Chapter 1
When I was a teenager, my hippie friends would ask “what’s your sign.” I was born on February 22, 1951. Astrology was created 2300 years ago, by Babylonians who thought gods lived in the stars, and each constellation imprinted a different personality. [1] For those who don’t know the difference between astronomy and astrology,… It’s about 50 IQ points.
Anyway, in astrology, if you’re born on February 22, you’re a “Pisces.” I personally don’t believe in astrology at all, but, you know . . . I’m a Pisces, we’re skeptical. [2] When I dealt with true believers, I’d say “I’m the same sign as George Washington.” February 22 was George Washington’s birthday too, [3] so it had to give astrological stature.
Well, it did give me a national holiday from school on my birthday every year, up until 1968, when they combined Washington and Lincoln’s birthdays to make the holiday “President’s Day.” [4] My sister Dana was born on February 12, which is Abraham Lincoln’s birthday. My mom wasn’t that patriotic, nor believe in astrology – but if she did, she couldn’t have done better.
I am a child of the second half of the 20th century, a “baby boomer.” Before the War, the country was in a Depression, but after the War, the US became the
[1] About a quarter of all Americans in 2020 believe in astrology in some way. Yes, it is evidence of the deleterious effects of the ’60’s drug psychosis. But it predated the hippies, back to the 30s and 40s Hollywood days. Donald Regan, Reagan’s chief of staff, said in his 1988 book, For The Record, “the most closely guarded domestic secret of the Reagan White House” was that “[v]irtually every major move and decision the Reagans made during my time as White House Chief of Staff was cleared in advance with a woman in San Francisco who drew up horoscopes to make certain that the planets were in a favorable alignment for the enterprise.” The President’s wife Nancy consulted Joan Quigley, an astrologer, for advice on everything Reagan did – the timing of all speeches, press conferences, Air Force One flights, Reagan’s cancer surgery, whether it was time to ease tensions, the Cold War, with the Soviet Union . . . yes, really, I swear. It was suggested that he might create a Cabinet position for a Department of Voodoo. Quigley wrote a book about it. “What Does Joan Say?: My Seven Years as White House Astrologer to Nancy and Ronald Reagan.” Nancy used Quigley’s color-coded calendar, green for days Reagan could do things, yellow to be careful, red for bad days. (I always knew Reagan was a dope.) His opponent for President, Dukakis, said he “hoped the nations destiny will be based on something other than horoscopes.” And it was well known Nancy ran Ron. The standard joke was “Ron and Nancy are out to dinner. Waiter asks Nancy what she’ll have. “I’d like the filet mignon and a baked potato.” The waiter asks “and the vegetable?” She answers “Oh, he’ll have the same.” Aside: Quigley tried to start a paid online astrology service in 2000, but it wasn’t in the cards.
[2] There’s only one group of people dumb enough to believe in astrology. Scorpios.
[3] For history buffs: Catholic countries used the Gregorian calendar since 1582, but in 1732, the British still used the Julian calendar, which was 11 days behind the Gregorian, and the new year didn’t start on January 1, but on March 25. So Washington’s birth was recorded on February 11, 1731. In 1752, the British adopted the Gregorian calendar, and all dates were officially moved forward 11 days, with the new year starting January 1, ergo, he was born on the February 22, 1732.
[4] The third Monday of February. Presidents, President’s or Presidents’ – who cares.
strutting economic and military powerhouse of the world. Not only did US factories dominate the manufacture of military weapons – a real money maker – but we were the only country with “the bomb,” so we were the “Superpower.” Soldiers returned home from WWII and started procreating like rabbits.
World War II caused lots of changes in American society, from little things, like women wearing shorter skirts to conserve wool and cotton, to important changes, like people leaving the farm to work in large urban areas. 2 million people moved to California to work in the defense industry, 1 million blacks migrated to the north to work in defense industries. Bureaucracy swelled, industry boomed. Women took men’s place in the workforce at home. Blacks demonstrated against discrimination. Farm workers came up from Mexico to fill a labor need, and started unions.
My father graduated from Ohio University with a degree in Physics, and the highest rank in ROTC, just as WWII was starting. My father immediately entered the Army as a Lieutenant. Tanks were the high tech weapon at that time. Gen. Rommel had the fastest tanks, and he was steamrolling over Allied forces. So the US bought up a town in the middle of Texas, demolished it, and built Camp Hood, devoted just to tanks, and brought in 100,000 troops. My Dad was one of them.
My mom had been raised in a tiny town called Marfa, Texas, in West Texas. She had been born in Pulaski, Tennessee, but before she was born, while she was still in utero, her father died from an infection from a burst appendix.
Her mom took her two children, Louis and Virginia (my mom), to Marfa, Texas, because young Louis had asthma, and the high altitude of Marfa made it easier for him to breath. If there is more to her story, I don’t know it, nor did my mom or Louis. [1] Her mom became a schoolteacher in Marfa. (The Pulaski crew – the Carter-Pope side of the family – has a colorful past, dating back to Jamestown, which I elaborate on in other writings.)
So my mom was raised without a father. My father, conversely, didn’t have a mother. His mother died when he was four, from pneumonia and tuberculosis.
My mother was working for a lawyer, Alan Fraser, while studying art at Sul Ross State University, “the Frontier University of Texas,” in Alpine, a short ways away from her home in Marfa, Texas.
She visited a friend at Camp Hood, met my father, and they got hitched.
Since both my parents missed having a nuclear family of father, mother, and kids, when they married, they both really wanted a solid family.
My father went over to fight in North Africa, he returned home and started a family with my mom. My oldest sister Dana was born in 1944.
My mom and Dana went to Italy, where my dad was stationed when the war ended. While there, my sister Mary Margaret (“Peggy”) was born, in Rome, September 17, 1947.
After Italy, my dad returned to the US and was stationed at Fort Bliss, Texas.
The Germans had developed a thing they called a “Rocket” during the latter part of the war. They called it the V1, then V2. It was designed and manufactured in Pennemunde, Germany. Hitler was really counting on it to turn the tide of the war. The Germans would launch it at London with bombs attached. Fortunately they did not know how to guide the missile, so it would just randomly rain down on whatever part of England it felt like. They couldn’t program it to strike, for instance, a particular building, or #6 Downing Street.
A book called “Space,” by James Michener, tells the story of the development of the German rocket program in Pennemunde, and how the German scientists scattered after the war ended. German scientists flocked to get captured by the Americans, rather than the Russians. Americans picked 100 of the best captured German scientists, and sent them to Fort Bliss, Texas. Then they brought in Army officers with science backgrounds, and formed the Guided Missile School.
Because my father was a physics major at Ohio University, he was in the second class of officers to go through the Guided Missile School. He graduated second in his class.
Dana was born at Camp Hood (Temple, Tx) in 1944, Peggy was born in Rome in 1947, and I was born at Ft. Bliss in 1951.
My dad was bowling when my mom went into labor with me, and didn’t come to the hospital until he’d finished, but I suspect he was delighted to have a boy, after two girls.
During that same year, the Guided Missile Group at Ft. Bliss fired the first successful surface-to-air missile (SAM) at White Sands Providing Grounds. So missiles were the “shop talk” around my house for my entire youth.
My father was 5’7 ½”, but during high school topped out at 5’3”, too short to compete in football or basketball, though he certainly wanted to. We have photographs of him in high school at Christian Brothers Academy in Albany, New York, and he is clearly the tiniest guy in his class. So he took to wrestling, which had weight classes.
It’s probably no coincidence that my mother was tall for a woman, 5’8″. I suspect my dad wanted to marry tall genes, and he was happy to see I inherited my mother’s height and body type. When he’d tuck me in at night, he would always say what a lucky boy I was, “good-looking, smart . . . tall.” He always accentuated the tall part.
The Guided Missile School was taught by Werner von Braun, the Director of the Pennemunde German missile base, who was the prize capture of the Americans. Von Braun went on to develop the missile program that sent the first man to the moon in 1969. They picked Fort Bliss to build and test the missiles, because it had a place called White Sands, a huge expanse of desert with nary a tumbleweed or groundhog. It was totally empty, just white sand for miles and miles. You could launch an errant missile there without fear of it hitting anything or anyone. My father was up at White Sands every day.
My rapidly rose rapidly in the ranks of the Army, never passed over for promotion. His personality was far from “militaristic.” He was a sentimentalist, a real softy. He didn’t hunt, didn’t like mechanics, didn’t tinker with car engines, didn’t teach me pugilistics, didn’t enforce military discipline at home. He was extremely nice to everyone, never had a harsh word to say about anybody. If he had something mean to say about someone, he kept it to himself. He didn’t curse, ever, in front of the kids, or around the house. He was an old school gentleman.
He loved sports, played golf every weekend, played on the base softball team, and was in a bowling league throughout my youth. He took us to church every Sunday, and led us in prayers before going to bed.
He, like everyone in his generation, was a man of his culture. The culture in the Army was to come home from work, be greeted at the door by your wife, then get together with your neighbors for cocktail hour. Neighbors got together several times a week at least, grilling steaks and socializing in the backyard. That was the lifestyle of the ‘50s, my parent’s army lifestyle.
My dad’s bowling league met once or twice a week; bowling shirts, beer drinking, bar afterwards. The same with golf, play every Saturday, maybe Sunday too, hit the 19th hole afterwards. My father was a very social guy, he thrived on these things.
He would take me with him to his bowling league, and golf outings. So from the time I was seven years old, I knew how to bowl and play golf.
My sisters enjoyed having a toy brother to play with, and I tagged along with them, learning to talk from my sister Peggy. Dana was seven years older, and was the boss of the kids. She was the babysitter when my parents went out, which was virtually every weekend. They’d head off to the officers club, leaving Dana in charge. The kids played together a lot.
My first three years were spent in a small house my parents rented on McConnell Street, just outside Fort Bliss. It had a stone fence, a backyard that was too deserty to grow grass, a stone fireplace where we would barbecue. It was on a street with very similar houses. We may have had a couple of trees, but mainly it was flat 1/8 acre house, four small bedrooms. My father ended up buying the house, and my grandfather lived there until he died.
I have one photograph of myself, two years old, wearing only diapers, no shirt, walking around the front yard.
It was a big deal when it would rain, water would flow down through the gutter and street, and we would play in it like it was a stream. It didn’t rain a lot in El Paso, and when it did, it was like a flood had occurred.
We had a large circular coffee table in the living room, with little ridge-steps leading down to the class top. I would take my marbles and fling them like a roulette wheel along those steps. We had a black and white television set, round screen in a giant wooden cabinet, and my mom would watch soap operas like “Search For Tomorrow,” “Love Of Life,” “Guiding Light.” She didn’t work. They didn’t waste time calling it “work at home.” She was a housewife. Most women were. Women worked during World War II in factories to support the war effort, but as soon as they could, went back to being housewives.
My world was very circumscribed, the backyard, climbing on the stone fireplace, climbing up onto the stone fence, and playing ball with my sisters. My father always had some kind of baseball or football around, probably since I was in the crib. And he would play catch with me at every opportunity. I was defending myself against baseballs since I was in the crib. My father really wanted a sports star, and I got very good at catching and throwing at a very young age. My sisters also were into sports.
My favorite television show was “Amos and Andy.” My mom enjoyed “I Love Lucy,” and Lucy was funny. My mom loved to laugh. Westerns like “The Lone Ranger,” “Hopalong Cassidy” and “the Cisco Kid” were big with me too.
There were only three television stations, CBS, NBC, and ABC. You were lucky if you could adjust the rabbit ears to get all three stations clearly. The television would frequently flip up and down, losing its vertical control, and you had to fiddle with it to try to get it to stop. Then you’d have to get up and fiddle with it again in a few minutes. Kicking the TV was part of the fiddling procedure.
At night, we would have dinner at the table, then usually watch some television, all of us sitting in the living room. “Candid Camera,” “The Amateur Hour,” “The Life Of Riley,” “George Burns And Gracie Allen Show,” “Jack Benny Show,” “Truth Or Consequences,” “Your Hit Parade,” “The Jackie Gleason Show,” “I’ve Got A Secret,” “Ozzie And Harriet,” “Death Valley Days,” “Topper,” “Make Room For Daddy,” “Abbott and Costello,” and my favorite, “Amos and Andy.”
As far as kids programming, there wasn’t much. There was “Howdy Doody,” “Capt. Kangaroo,” “Superman,” “Mr. Wizard,” “Disneyland.” Saturday morning the kids got to take over the TV. There’d be nothing but cartoons on, cartoons like “Bugs Bunny,” “Woody Woodpecker,” “Popeye The Sailor,” “Betty Boop,” “Mighty Mouse,” “Casper The Friendly Ghost,” “Mr. Magoo,” “Tom And Jerry,” “Heckle And Jekyll.”
I mention television because I am one of the first of the television generation. TV characters have been part of my culture. Phrases and values from TV characters pop up in my mind all the time. I’m sure there’s been psychological treatises on the effect television on development.
People like my older sister Dana spent their earliest years with no television, just radio. But I learned to talk from Amos and Andy. I could say “How de do der” like Kingfish from age one on. Amos, Andy, Kingfish, Lightnin’, Sapphire, Mama, Calhoun, were favorite members of my family. Their humor and warmth, plus the irreverent characters of Looney Toons, are part of who I am.
I didn’t spend much time indoors though, watching television – there were only three channels, and they didn’t show kids shows except on Saturday mornings. I spent my time inventing games to play by myself, like Revolutionary War soldiers, Civil War soldiers, the kind you order from the back of comic books. I’d stand them up in hiding places around the yard, the stone fireplace, on top of the stone fence, behind a weed. Then launch dirt bombs at the different camps. I’d throw a tennis ball against the stone fence, and try to catch it, imagining a baseball game. I spent a lot of time fantasizing by myself, much like I’m doing with this writing.
My parents wanted a ideal family life, and they got it. My sisters were both goodnatured and warmhearted, and funny, so I was a very happy little kid. I can’t recall ever having a negative thought in my childhood. My sisters always enjoyed my antics, and my dad and mom may have given me extra attention, as the youngest and heir to the throne.
I was John Edmond, Junior. My father’s first name was after his paternal grandfather, John Hilbert Durst, b. 1847-1922, but my dad was called Edmond, pronounced in the French fashion, after his maternal grandfather, Edmond Mouledoux, b. 1856-1904. It was not until he met my mom at Camp Hood that his name switched to “Dusty.” Apparently my mom’s friend thought he looked dark and swarthy – “Dusty” – so she called him that and it stuck. So my mom called him Dusty, everyone called him Dusty, I can’t recall anyone ever calling him “Edmond,” except his father, and his sister, Rita.
We moved to Germany when I was four. My dad was already there. We were in an Army airplane, and it shook and rattled like it was falling apart. I got sick and used the air bag, as did my sisters.