The Garner Files: A Memoir Read Online Free Page B

Norman, where relatives took him in and helped him get back on his feet.
    Oklahoma was a place where people “hunkered up” with each other to survive. It was also a place where a man’s word was his bond. Sure, we had hustlers, but they were so few and far between that you could spot them a mile away. Most people were honest, and they took care of each other. Not like LA. People here—at least those in the entertainment business—will look you right in the eyeand lie to you. They lie even when there’s no reason to. I’ve never understood that and never will. Out here, I’m a lead sinker in deep water.
    Over the years, Bill Saxon and I played golf together all over the world. He owned a jet (he was in the oil business), and I had entrée to just about any course you’d want to play. We combined our resources, playing everywhere from Pebble Beach to St. Andrews to courses all over Europe and Asia.
    J im Paul Dickenson was also the same age. He was a smartass who thought he knew it all. The thing of it was, he
did
. He was a handsome kid; everybody said he looked like John Garfield. Jim Paul looked mature and he
was
mature. And suave. A real ladies’ man.
    When we were in tenth grade, Jim Paul dated a senior girl. The two of them were doing things Bill and I had only talked about. We’d be cruising in Jim Paul’s mother’s car and he would stop at his girlfriend’s house and climb in her bedroom window. Bill and I would wait in the car, imagining what was going on. Later Jim Paul would fill us in on the details. Wow! We also thought it was cool the way he used the F-word in front of adults and got away with it. In short, we looked up to him.
    Jim Paul’s mother, Fern, was divorced. A lot of people in town looked down on her because she drank. I remember her driving down the street with a beer bottle in her hand. But Fern had a good heart. She owned a rooming house a block away from Campus Corner, a busy district across from the OU campus with shops, restaurants, beer joints, a pool hall, bookstore, and movie theater. “The Corner” was popular with both Norman youth and OU students—the fraternity and sorority houses were within easy walking distance. A number of OU basketball players lived in Fern’s house and it was a great place to hang out because (a) it was near the Corner, and (b) Fern didn’t care if you drank or smoked or stayed uplate. There was usually an empty bed, so I often slept there, free of charge.
    W hen World War II broke out, I, like most young men, was filled with patriotic fervor. I couldn’t wait to get involved. And get away. I wasn’t old enough to be in the regular service, but the minute I turned sixteen, Jim Paul and I quit school and joined the Merchant Marine. My dad had to sign papers for me because I was underage. As soon as we enlisted, Germany surrendered. They must’ve heard we were coming.
    We went through boot camp in St. Petersburg, Florida, and then I took the train to New Orleans, where I shipped out on a seagoing tug bound for Cuba and South America. I was aboard ship for two months, and I was miserable every minute. I lost thirty-five pounds because I couldn’t keep anything down. The ship’s doctor said I had “mal de mer.” Mal de mer? Hell, I was
seasick
. Fortunately, the Merchant Marine was like a civil service job: you could quit, and I did. But Jim Paul was a better sailor than I was. He stayed in for several years and went all over the world. I went to California.
    W hen I arrived in Los Angeles, I moved in with Aunt Grace Bumgarner. She was what they used to call an “old maid,” though we found out years later that she’d been married once. In my family, you thought you knew people, but you didn’t.
    Everybody said Aunt Grace was crazy about me, but I thought she was just crazy. She was a real busybody, always sticking her nose in other people’s business. She knew exactly what was wrong with everyone, including the family back in Oklahoma. A