We talked for awhile and tried to make light of the situation.
Eventually Stiffy became his old self again.
He started joking and clowning around with my brother and myself.
He started imitating the head of the Brenda Lees fan club, ordering himself about.
Kicking himself out of Brenda Lee’s fan club.
He was imitating the head of the Brenda Lee’s fan club as a German solder during WWII.
Acting like Sargent Schultz from the classic TV show Hogans Hero’s.
It was hilarious.
We were sitting around now laughing and joking.
We started making up jokes about Brenda Lee.
They didn’t make any sense…but they made us laugh.
It was good to see Stiffy back to his old self.
Then, out of no where Stiffy gets up from his bed where he was sitting.
He walks across the room to his bedroom closet, opens the door and goes into it.
In a moment he emerges from the closet caring an acoustic, 6-string guitar.
He walks right past me back over to where he was sitting on his bed before.
Stiffy starts to play the guitar.
He starts playing the guitar and singing.
It was the Brenda Lee song “All Alone Am I” that he was playing and singing.
You could have knocked me over with a feather.
I was in total shock and awe struck.
I am sure at that moment my mouth was wide open.
My facial expression must have been a sight to see.
After months of going over to Stiffy’s house day after day after school.
Hanging out together in his bedroom for hours at a time.
During all that time not once was it mentioned or suggested that Stiffy had a guitar and guess what?
He knows how to play it.
And he was playing it right now in front of me…and playing it well.
I was amazed.
My brother told me later that he knew, he just didn’t think it was a big deal.
Are you kidding me?
It’s not a big deal?
Anyway, I was impressed even though I was only ten years old.
Stiffy played another song immediately after the Brenda Lee song before anyone could say anything.
It was a Rock ‘N’ Roll, Chuck Berry type song.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
I was so blown away.
Rusty and I hung out for a little longer.
We watched as Stiffy went through all the stuff he had in his shrine to Brenda Lee.
It was a crazy, crazy day.
Thanks For The Memories
Rusty and I finally started to leave to go home.
We said our good-byes and were heading through the hallway to the kitchen to leave Stiffy’s house.
As we were about to go out the kitchen door, for some reason I turned around to head back to Stiffy’s room.
I wanted to tell Stiffy once more what a great time I had and that I really liked hearing him play.
When I got to Stiffy’s room his door was cracked open about a foot or so.
I could see Stiffy standing in front of the shrine he had dedicated to his beloved Brenda Lee.
He was just standing there as though in a trance.
I knew he was hurting badly.
I didn’t enter his room.
I only watched through the cracked door as Stiffy began to take a deep breath.
I noticed his body starting to shake just a bit and I knew that he was getting ready to have his moment.
I turned around quietly, walked away and left him to it.
Stiffy eventually put away the articles of the shrine he had made for Brenda Lee.
He did keep the ‘Dishonorable Dismissal’ letter from her fan club and had it framed.
He now proudly displayed that framed letter in his bedroom.
He had hung it over his bed and said that it was his one and only claim to fame.
It’s been many years now since I last saw Stiffy.
I have no idea where he is now or even if he is still with us.
I do know that Time Passes and moves on…and so did we.
Stiffy was quite the character and I sure do miss him and those…
‘GOOD OLD DAYS’
The Dream
That night I was still so excited about seeing and hearing Stiffy play that guitar and singing.
I was so impressed that a person could do something like that.
It was my first experience with live music and it moved me deeply.
I had a hard time falling asleep that night.
When I finally did I had a dream.
I dreamed that I was on stage and I was in a Rock ‘N’ Roll band.
We were hot and we knew it.
The audience loved us.
They were screaming and cheering us on.
Everyone was singing along to our songs as we played them.
There was so much excitement.
I could feel it running through me.
Girls were all pulling at their hair.
Tears in their eyes reaching out to touch me.
Screaming out my name!
I have to tell you it was quite the dream for a ten year old.
In the dream I was a guitar player and I was rocking like a God.
Well maybe just a guitar-playing peasant on God’s earth.
But it still felt like I was a God!
When I woke up I remember being filled with the desire to play the guitar.
I wanted one so badly.
It seemed like from that moment on that was all I could think of.
It became a burning passion of mine.
I knew I could not afford to buy one.
My parents would never buy me one.
And for sure one wasn’t going to just drop out of the sky and land on the side of a road.
Quite the dilemma for a ten year old boy to be in.
But I had been in plenty of dilemmas before.
Even at that early of an age.
I would figure something out.
I always did.
I was eleven years old now.
Even when your young you can be aware of the passing of time.
I was aware that a whole year had gone by and I was still no closer to owning a guitar.
A year since the day that I had heard Rusty’s friend Stiffy playing his guitar.
On the outskirts of my neighborhood there was this huge music store.
They mostly sold new and used band instruments to the local schools.
Also pianos, organs acoustic guitars.
Rows and rows of band instruments.
All sizes of drums and wind instruments.
Racks and racks of sheet music.
It was one heck of a store.
Once in awhile a friend from school had to go to the store to pick up something he would need for Band.
He was in our School Band and played the Slide-Trombone.
Not wanting to walk the twelve blocks to get to the music store alone, he asked me once to accompany him.
I went that one time and continued to go with him every time he asked me.
I really enjoyed being around all the music equipment.
We would get to the store and he would go do what he needed to do.
I would walk around the store admiring the instruments and checking the sheet music out.
I never had the interest to join the school band.
I don’t know why?
I did enjoy looking at the instruments though, like a crow focused on a shinny object.
Right before it swoops down and steals it from you.
As I was looking around the store during one of our visits,
I saw an electric guitar and small amplifier that was for sale.
This was the first time I had seen an electric guitar and an amplifier in the store.
Both the guitar and amp looked worn and used.
Showing signs that their owner truly enjoyed playing them.
‘I have to have them’ was the first thought that ran through my mind as soon as I saw them.
I remember turning around so fast that I walked right into a rack of sheet music.
Down went the rack.
Of course the sheet music went flying.
All I wanted to do was to talk to the salesman about the guitar and amplifier.
Sheet music was everywhere.
I was so embarrassed.
I started to erect the sheet music stand to it’s original position.
Doing so, the remaining music sheets started falling from their racks onto the floor as well.
The salesman was pretty close by because he was on the scene in a flash.
Apparently he was in the next isle over from where I was.
He now was standing at the partition that separated us.
Both hands on the partition top looking down at me on the floor cleaning up the mess I had made.
As he is looking down at me he starts shaking his head back and forth.
“That’s one heck of a mess you made there kid.”
He said to me with a smile on his face.
He came around to my side of the isle now and knelt down beside me.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Happens all the time.”
“Besides I didn’t have anything else to do right now.”
He said to me still smiling.
We started picking up the sheet music.
He told me to just put them in a pile and he would straighten them up later.
While we were picking up the sheet music I started to talk to him about the guitar and amplifier.
Turns out that the guitar and amplifier were his.
He had them for years and had just purchased new ones.
“Are you interested in buying them?” he asked me.
Was I interested?
Was this air that I breathing?
Was the sun in the sky?
I did not say a word…I could not.
Tears were forming in my eyes waiting to escape as I just stood there whimpering.
Reality strikes hard sometimes.
And it struck pretty hard at that moment on me.
I was overcome with the knowledge that I could never afford to buy the guitar and amplifier.
I could never afford a lot of things in life but this guitar and amplifier…never!
The knowledge of knowing that was breaking my heart.
All I could do was whimper and try not to start crying.
Well of course this affected the sales guy.
He was earnestly concerned for me and wanted to know what my problem was?
I explained the best I could why I was upset.
After several moments of consoling me he made me a proposition.
“I was asking $300.00 for the lot, but I’ll let you have it for $250.00.”
“You come up with $25.00 to put down on that guitar and amp and I will let you take them home.”
“You then can make payments of $15.00 every month, for 15 months till you pay your bill off.”
“With your parents permission of course.”
What an amazing turn of events.
He even had the guitar case.
Walking home with my friend as I told him the story of what had happened with the sheet music rack.
Also about the guitar and the deal the salesman had offered to me.
I felt like I was walking on air.
It was time now for me to develop the plan I would need to get the guitar, amp and case.
I knew the first thing I needed was that $25.00 to put as a down payment for the equipment.
Believe me that was an awful lot of money back in those days.
Especially when you are only eleven years old.
I figured that to get this money I was going to have to work for it.
Pretty smart thinking right?
But what to do?
Yes what to do?
What does an eleven year old boy do to earn money?
How am I going to earn $25.00?
Then out of right field, it came to me.
My answer was, “By doing all the things grown-ups didn’t want to do!”
All of a sudden I knew exactly how kids got money.
“They get money from their parents for doing chores.”
They disguise this work as a list of “Chores” they want you to do.
They will pay you an allotted amount of money to perform said tasks, usually under the national wage scale.
Claiming all along that this is “Good for you.”
“This will teach you the value of a dollar and how to save and manage your money in the future.”
Yeah right!
I was a parent also with two boys and to be honest, the chores I gave my boys were all the jobs I didn’t want to do.
So the real lesson learned is that when you grow up, get married and have children…
You can hire real cheap labor to do all the things around the house you don’t want to do.
So I thought about all the things that I was made to do around the house and formulated my plan.
My plan was to go around to all the neighbors for a four block radius.
I would knock on doors of people who “didn’t” have children.
I would ask if they needed any help with “CHORES around the house?”
The keyword being CHORES.
I figured that the only work that I really knew in life, my resume of sorts, was ‘chores’.
And that was going to be my pitch to try and sell myself as a future employee.
Big thoughts for such a little kid.
Actually using that smart tool to pitch the idea was brilliant.
These were things that I could do for them after school or on the weekends.
Just like the time periods allotted to every kid to earn their weekly allowances.
I thought it made sense and I gave it a shot.
And boy did it pay off
I get a lot of jobs.
Mowing lawns.
Walking dogs.
Washing windows.
Raking leafs.
Washing cars.
All the jobs they gave to their children while growing up to do for their allowances.
They now are willing to pay me to do.
I could not believe that this was actually working out.
For weeks I did these odd jobs when I could.
I told no one that I was doing this.
Not even my brother.
I was just ‘going over to one of my friends house’ and things like that they thought.
At least that’s what I lead them to think.
It took me a little over four weeks to earn the $25.00 that I needed for the down payment.
Yeah!
Now I had to secure jobs that would give me money every month until I paid off my bill.
Another situation for me to solve.
I had actually started solving that problem during my original job search.
As I was trying to make a deal with a potential customer I tried a little salesman pitch as well.
I managed to convince some of my customers that it would be a wise move…on their part.
To have me come back and continue to do the job that I was doing for them.
“Would be a shame to see it just go back to the way it was when you hired me to do this for you.”
“I should come back at least once a week?”
“Maybe every other week?”
“Definitely once a month…don’t you think?”
I was actually getting jobs this way.
I received a lot of pats on the head while a person would say “Smart kid. You’ll go far.”
Finally the big day had come.
I was going to show the $25.00 I had earned to my mother and stepfather.
Also to reveal my plan to buy a guitar and amplifier…and a guitar case!
I can still see myself standing there in front of my parents.
Acting as if I was some sort of a young business man.
And boy did I have a deal for them.
I truly do not know how I did what I did that day…but I did it.
After my presentation my mother was surprised and pleased.
Roger, my stepfather had his doubts.
“He’s just a little kid with big ideas.”
“He probably stole the money little by little from me over the past month.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Are you a little thief now?”
That was his cross examination of me.
My mother felt that If I was capable of pulling this off to get the money for the down payment.
And for putting this whole plan together, then I must be serious about this.
She was pleased with me and wanted me to have the guitar, amplifier and of course…the guitar case.
It was agreed.
I would get my guitar.
My mother would co-sign.
Roger wanted no part of it.
And me…I would get to make the payments.
“All the details will be worked out later.”
Roger said declaring that this conversation was now over.
Roger asked my mother to get him a beer.
As my mother was leaving the room Roger turned his attention towards me.
I was watching my mother as she left the room.
All of a sudden I felt Rogers hand push hard on my shoulder to get my attention.
He stared at me.
Looking right into my eyes.
I could feel his stare looking at my very soul.
Without saying a word he grabbed the money that was in my hand ripping it away from me.
“Real smart-ass aren’t you?” Roger said to me.
I had no idea what he meant.
The look he was giving me I had seen many times before.
It was an angry look.
A look you give someone right before you sucker punch them.
He seemed to be upset with me.
It was like I did something good and this somehow made him look bad?
After he took that money from me he pulled two five dollar bills from the stack of mostly ones.
He then called out to my mother while staring me right in my eyes and says,
“Flo, hurry up with that beer.”
“And then I want you to take this ten bucks and pick me up a fifth of Seagram’s before it gets dark.”
Still looking me right in the eyes, he smirks at me, turns and walks away.
I hated him so much!
He always made me feel small and unimportant when I was around him.
Roger had several nicknames for me.
He truly enjoyed calling me them whenever the opportunity would arise.
I actually had four nicknames growing up.
My real name was Arthur.
I got two nicknames for that one and Skipper, after my Grandfather.
From which Grandfather I never really knew.
After all I had five fathers…right?
I actually got two nicknames out of that also.
The four nicknames:
Art, Arty, Skipper and Skip.
Roger had his own version of these nicknames that he called me.
Art was now: Fart.
Arty was now: Farty.
Skip was now: Shit.
And Skipper now became: Shitter
A real confidence builder when your a young child.
It still hurts and upsets me even to this day when I recall how that made me feel.
My mother would ask him to stop but that never did any good.
He would just turn to me, rub my head rather roughly and say “He doesn’t mind, do ya?”
“It’ll help make a man out of him.”
Then he would push me away usually knocking me off balance and causing me to fall down.
He just did not like me and he had no problem showing it.
Well, I had pulled it off.
Now what?
Once again reality set in and I was faced with the realization of what I had just gotten myself into.
This was going to be quite a load for an eleven-year-old.
I now had to come up with $15.00 a month for the rest of my life…it seemed like.
At least that’s what my stepfather Roger kept telling me.
I remember being with my mother the day we picked up the guitar, amp and guitar case.
As the salesman was helping us load the equipment into the car he said to me,
“Welcome to the world of high finance kid!”
Everyone seemed happy for me now that I owed money.
I was one of them now.
I now was a member of their special club.
I was a big shot now!
I owed money!
Ah yes, the great American dream at eleven years old.
It couldn’t get any better than this.
And it didn’t.
I had the guitar and amp for a whole month and nine days.
Just long enough to make my first payment.
Someone broke into our house and stole my guitar and amplifier.
They made a small hole in a screen door that led into the kitchen and broke through the door.
Someone came into my house and took ONLY my guitar and amplifier…and guitar case.
I was devastated.
I had just made my first monthly payment on them only 9 days before.
My mother had to give me $5.00 to make the first months payment.
I was a little short of money that first month.
I had several jobs that would bring me ten dollars guaranteed every month.
Taking trash out.
Raking yards.
Going to the store.
Things of that nature.
I just hadn’t had enough time to get another job or two to make the remaining $5.00.
But I promised that I would get those jobs and have all the money by next month.
Not bad negotiating skills for an eleven-year-old?
All was well with the world again.
Until someone broke into my house and stole my property.
Anyway my first guitar came and went before I could even learn how to tune or play the poor baby.
I was working so much and with homework and just being eleven years old.
The days didn’t have enough hours in them.
My guitar was now in the hands of a cold-hearted thief.
She was alone and scared.
With no one to tuck her in at night.
No one to tell her that she is loved.
And me?
I was left with NOTHING!
There was nothing left now for me except the monthly payment I was going to have to make…
‘for the rest of my life’.
Now, not only was I devastated that my guitar and amp were stolen.
I realized that I still had to pay for them.
This was not the way things were supposed to go.
I was to learn how to play the guitar and become a…
NOT!
Not today young man.
No, not today!
I found out 42 years later that my stepfather returned the guitar to the music store.
He learned that my mother had to give me the $5.00 to help me make that first payment.
He would not even give me a chance.
He was so ticked-off my brother Rusty told me.
So, my whole family knew that my stepfather returned the guitar and made it look like a burglary.
I always wondered why the police were never called?
Or why my mother told me that she had a long talk with that music store.
And it seems they had a soft spot in their little hearts.
They dropped the remainder of the payments.
They felt sorry for me my mother told me.
Yeah right.
How stupid I was to believe that.
Even before I knew this bit of information I never went back to that music store.
I was too embarrassed.
How did I come about obtaining my next guitar?
Which really became my first guitar.
Is the story that I am about to tell you now.
A Newer Beginning
From the age of eleven through thirteen my life changed a lot.
That time was spent going on a crime spree ending with me in Florida’s finest reform school.
I will be releasing future Posts on this subject.
I’m sure you won’t want to miss out on those.
But for now let’s return to the story at hand.
A few months after turning thirteen I ran away from home.
As mentioned earlier my home life was far from being like that of The Leave it to Beaver TV show.
Mine was real.
And on one particular day it became all too real.
Let me just say that on this day the last image I have of my stepfather Roger will be with me for eternity.
The image is my stepfather Roger hitting my brother in the head with a hammer.
Then watching my brother knocked out falling down several stairs.
Then watching that hammer being turned towards me…that’s my last image of him.
You Are Out Of Bounds
This all happened because my brother and I were riding our bicycles out of bounds.
We were five blocks outside the restricted area Roger allowed us to go.
We were over a girls house that my brother liked and was trying to date.
As we were riding home I remember I was thinking that the girl Rusty liked was really cute.
A real looker.
While that happy thought was milling about in my mind I happened to turn my head slightly to the left.
I was looking towards the street which was about twenty feet away from me.
There was my stepfather Roger.
He was driving his car real slow staring at my brother and myself.
and now he was staring right at me.
I almost fell off my bike.
I was looking right into his eyes.
I knew that he saw me.
I also know that he knew that I saw him.
That look on his face scared me so.
He turned to face the way he was driving and drove away not saying a word.
As he drove away I yelled at my brother that I had just seen Roger.
” I just saw Roger and he saw us.”
“He’s gonna kill us”
We stopped and I told my brother what I had just seen.
He just hung and shook his head.
We rode our bikes in silence the rest of the ride home.
I started crying.
I was still sore from when Roger hit me with a piece of a two by four less than a week ago.
He whacked me twice across my backside with my pants down.
This was because I refused to eat some fat and grizzle that was on some meat we had for supper.
It was making me gag…I couldn’t do it.
So I got smacked for refusing to chew and swallow the fat and grizzle.
To this day I perform major surgery on any piece of meat that I am about to eat.
I remove the slightest hint or trace of fat and grizzle.
Hitting a child with a two-by-four.
That was one of his solutions to a problem.
I remember the next morning after complaining to my mother that I was having trouble sitting.
The pain that shot through my butt when I sat hurt so much…it was unbearable when I sat.
My mother took me into her bedroom where Roger was still sleeping.
She woke him up demanding to know why he hit me with a board.
She then turned me around pulling my pants down some to show him my bruises.
The bastard raised himself up onto both elbows reached over to me tugging at my pants pulling me to him.
He then ripped my pants down to about my knees.
Then he gave me a whack with his hand so hard on the spot where he had previously hit me.
Drawing blood blisters this time.
Nothing was held back from that smack.
It hurt so much I started crying like a baby.
I was shocked and hurt..it all happened so fast.
I pulled up my pants and left the room as my mother and stepfather went at it.
I went to my room to attend to my newly inflicted wound.
When Rusty and I pulled up to the house Roger’s car was already there.
We walked our bikes along the side of our house as quite as possible.
Hoping that no one had seen us ride up on our bikes and now that they would not hear us.
We entered the house through the back door.
This lead us into a small hallway.
We both stood in the hall trying to hear if Roger was close by.
We heard nothing
“We’ll go through the kitchen.” my brother whispered to me.
Rusty walked in first up the two steps leading into the kitchen.
He walked past the small wall divider that separated the hall from the kitchen.
Roger was there waiting.
WHACK!
Down the two stairs went my brother.
Roger just hit my brother in the head with a hammer!
As I watched him falling everything all of a sudden seemed to be in slow motion.
Rusty’s body went limp immediately.
As he was falling there was no motion from him to help break the fall before hitting the floor.
No crying from his pain.
No sign of awareness of his current situation.
He was just floating down to the floor.
It all seemed so unnatural.
As he was going down he was facing me.
Without saying a word.
Without a single motion or jester or a movement from his lips.
He was looking right into my eyes sending me a message.
I understood the message he was sending me.
“Run Skipper.”
“Run.”
“I can’t help you with this one.”
“Your on your own now.”
I watched as his fall met the hardness of the terrazzo flooring that he now laid motionless on.
His eyes were open.
A glassy stare into the nothingness.
There was no movement.
No look of pain.
Just that glassy opened stare that still haunts me to this day.
The slow motion of Rusty’s fall was over now and the speed of reality started to return pretty quick.
Looking away from my brothers body laying motionless on the floor
I turned my attention towards my stepfather Roger.
Just in time too.
He now was coming towards me with his arm raised in the air about ready to strike me.
Strike me with the hammer he had just struck my brother with.
He was holding the metal end of the hammer in his hand.
Using the wooden handle as his weapon of choice.
I immediately fell backwards as I was reacting to Rogers advancement.
I feel through the screen door that lead into the hallway right into our back yard.
Almost taking the whole door with me.
I knew I was next.
I picked myself up and ran.
So there I was.
A thirteen-year-old kid who just saw a man knock out his brother with a hammer.
Then watched as that man turned and came after him with that same hammer.
And now finding himself running down a road.
Running for his life.
Running away form home.
I was a…
RUNAWAY!
I hadn’t the slightest idea what I was doing or where I was going.
What I did know was that I had to get away from there fast.
As fast as I could and it had to be as far away from where I was as possible.
When I finally stopped running I found myself in a small patch of woods that was near our house.
I hid out there for almost half an hour just crying.
I was so scared and afraid of what was going to happen to me if I went home.
I couldn’t stop worrying about my brother.
After a while I calmed down enough to start to think about what I was going to do.
I was living in Jacksonville Florida at the time of this incident.
I knew about ten blocks away from where I was there was an on ramp to the Highway.
Route 1 Highway, North and South bound.
I decided that’s where I would head and hitch a ride to somewhere.
Just to where I didn’t know and at the moment I didn’t care.
I was through living like this.
I couldn’t return to that house anymore.
I was done with all of it.
So where was I going to go?
Back in those days everybody didn’t know about everything.
There was no Internet to ask, “Where do I go?”
“What do I do?”
“How do I get to where I’m going?”
“Where do I go when I run away from home?”
No there wasn’t any of that stuff available to me.
All I remember hearing about in those days was Miami, Daytona Beach and Key West.
They were all further down South from where I was and that is where I was going to go.
I figured that if I got out on Route 1 and headed South I would end up in one of those places.
And that was okay with me.
Amazing how naive we are when we are young.
So, it was off to Route 1 for me.
I was going to hitchhike my way to my Freedom.
I made my way to the highway.
Got on the South bound side and started walking and hitching for a ride.
It was a Monday night.
There was hardly any traffic to speak of.
I walked for what seemed like three hours or so as I hitchhiked with no luck.
There was no one out on the South Bound tonight.
At least no one who was picking up a hitchhiker.
I figured I must have run off from my house around 4:30 pm to 5:00 pm.
Dusk was starting to set in now.
It usually started to get dark around 8:00 pm or so at that time of the year I remember.
Twenty or so more minutes passed by.
It was starting to get dark out now and I was starting to get tired.
I was hungry.
I was alone.
I was scared.
It was at that moment that I became fully aware of the seriousness of my current situation.
I had nothing but what I had on my back.
A green short sleeve shirt, a pair of jeans and a belt.
Socks and a pair of red Keds snickers.
In my pockets I didn’t have much there either.
A handkerchief, 3 pieces of Dentyne gum, a comb and $1.25.
The money was suppose to be for the field trip my class at school was going to the next day.
It was for admission and lunch at some museum.
Needless to say I never made it to the museum that day.
This was it.
This was all that I had.
This was my life now.
Are You Kidding Me?
I ate a piece of the gum to quite the rumbling voices within my stomach crying out ‘FEED ME‘.
I remember thinking that I better get off the highway and rest up a bit.
I started heading towards the woods that ran along both sides of the highway.
I had walked for so long that I had left the city limits and was now in the bunnies.
It was really getting dark now.
The sounds of the woods were getting louder and louder.
I was still young enough to believe in the Boogie-Man and liked some light on at night.
There was no glow of a light on this piece of highway and if there was a Boogie-Man…
He was living in these woods that now seemed to engulf me.
I have to admit that this particular night in my life truly unnerved me.
This was not the best situation for me to be in.
As I was heading towards the woods I saw something ahead of me on the side of the road.
There was something lying on the ground just a few feet away from me.
As I got closer a shape started defining it’s self to me.
I was walking towards the object thinking to myself.
“What is that?”
“Is that a…?”
“What the…?”
“Is that what I think it is?
“It couldn’t be?”
But it was.
It was an acoustic guitar.
It was beat up and pretty badly scratched.
There was a shredded hole on the backside.
It was a mess.
It looked like it had fallen off a moving car or truck or something like that.
That was all I could think of at the time as to explain how this guitar got here.
I picked it up and it was still in one piece.
The neck was still intact and all the strings were there.
I ran my thumb over the strings and a sound appeared that to this day I still hear if I close my eyes.
It sounded awesome.
I couldn’t believe what I was looking at.
I looked around so excited wanting to find someone to tell them about this incredible thing I just found.
“Look what just happened to me.”
“Look what I found.”
But there was no one there to hear me.
There was no one standing around to hear me but that guitar, USA Route 1 and the woods.
As I headed into the woods …
now accompanied with my newly found treasure.
I couldn’t help but notice that the area was saturated with pine trees.
The ground was literally covered with millions and millions of fallen pine needles.
I envisioned myself making a sort of fortress for the evening.
High walls to keep the intruders and the occasional monster or boggy man out.
I would have added a mot with alligators but it wasn’t in the budget.
Hey, you have to remember that I was still a kid after all.
I was going to make a big bed for me to sleep in and one for my guest.
I had company tonight.
My newly found friend and now my best and only buddy…
My New Guitar!
My guest deserved the best accommodations that I was able to provide.
I started pushing bunches of the pine needles together to make a make-shift fort.
My fort was a huge rectangular shape with high walls on all sides.
Inside the fort was a nice soft bed of pine needles to lay on.
I had even made a pillow of pine needles for me to rest my head on.
I made a nice pile of the needles for my guitar to lay on also.
She deserved to have a good bed to rest on.
Who knows how long she had been out on the side of that road.
Cold and alone day after day, night after night..
She deserved to be treated like a lady.
For that’s what she was…a lady.
And now she was my lady.
I named her Barbara after the girl who was the first to win my heart.
My first love at nine years of age in the fourth grade.
I already had her name Barbara.
Her initials B.M.K.
And the word Barb tattooed on my left shoulder and outer forearm.
That’s right.
I was thirteen and I already had a girls name tattooed on my body.
To top that…
I did the tattoos myself.
I used black India ink, a sewing needle and thread.
And to top that…
I had just turned eleven when I did it.
I also did a heart with a ribbon around it with the word MOM across the ribbon on my right inner fore arm.
And I tattooed the word HUMAN TORCH on my upper right shoulder.
Because of my red hair.
What can I say, I was eleven.
Also…
I did two tattoos on my brother and a bunch more on friends that we hung out with.
Wait till you read the Posting about those nights.
Especially the night I got drunk for the first time and inked in my first tattoo.
It seems that I was an artist.
At least good enough back then that guys let an eleven year old tattoo them.
I still do art work.
I will be writing stories about and displaying my art work in future posts.
I’m looking forward to recalling and writing them.
The memories it will bring back.
Speaking of ‘back’…back to the story.
Yes Barbara was and I guess will always be my first love.
I was able to hold her in my arms and to feel the tenderness of her skin.
To be able to inhale her fragrance and to look into the deepness of her eyes.
And to kiss those wonderful, full, reddish youthful lips of hers.
It was at a fellow classmates birthday party that I kissed her for the first time.
A group of about ten of us got together to play Spin The Bottle.
After awkwardly kissing a girl from my class who’s spin landed on me, it was my turn to spin.
I knew which girl I wanted the bottle to point to.
It was Barbara.
She was sitting on the floor directly across from me.
She was so pretty.
I spin.
And I win.
The bottle pointed right at Barbara.
I still remember when our lips met.
Hers were soft and warm and tasted of strawberry.
As we ended our kiss both our tongues lightly touched.
Not deep in each others mouth.
But the loving touch of two children discovering the wonders of another person.
A young eleven year old’s version of the French-Kiss.
Afterwards we’d looked at each other and I could tell that it made her feel the same way it made me feel.
That love was blossoming for both of us at that very moment.
I felt something inside me that even now as I write about it still warms my being.
I have to admit here that years ago after the divorce form my fist wife and before marrying my current wife.
I tried to find Barbara.
It took me awhile and a lot of effort.
The computers and the internet back in the day weren’t anything like they are now.
Just waiting for a search result usually allowed me to do a multitude of tasks.
Make a cup of coffee.
Check my mail…Snail mail that is.
Fix a snack.
Then maybe the information I was trying to download, just maybe it might be finished.
To send a game or download one, and I’m talking your most basic graphic, animation that you could imagine.
That could take two to three hours…and if something screwed up.
You have to start it over.
It was marvelous at the time.
So…after literally searching for hours,
I was successful
I found her.
At least I found out about her.
She had passed away.
She had passed several years ago one of the results of a search indicated.
She died of Aids.
She had been forced into a life of drugs and prostitution her obituary claimed.
She died alone.
Survived by no one.
She was found one morning on the side of the road.
Sitting up on the curb of a sidewalk slumped over dead.
My first love had passed.
My heart was so broken that she had to pass that way.
And to be all alone.
I felt that if I had only been around to help her this would have never happened.
But I wasn’t and it did happen to her.
The tattoos have faded over the years and they are hardly noticeable now.
The memory of Barbara has also faded.
But every now and then I see one of those faded tattoos.
And even though they are faded,
I’m reminded of the lovely girl who was the first to touch my heart.
Rest easy now Barbara.
I will always cherish our memories.
So here I am in the woods with my new guitar.
I had just named her Barbara and we were ready now to get a good nights rest.
I laid myself down and placed Barbara at my side.
I covered myself with a blanket of pine needles.
I laid there staring up at the nights sky.
The moon was off in the distance to my left.
Leaving the darkness of night as a background for the magnificent display of stars that were above me.
Emitting a warm glow of light that covered all the objects around me.
Allowing me to distinguish the difference between objects.
The sky was literally covered with stars.
I could see millions and millions of stars.
I had never seen the night sky so clear.
The stars looked as if they were diamonds glistening against a background of black velvet.
It was as if they were waiting for me to pluck the one of my choice.
I reached my hand up to take one.
Talk about 3D.
The beauty of the night helped ease the painful thoughts that I was pushing aside now.
No more thinking now.
Time to curl up with my new guitar and get some needed sleep.
What the morning was going to bring didn’t matter to me right then.
I feel asleep thinking about my brother and hoping that he was okay.
I could feel the warmth of the sun sneaking it’s way through the trees onto my face.
Slowly I opened my eyes.
It was a beautiful morning.
The sun was so warm.
I laid in the pile of pine needles for a little while longer.
Not moving.
Not even thinking really.
Just laying there.
I finally moved my hand to touch Barbara my new guitar.
Yes she was still there.
It wasn’t a dream after all.
I sat up now.
I was ready to face the new day.
I ate another piece of my gum.
Only one piece left now.
I picked up the guitar and gave her a good looking over.
All was well.
I took off my belt and made a make-shift guitar strap for the guitar.
I threw her over my shoulder allowing her lay on my back.
My new guitar, Barbara and I headed back to the highway to begin an adventure that to this day still continues.
I could hear traffic out on the highway.
People going to work.
I got out onto the highway, stuck out my thumb and within half an hour…
I got a ride.
That ride took me all the way from Jacksonville, Florida to…
New Orleans, LA.
Bourbon Street.
The French Quarter.
Jackson Square.
This wasn’t anywhere close to where I thought I wanted to go.
But seeing how I really didn’t know where to go…New Orleans sounded pretty good.
It was a young couple that had picked me up.
They were headed back to New Orleans where they lived.
They were returning from a trip to relatives of theirs in Jacksonville, Florida.
They offered to take me along.
They were driving an old VW bus…a classic.
Painted in true Hippie fashion.
This was my first meeting with Hippies.
All I had to do was get in the VW Bus if I wanted to start a new life.
Get in and I could get far away from Jacksonville.
That’s all I had to do.
I’d be rid of Roger and all that comes with him.
I’d be rid of everything that I hated about my life.
All I had to do was get in the van.
I’d be grown up now.
The master of my own destination.
All I had to do was get in the van.
I knew that if I got in that VW bus there would be no turning back.
I GOT IN
It was one heck of a ride.
One that I will never forget.
I was dropped off on the outskirts of the city near Jackson Square.
The couple bid me farewell and they gave me five dollars to help start off my new life.
I plan on writing a post just about that ride and the wonderful couple that picked me up.
They were the most kindest, wonderful people I had ever met.
The ride they gave me changed the direction of my life.
So that’s how my journey in music began.
Experiencing my brothers friend Stiffy playing.
And how I obtained my real first guitar.
Finding it on the side of the road.
So, Who is Chip Ragsdale?
That is a very good question indeed!
Finishing up this chapter of My Story.
I taught myself how to play the guitar.
When I say taught myself, I mean just that.
I didn’t know how to tune a guitar or make chords or even what a chord was or meant.
I taught myself how to play that guitar though.
I kept the strings sounding just the way they were when I first found her on the side of the road.
I would put my fingers on the strings in ways that I don’t know how or why but it sounded good to me.
I actually was singing and playing a song within a few days.
Duke of Earl by Gene Chandler.
Don’t know why that song or how I knew it.
It just came to me.
I know that It probably didn’t sound anything like the real song.
And no one else may have liked the way it sounded.
But it was music to my ears as I played…
MY NEW GUITAR
There are so many things that happened next that I’m compelled to wrap this section of the story up here.
I did finally learn how to tune a guitar and play it properly.
Once again I was self-taught.
Over the years I’ve acquired my own style of playing.
As I moved my way through my life the guitar was always with me.
My real first guitar has been gone, returned to the earth where she came from for some time now.
She kept me warm at nights and always stayed by my side.
Since then I’ve played in parks and on the streets for money.
Entertained others and myself along the way.
Played in a lot of coffee houses back in the day.
Played with three bands.
Hated it.
There was always too much ego.
I play by myself these days.
I write songs and love it.
I use a drum machine and input a few bass runs with the drums.
It’s a full sound…just like a three-piece band.
I play guitar and sing and my personal style and choice of music is the 50’s and the 60’s.
As I mentioned earlier I now play in…
Bars, Country Clubs, Parties – Private and Business, Festivals and Events.
Anywhere anyone wants me to play.
If you’d like to find out what happened next after being dropped off in New Orleans.
Where my next adventure lead me.
The people I meet.
The things I saw and experienced.
Jackson Square, New Orleans.
My first Crash Pad.
Heading to Ohio.
Reform school.
All the jobs I worked.
The USA – what our country was like back in the 50’s and the 60’s.
The Hippies – how it all started.
Woodstock – three days of Love Peace and Music.
Jail.
Living in a Commune.
Drugs.
Selling Drugs.
Prison.
My first marriage.
My children.
Divorce.
Freedom once again…and much, much more.
It’s quite the adventure.
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Questions concerning Pricing, Booking, What style music I play, Where I am currently performing can all be answered there.
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