by Ron Padgett
I remember winning a Peter Pan Coloring Contest and getting a free pass to the movies for a year.
I remember Bunny Van Valkenburg. She had a little nose. A low hairline. And two big front teeth. She was my girlfriend for several years when we were very young. Later on, in high school, she turned into quite a sex-pot.
I remember Bunny Van Valkenburg’s mother Betty. She was short and dumpy and bubbly and she wore giant earrings. Once she wallpapered her kitchen floor with wallpaper. Then shellacked it.
I remember Bunny Van Valkenburg’s father Doc. He was our family doctor. I remember him telling of a patient he had who got poison ivy inside his body. The man was in total misery but it healed very fast because there was no way that he could scratch it.
I remember that the Van Valkenburgs had more money than we did.
I remember in grade school tying a mirror to your shoe and casually slipping it between a girl’s legs during conversation. Other boys did that. I didn’t.
I remember eating tunnels and cities out of watermelon.
I remember how sad The Jane Froman Story was.
I remember George Evelyn who had a red and white face because of an explosion he was in once. And his wife Jane who wore green a lot and laughed very loud. I remember their only son George Junior who was my age. He was very fat and very wild. But I hear that he settled down, got married, and is active in church.
I remember the first time I saw Elvis Presley. It was on The Ed Sullivan Show.
I remember “Blue Suede Shoes.” And I remember having a pair.
I remember felt skirts with cut-out felt poodles on them. Sometimes their collars were jeweled.
I remember bright orange canned peaches.
I remember jeweled bottle openers.
I remember the horse lady at the fair. She didn’t look like a horse at all.
I remember pillow fights.
I remember being surprised at how yellow and how red autumn really is.
I remember chain letters.
I remember Peter Pan collars.
I remember mistletoe.
I remember Judy Garland singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” (so sad) in Meet Me in St. Louis.
I remember Judy Garland’s red shoes in The Wizard of Oz.
I remember Christmas tree lights reflected on the ceiling.
I remember Christmas cards arriving from people my parents forgot to send Christmas cards to.
I remember the Millers who lived next door. Mrs. Miller was an Indian and Mr. Miller was a radio ham. They had five children and a very little house. There was always junk all over their yard. And inside the house too. Their living room was completely taken up by a big green ping pong table.
I remember taking out the garbage.
I remember “the Ritz” movie theater. It was full of statues and the ceiling was like a sky at night with twinkling stars.
I remember wax paper.
I remember what-not shelves of two overlapping squares. One higher than the other.
I remember ballerina figurines from Japan with real net-like tutus.
I remember chambray work shirts. And dirty tennis shoes with no socks.
I remember wood carvings of funny doctors.
I remember the “T-zone.” (Camel cigarettes.)
I remember big brown radios.
I remember long skinny colored glass decanters from Italy.
I remember fishnet.
I remember board and brick bookshelves.
I remember bongo drums.
I remember candles in wine bottles.
I remember one brick wall and three white walls.
I remember the first time I saw the ocean. I jumped right in, and it swept me right under, down, and back to shore again.
I remember being disappointed in Europe that I didn’t feel any different.
I remember when Ron Padgett and I first arrived in New York City we told a cab driver to take us to the Village. He said, “Where?” And we said, “To the Village.” He said, “But where in the Village?” And we said, “Anywhere.” He took us to Sixth Avenue and 8th Street. I was pretty disappointed. I thought that the Village would be like a real village. Like my vision of Europe.
I remember putting on sun tan oil and having the sun go away.
I remember Dorothy Kilgallen’s face.
I remember toreador pants.
I remember a baby blue matching skirt and sweater that Suzy Barnes always wore. She was interested in science. All over her walls were advertising matchbook covers hanging on rolls of string. She had a great stamp collection too. Her mother and father were both over six feet tall. They belonged to a club for people over six feet tall only.
I remember doing other things with straws besides drinking through them.
I remember an ice cream parlor in Tulsa that had a thing called a pig’s dinner. It was like a very big banana split in a wooden dish made to look like a pig’s trough. If you ate it all they gave you a certificate saying that you ate it all.
I remember after people are gone thinking of things I should have said but didn’t.
I remember how much rock and roll music can hurt. It can be so free and sexy when you are not.
I remember Royla Cochran. She lived in an attic and made long skinny people out of wax. She was married to a poet with only one arm until he died. He died, she said, from a pain in the arm that wasn’t there.
I remember eating alone in restaurants a lot because of some sort of perverse pleasure I don’t want to think about right now. (Because I still do it.)
I remember the first escalator in Tulsa. In a bank. I remember riding up and down it. And up and down it.
I remember drawing pictures in church on pledge envelopes and programs.
I remember having a casual chat with God every night and usually falling asleep before I said, “Amen.”
I remember the great girl-love of my life. We were both the same age but she was too old and I was too young. Her name was Marilyn Mounts. She had a small and somehow very vulnerable neck. It was a long thin neck, but soft. It looked like it would break very easily.
I remember Sen-Sen: Little black squares that taste like soap.
I remember that little jerk you give just before you fall asleep. Like falling.
I remember when I won a scholarship to the Dayton, Ohio, Art Institute and I didn’t like it but I didn’t want to hurt their feelings by just quitting so I told them that my father was dying of cancer.
I remember in Dayton, Ohio, the art fair in the park where they made me take down all my naked self-portraits.
I remember a middle-aged lady who ran an antique shop in the Village. She asked me to come over and fix her bathroom late at night but she wouldn’t say what was wrong with it. I said yes because saying no has always been difficult for me. But the night I was to go I just didn’t go. The antique shop isn’t there anymore.
I remember how disappointing going to bed with one of the most beautiful boys I have ever seen was.
I remember jumping off the front porch head first onto the corner of a brick. I remember being able to see nothing but gushing red blood. This is one of the first things I remember. And I have a scar to prove it.
I remember white bread and tearing off the crust and rolling the middle part up into a ball and eating it.
I remember toe jams. I never ate toe jams but I remember kids that did. I do remember eating snot. It tasted pretty good.
I remember dingle berries.
I remember rings around your neck. (Dirt.)
I remember thinking once that flushing away pee might be a big waste. I remember thinking that pee is probably good for something and that if one could just discover what it was good for one could make a mint.
I remember staying in the bathtub too long and having wrinkled toes and fingers.
I remember “that” feeling, cleaning out your navel.
I remember pouring out a glass of water (I was a fountain) in a front p
orch musical production of “Strolling through the Park One Day.”
I remember tying two bicycles together for a production number of “Bicycle Built for Two.”
I remember a store we had where we bought stuff at the five and ten and then re-sold the stuff for a penny or two more than it cost. And then with the money we bought more stuff. Etc. We ended up by making several dollars clear.
I remember paying a dime and getting a red paper poppy made by people in wheelchairs.
I remember little red feathers. That, I think, was the Red Cross.
I remember making tents on the front porch on rainy days.
I remember wanting to sleep out in the backyard and being kidded about how I wouldn’t last the night and sleeping outside and not lasting the night.
I remember a story about my mother finding a rat walking all over my brother’s face while he was sleeping. Before I was born.
I remember a story about how when I was very young I got a pair of scissors and cut all my curls off because a boy down the street told me that curls were sissy.
I remember when I was very young saying “hubba-hubba” whenever I saw a red-headed lady because my father liked redheads and it was always good for a laugh.
I remember that my mother’s favorite movie star was June Allyson.
I remember that my father’s favorite movie star was Rita Hayworth.
I remember being Joseph in a live nativity scene (that didn’t move) in a park. You just had to stand there for half an hour and then another Joseph came and you had a cup of hot chocolate until your turn came again.
I remember taking a test to see which musical instrument I would be best suited for. They said it was the clarinet so I got a clarinet and took lessons but I was terrible at it so I stopped.
I remember trying to convince Ron Padgett that I didn’t believe in God anymore but he wouldn’t believe me. We were in the back of a truck. I don’t remember why.
I remember buying things that were too expensive because I didn’t like to ask the price of things.
I remember a spooky job I had once cleaning up a dentist’s office after everyone had gone home. I had my own key. The only part I liked was straightening up the magazines in the waiting room. I saved it as the last thing to do.
I remember “Revlon.” And that ex-Miss America lady.
I remember wondering why, since I am queer, I wouldn’t rather be a girl.
I remember trying to devise something with a wet sponge in a glass to jerk off into but it didn’t quite work out.
I remember trying to blow myself once but I couldn’t quite do it.
I remember optical illusions when lying face down and arms folded over my head in the sun of big eyebrows (magnified) and of two overlapping noses. (Also magnified.)
I remember getting rid of everything I owned on two occasions.
I remember wondering if my older brother is queer too.
I remember that I was a terrible coin collector because I was always spending them.
I remember gray-silver pennies. (Where did they go?)
I remember “Ace” combs.
I remember “Dixie” drinking cups. And “Bond” bread.
I remember the “Breck” shampoo ladies.
I remember the skinny guy who gets sand kicked in his face in body-building advertisements.
I remember blonde women who get so much sun you can’t see them.
I remember being disappointed the first time I got my teeth cleaned that they didn’t turn out real white.
I remember trying to visualize what my insides looked like.
I remember people who like to look you straight in the eye for a long time as though you have some sort of mutual understanding about something.
I remember almost sending away for body building courses many times.
I remember bright orange light coming into rooms in the late afternoon. Horizontally.
I remember the $64,000 Question scandal.
I remember that woman who was always opening refrigerators.
I remember light blue morning glories on the fence in the morning. Morning glories always surprise me. I never really expect them to be there.
I remember miniature loaves of real bread the Bond Bread Company gave you when you went on a tour of their plant.
I remember stories about bodies being chopped up and disposed of in garbage disposals.
I remember stories about razor blades being hidden in apples at Halloween. And pins and needles in popcorn balls.
I remember stories about what goes on in restaurant kitchens. Like spitting in the soup. And jerking off in the salad.
I remember a story about a couple who owned a diner. The husband murdered his wife and ground her up in the hamburger meat. Then one day a man was eating a hamburger at the diner and he came across a piece of her fingernail. That’s how the husband got caught.
I remember that Lana Turner was discovered sipping a soda in a drugstore.
I remember that Rock Hudson was a truck driver.
I remember that Betty Grable didn’t smoke or drink or go to Hollywood parties.
I remember a ringworm epidemic and being scared to death that I would get it. If you got it they shaved off your hair and put green stuff all over your scalp.
I remember drinking fountains that start out real low and when you put your face down they spurt way up into your nose.
I remember my grade school librarian Miss Peabody. At the beginning of each class we had to all say in unison “Good morning, Miss Peabody!” Only instead we said “Good morning, Miss Pee-body!” I guess she decided to ignore this because she never said anything about it. She was very tall and very thin and there was always a ribbon or a scarf tied around her head from which bubbled lots of silver-gray curls.
I remember in gym class during baseball season certain ways of avoiding having to go to bat.
I remember on “free day” in gym class usually picking stilts.
I remember “Your shirt tail’s on fire!” and then you yank it out and say “Now it’s out!”
I remember “Your front door is open.” Or maybe it was “Barn door.” Or both.
I remember “bathroom stationery.”
I remember being embarrassed to buy toilet paper at the corner store unless there were several other things to buy too.
I remember a joke about Tom, Dick, and Harry that ended up, “Tom’s dick is hairy.”
I remember “sick” jokes.
I remember Mary Anne jokes.
I remember “Mommy, Mommy, I don’t like my little brother.” “Shut up, Mary Anne, and eat what I tell you to!” (That’s a Mary Anne joke.)
I remember once having to take a pee sample to the doctor and how yellow and warm it was in a jar.
I remember socks that won’t stay up.
I remember the little boy with the very deep voice in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. (Like a frog.)
I remember a red velvet swing in a movie called The Red Velvet Swing.
I remember having to pull down my pants once to show the doctor my dick. It was all red and swollen. A solid mass of chigger bites. (Pretty embarrassing.)
I remember wondering why anyone would want to be a doctor, and I still do.
I remember always getting in trouble for giving everything away.
I remember really getting in trouble once for trading a lot of expensive toys for a rock and a pocket knife.
I remember a girl in grade school who had shiny legs that were cracked like a Chinese vase.
I remember burying some things in the dirt once thinking that someday someone would find them and it would be a great surprise but a few days later I dug them up myself.
I remember when Lenox China had an essay contest in connection with a local store that carried Lenox China. Whoever wrote the best essay about Lenox China was supposed to get a free place setting of their choice but I don’t remember anyone winning. I think somehow the contest got dropped.
I remember squ
are dancing and “The Texas Star.”
I remember an old royal blue taffeta formal my little sister had for playing dress-up in and I remember dressing up in it.
I remember “hand-me-downs.”
I remember pig-latin.
I remember reading twelve books every summer so as to get a “certificate” from the local library. I didn’t give a shit about reading but I loved getting certificates. I remember picking books with big print and lots of pictures.
I remember earaches. Cotton. And hot oil.
I remember not liking mashed potatoes if there was a single lump in them.
I remember Howdy Doody and Queen for a Day.
I remember taking an I.Q. test and coming out below average. (I’ve never told anybody that before.)
I remember pedal-pushers.
I remember thinking about whether or not one should kill flies.
I remember giving myself two or three wishes and trying to figure out what they would be. (Like a million dollars, no more polio, and world peace.)
I remember locker rooms. And locker room smells.
I remember a dark green cement floor covered with wet footprints going in all different directions. Thin white towels. And not “looking around” too much.
I remember one boy with an absolutely enormous cock. And he knew it. He was always last to get dressed. (Putting his socks on first.)
I remember that I put everything else on before I put my socks on.
I remember that Gene Kelly had no basket.
I remember the scandal Jane Russell’s costume in The French Line caused.
I remember a color foldout pinup picture of Jane Russell lounging in a pile of straw in Esquire magazine with one bare shoulder.
I remember that Betty Grable’s legs were insured for a million dollars.
I remember a picture of Jayne Mansfield sitting in a pink Cadillac with two enormous pink poodles.
I remember how long Oscar Levant’s piano numbers were.
I remember (I think) a candy bar called “Big Dick.”
I remember “Payday” candy bars and eating the peanuts off first and then eating the center part.
I remember a big brown chewy thing on a stick that you could lick down to a very sharp point.
I remember a very chewy kind of candy sold mostly at movie theatres. (Chocolate covered caramel pieces of candy in a yellow box.) They stuck to your teeth. So chewy one box would last for a whole movie.