3.21 “Chu-uck”

1960s • La Habra ~ My brother-in-law—a jug-eared, skinny 6’4” guy with a dark flattop, a two-day-old shadow, and an Elvis Presley lip—worked as the night foreman at National Tapered Wings. Over the years Chuck built airplane parts for Lockheed, Boeing, and Gulfstream. When his cousin opened his own aerospace parts business, Chuck joined him, working with Wayne at Astrospar for more than twenty years. Chuck loved work. Wearing his blue pocket-covered jumpsuit over his clothes, he loved the feel of engines, the smell of grease, and the hum of machinery. Other than my dad and my brother, I never saw a man work harder than Chuck.

Chuck, 1964

Proud of having four kids (Laura was born in 1962), Chuck included me in that number, introducing me as his oldest. He let me stay up late during the summer and play pinochle with Jack and Vera Rosencrans, even though it made five of us. He taught me to ski, no matter how many times he had to circle the boat. He shaved his face, scrubbed his fingernails, and wore a suit to my junior high and high school graduations. And he never laid a hand on me; he knew I’d cry if he even looked at me sideways, so he was more tender with me than others. But at times he made me uneasy. I saw his hands all over Carleen; she’d say “Chu-uck” and make him quit because us kids would be sitting right there. My eyes glued to the TV, wishing he’d stop, I kept my head turned away. I didn’t get too close him; I hadn’t forgotten Bobby.

He had another side and could be an ill-tempered and mean-mouthed man, mostly to my sister. He’d start in on Carleen and when she’d had enough, she’d nail him with narrowed eyes, turn on her heel, and flip him a kiss my ass out the corner slit in her mouth past her dangling cigarette. When he couldn’t browbeat her, he’d go after Randy.

Cathy, Debbie, Randy on Verdugo, Easter 1960

Randy was maybe four. Chuck, a permanent toothpick in mouth, a smelly cigar butt between fingers, and a Scotch over ice in hand, made his child stand at attention and salute him. Randy stood, his chubby arm crooked up with his fingers held facing out on his sweet crew-cut forehead. My nephew would have to stand there “at attention” and listen to Chuck lecture him, responding with a “Yes, SIR” until Chuck finished. It was painful to watch. I wished Chuck had just beaten him and gotten it over with. 

Steering clear of him I escaped his churlishness; besides, other than knocking my milk over every night at the dinner table, I didn’t cause any trouble. I liked Chuck when he wasn’t drinking, which wasn’t often. He’d go on a rant if he thought any of us was trying to get away with something, and ask, “Do I look stupid?” I wasn’t about to answer that question. I wasn’t going to pull on his outstretched index finger when he told me to either. Did I look stupid?

Working nights and swing, Chuck wasn’t often around except on weekends. Actually, for a few years, he wasn’t around much at all. I think Carleen was happy he was gone, so she didn’t ask too many questions. Betty and I suspected he had another family somewhere.

When he was around, dinner was an ordeal. Sitting ramrod straight with our hands folded in our laps, we waited for him to come to the table while our food got cold. Manners were a big deal: no speaking unless spoken to, no laughing, definitely no giggling, no eating with your fingers, no chewing with your mouth open. No elbows, no talking, no gulping, no reaching. Stabbing the backs of our hands with his fork, he threatened to give us a bloody stump if we reached across the table again. After dinner, when it wasn’t so nerve-wracking, I scarfed down the leftovers. Carleen was sure I had a hollow leg.

to be continued…

© 2018. Catherine Sevenau.
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