Page 25 - Gary's Book - Final Copy 7.9.2017_Active

We all got our share of beatings - either with a switch from the tree or with a
rubber hose. Frequently Alma used her fist or knuckles to my head and punches to
my stomach, which really hurt. However, I did not get as many beatings as the
other kids.

Alma carried on her hip or in her apron a 9mm German Luger. She often beat
Danny with it by stripping him naked, grabbing him by the testicles and whipping

him. I always expected the day would come when this big guy would respond to
her, but it never happened while I was there. I remember that when little Jesse
pooped in his diaper, Alma’s favorite punishment was to shove it in his face and
mouth. It kind of reminded me of the trained elephant in the zoo that was shackled
at a young age to a stake in the ground and pulled and pulled and pulled until he

learned it was useless. Then as a grown animal, he never pulled the peg out of the
ground. I always wondered why the social workers never took us out of this
situation. They would visit every two to three months and see our black eyes, cut
lips, and bruises, but they never desired to try and find us a new home.
Unfortunately, no action was ever taken.

I was about fourteen and had done something incorrectly. I had forgotten to fill a
tub full of water in the barnyard. Well, Alma came at me with that 9mm, and I just
instinctively grabbed her arm and said, “If you hit me with that, I will kill you.”
She dropped her arm in surprise, and from that day forward, she was more
removed from me. To her, this action meant that she could no longer control me,
so she asked me if I wanted to live with her daughter, Grace Rios, on the lower
forty acres but said that this would not release me from my daily chores. This was

the summer of 1952. Grace was married to Louis Rios, a Mexican alcoholic who
was a chef at an upscale restaurant in Clayton, Missouri.

Whether we would get a full night’s sleep or not was unsure. We would be
awakened at any time of the night and beaten. Getting meals, especially dinner,
was never a given. To this day, I cannot sleep without something over me like a

sheet or a blanket; it is a physiological protective shield. I am also a “snacker”
rather than a person desiring three square meals a day because I grew up not
knowing if I would get something to eat or not.

For breakfast, we had Puffed Wheat or Puffed Rice from large feed sacks. For
dinner, we had Spam or buck liver sausage. For seven years, I never had steak or

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