my love affair with a shark

I was born in a hospital in Abilene, Texas. Our home was isolated, over 20 miles from the nearest significant town. It was "out in the boonies", as they say. By this I mean: you took a farm-to-market road for 21 miles, then turned left on a dirt road and went a mile and a half before turning right on another dirt road, then went another mile and reached my house, which incidentally was the ONLY house on this long stretch of fine ground caliche rock. It was the house and property my Mother's parents had gifted to their daughter as she started her new family. It was called the "Lincecom Place", but after my parents moved in, we just called it home.

That home also happened to be a smaller part of a massive cattle and crop operation, run by my mother's brother, Charley Tom. We leased our part to him, and he dotted the pastures with Hereford cattle. In the fields he planted wheat, oats, and sorghum (which he bailed for hay). Every summer since I can remember, I'd spent on that farm, growing up, and and loving the country life.

After the divorce, Mom and I moved to El Paso, Texas, when I was five in 1969. We needed to start a new life, and I am guessing that Mom needed a change of scenery after her painful ordeal. At age 47, she enrolled in nursing school and became a LVN (Licensed Vocational Nurse). Her daughter, Reba Ann, also a nurse, lived in El Paso where she and her husband were starting their new family. Mom decided the best thing for herself, and her busy little 5-year-old son, was to move in with Reba, to lend with upcoming babies.

I have some fond memories of living there, but that's another story. However, it was not all fun. I was mercilessly picked on and did not have a Dad to help me defend myself. In my mind, I started to feel that life might be better for me at old home place, and attending the same school as my sister, brother and cousins before me.

In the summer of 1975, as Mom's parents got older and needed more care, Mom and I moved back home, deep in the heart of Texas' low-rolling hills. I never understood why this area is traditionally called "West Texas" because geographically it is smack-dab in the middle of the state. I guess it's called that because it's west of Dallas, where the vaunted Dallas Cowboys play on Sundays.

The plan was for me to attend school in the town of Clyde, a thriving metropolis (pop. 2, 218). That fall I started in the 7th grade. To get to my new school each day, I had to ride the school bus which took about an hour each way.

During the summer of 1974, everyone was talking about a paperback book by Peter Benchley simply titled, Jaws. Big, frightening monsters were right up my alley, so I borrowed my sister’s well-worn copy, and dove in.

The paperback’s cover was mesmerizing. Simplistic and primal, it featured a naked woman swimming, completely unaware of the terror rocketing upward, about to maul her from below. This now iconic image conveyed its immense size, and, man, those TEETH! Multiple rows of razor-sharp daggers! What can humans do against that! It was truly horrifying.

Back then, I was not much of a reader (still not). My experience with casual reading consisted of 100-page Louis L’Amour pulp Westerns. Apparently, I was not yet ready for "grown-up" books. Anything that required a "long time" was not my thing. Novels just did hold my attention.

Looking back, I am certain I had a common condition called Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD). Folks called kids like me "a handful". I preferred the moniker my beloved uncle Charley Tom gave me, "Kid Lightning". Sounds kinda like a super-hero, right? After raising two wonderful boys of my own, I can testify that they inherited it honestly. As part of my condition, I possessed an entire cache of annoying sounds that I could deliver at a moment's notice. My specialties were a rooster, a werewolf howl, and the great Godzilla. I also emitted several noises unknown to man. GOD BLESS my sweet mother for all she patiently endured. She was the Saint of Patience. My 5th grade Spanish teacher, the always nervous Mr. Castillo, literally hated me. He told my mother at a parent-teacher conference, "your boy should be put on medicine! He is so disruptive!"

Mom, thanked him, walked out and summarily refused to treat me medically.

Jaws, however, held my interest. Every page was engaging. I loved the grisly details, the tense encounters, and the wonderful characters. As testosterone began to drive more of my thoughts, really loved the fervid sexual encounter between Oceanographer Matt Hooper and police Chief Brody’s wife (a scene that wisely did not make it into the movie).

In 1975, Jaws, the movie, was released nationwide. Mom reluctantly agreed be take me and serve as my “parental guidance”. This was probably a good thing because the movie was not for kids. I was ready, but I don't think I was prepared. It was nerve-wracking, suspenseful and really, really scary.

But guess what - I loved it! I had never felt so exhilarated!

I became immediately obsessed with everything related to the movie: the shark, sharks in general, its novice director (Steven Spielberg), its stars, how it was made, the special effects, and all dangerous creatures in the entire ocean. Like my earlier "monster" phases, I collected all things related to Jaws: books, posters, t-shirts. I saw it in theaters at least seven times.

When Jaws finally hit the drive-in theater in Abilene, and I again begged Mom to take me (you see, I had a plan). I remember her saying, "Ain’t you seen that ol’ thing enough tomes! Young man, this is not healthy!"

After I pitched a fit, she finally relented and off to the drive-in we went. Mom, once again, you were a Saint. Once we had parked and secured our snack bar treats, I produced my small black tape recorder from the back seat. Time to enact the plan. As the opening credits rolled, I diligently held the device's microphone up to the drive-in's window speaker.

Mom simply shook her head.

By now, I was quite proficient with the cassette recorder. I had filled many blank tapes with recordings involving my schoolmates. We'd laugh at them for hours.

The only real technical challenge was the timing required to successfully flip the tape to side B when side A reached its end with an angry SNAP! Like a flash, I ejected the tape, flipped it over, slide it back into place, and pressed the red-dotted record button. Whew! Luckily the entire film fit on the two 60-minute audio cassettes I had slipped into Mom's shopping basket at K-mart.

I am certain I drove my poor mother crazy playing these audio recordings over and over. I memorized every scene, every word, even the unexpected interruption: "Brenda Jackson, please come to the snack bar, Brenda Jackson."

To this day, I often will break into a scene from the film, that is, depending on how many bourbon's I have in me.

The best lines belonged to the grizzled shark hunter, Quint. Boy, did we love Robert Shaw in this film!  My buddies and I would quote him often using our best Quint voice:

• "$10,000 dollars for me by myself. For that, you get the head, the tail, the whole damn thing."
   
• "Here's to swimmin' with bow-legged women"
   
• "Here lies the body of Mary Lee, died at the age of 103, for 15 years she kept her virginity, not a bad record for this vicinity."
   
• "That bastard shark might eat it, I suppose...saw one eat a rockin’ chair one time."
   
• "I need room! Sonoffa bitch!"

Still today, when I watch his recollection of his experience aboard the U.S.S. Indianapolis, I get chills down my spine. It's legendary.

I became an instant Shaw fan, seeking out his films including: Robin and Marion (1976), The Deep (1977), The Battle of the Bulge (1965) and Force 10 From Navarone (1978). He died from a massive heart attack at age 51. For most of his life, he was a severe alcoholic.

I also read book about the making of Jaws called The Jaws Log by producer Carl Lottlieb. This helped me begin to understand all the work and coordinated efforts required to make a movie. Filming Jaws was a nightmare, as brought to light in the book. Filming on the ocean is the most difficult of settings, so production was filled with issues and delays. Sea water is hell on electrical equipment. The mechanical shark (whom they named "Bruce") was constantly broken. Stars’ personalities clashed. Many days it seemed like the film would never get made.

But sometimes, through great trial, comes a masterpiece.

So, through Jaws I found something. I think it was a real love for the film industry and the movies that touch our lives in some way. If you are a reader, and appreciate all the details, I salute you. Me? I'd rather watch the movie. I want to experience the story, its perspective, the music, the effects, the way it all is combined to make you feel it. In real time.

Thanks Mr. Benchley. Gracias Señor Spielberg. Good boy, Bruce - you made a young boy happy by scaring the crap out of him.

fin (not shark fin, but 'the end' fin)