Roger That!

I moved into the subdivision (Indian Hills) in March of 1969. Middle of the third grade. By that time Jan's mother Jean and father Howard were separated soon to be divorced. Being a truck driver, Howard was gone for days at a time and Jean was just gone, period. Supervision at Jan's house was left up to Jerry the hippie and Big Sister Donna who had her own agenda. Like most twenty one year old women, looking after her nine year old brother was not on top of the agenda list. Donna worked at Hill's department store and dated a classic greaser, hellraiser, alcoholic, and future muderor named Roger Baily.

Roger wore leather everything. He squeaked when he walked. Pompador hair and liquor breath were his greatest traits. He also owned or worked at a body shop and was a master mechanic. We always knew when Roger was around. If he was close you could smell him, but the sound of squeaking leather gave him away from a good distance.

Jan and I were not exactly afraid of Roger but we were always on alert. Sometimes we would hear him smack Donna, and when we were in the basement near the garage door we for sure could hear him give her the old leather saddle ride. Squeaking, moaning, pounding, sounded like the roof was falling in. Of course we thought it was funny but we never ventured upstairs to the fridge until half an hour after the last sound. We knew Roger and Donna would be sitting on the bar stools and Roger would give us a beer. I think now that we envied Roger. He drove a hot rod, a mid sixties chevelle, was getting laid, wore leather and gave us beer with the disclaimer that if we told he would kill us. Little did we know that he was dead serious.

Donna drove a 1968 Plymouth Roadrunner. Daddy must have helped her buy it considering she worked at Hill's, but that Roadrunner parked in Jan's driveway meant that Jan would have a real meal and not a can of Chef Boy Ardee. Donna was always cool but was caught in the same web that Jan was always struggling against. She was only twenty one but was practically Jan's mother. She always called Jan "Pee Wee". "Pee Wee, I'm going to Roger's tonight, beans and cornbread in the oven". A great family structure, Dad gone, Mom flown, Big Brother on acid, Big Sis trying, in a terrifying relationship. I loved staying at that house.

A couple of years later Donna broke up with Roger who was getting quite a long rap sheet by that time, dui, pi, assualt, minor but violent. He had also traded cars. Donna's new boyfriend, Phil Kinser, drove a souped up Nova. Donna and Phil married later and had three children. Jerry called them "rugrats". I had never heard that term before.

One night or morning, Jan and I had been somewhere doing something. We were thirteen and twelve, me being older by nine months minus two days. I remember that Phil's car was in the driveway and there was another car parked on the street, neither one of us recognized this car and didn't really think much about it, could have been visiting the neighbors, whatever, so we walked on down the hill, entered the driveway and suddenly both of us froze in our tracks. That noise, we looked at each other, Jan said "what is that", and not quietely. I knew in a second that it was the sound of squeaking leather, Roger's leather. I said "I hear Roger" but we did not see him. We knew there was bad blood between Roger and Phil but what was Roger Baily doing here this time of night? We walked to the carport, still listening and hearing the unmistaken sound of Roger. We were tripping, literally, where was he? All at once, maybe simultaniously, we saw him, there was Roger's leather cowboy boots sticking out from underneath the Nova. Despite our initial noise, Roger was too busy cutting Phil's brakeline that he didn't hear us. If he had...

We walked away silently (we always practiced silent movement in the woods) to the lower den entrance. Jan went upstairs and beat on Donna's bedroom door, interupting whatever they were doing in there. Phil came out, gun drawn, Roger ran to his car and like the pussy he was, screamed down Montezuma Road. Jan and I watched him as he left black marks. I remember saying to Jan "that crazy fucker would have killed us."

A few years later Roger Baily was convicted of first degree murder. I can't remember the circumstances but Jan and I knew this was one bad dude.

Look it up.