My Redacted Life: Chapter Twelve (Cont._2)

Goodness gracious but 1971 was an exciting year. I had survived the challenges of entering a profession totally unprepared. I learned many of the basics that year and filed away some lessons not taught as formal curriculum in any university. To say that I had learned much that year was like saying a bear cub learns a lot his first year on earth.

And I hadn’t had to carry a weapon, other than a devious and calculating mind, one always “locked and loaded” on full-automatic. Even so, I had learned that, just as in my former line of work, it always proved advantageous to keep your head below the sandbags. I had sharpened the useful skill of not telling someone everything I knew on first meeting them. I retained a lesson learned in Boot Camp that, as someone said, “All thoughts do not need to be spoken.”

I had learned that a little paranoia can be a good friend if one listens and that, as the Apostle said, “The quality of mercy is not strained.” Conversely, one should always pay attention to the person with “scrambled-eggs” on the hat. I was beginning to be less certain each day that my four years in the military had been a total waste. Learning to live by one’s wits is a marvelous skill, no matter what profession one follows. Nothing teaches that better than the military and nothing rewards it more than life among the sharks and shoals of business.

I hadn’t found love in 1971, but I had found comfort on more than one occasion. I hadn’t found success, but I had avoided failure. I had found that age and an acquired sense of treachery were the allies of the ambitious. In short, I was no longer afraid.

As the holiday system settled in on our collective consciousness, I looked forward to being able to participate. In downtown Little Rock, there were still enough shops and mainline stores existing to create a pleasant and comforting atmosphere. Stores began staying open later and as I left work in the dark each day, the sharp and happy staccato greetings of shoppers filled the air beneath the bright holiday lights. Everyone seemed so pleasant to one another. Were such times here to stay? Time would tell.

Christmas Day came on a Saturday that year. I had a major deadline due for some project or other, so I put in half-a-day Friday morning. Then I left, walked into the MM Cohn store at Fifth and Main to buy a last-minute present, and drove to the old hometown for the weekend. It was the second straight Christmas I had spent with my family after missing four in a row. It was the first ever, at nearly 30 years of age, that I had money to buy presents for each of my family.

Life was good. That first year had gone well and 1972 was going to be even better. Wasn’t it?

Oh, hell yes.

The end of "Ripple Days?"