It all started on January 21, 1963 on a cold icy night deep in the heart of Cajun Country Louisiana. Around midnight on the 20th of January, my mother being nine months pregnant felt the stings of contractions. As luck would have it, my father was working at one of the oil refineries in Lake Charles and my mother had to be whisked to the hospital by her mother (my grandmother). My father was contacted and he immediately set a course for the hospital. In Louisiana at that time there were no delivery rooms, emergency rooms or anything more that a two room country hospital with a general practice doctor and a nurse.
After hours of intense labor, my entry into was sort of anti-climatic. I was a regular baby boy with no great gifts or talents. However, upon reaching three years of age, my parents discovered to their horror, that I had this uncanny ability to break the bones in my legs. This caused them great amounts of stress, because the doctors could not find out why my legs kept suffering from fractures. It was not until I was five years old that a good old country doctor, discovered why my legs kept breaking. He discovered I had a rare bone disease called Osteo Genesis Imperfecta or OI for short. Little was known about the disease and even today the knowledge base is not quite up to par with other more glamorous media darling diseases. But that is okay.
Because as I became older and suffered through about seventy-eight (78) broken bones, I leaned that my problem was not as much as a problem for me as for most other people. The 78 broken bones were mostly in my legs, but others were my arms, from falling out of trees and into ditches, while I was hunting or fishing. I never slowed down as a child and my parents never made any excuses for me or allowed me to feel sorrow for myself.
When I reached twenty, I sat my parents down and told them that I had enough of dealing with my two useless legs. That all the surgeries to save them were failures. That I was tired of spending all my time in casts and braces. I had decided after careful and total consideration, to have my two legs amputated. That way the problem of OI would be removed and I could get on with my life. After I picked my parents jaws up from the floor, and reattached them to their faces, they both began to cry uncontrollably, then through the tears they both agreed that I was my own man, and I could make my own decisions. So the surgery for my right leg was scheduled and it was removed. I loved my wooden leg and my parents and doctor agreed that removing the left leg would be a major plus, not only to my physical but more important to my mental being.
As my graduation from highschool drew near, I decided that I would go to become a lawyer. My father wanted me to become a doctor, but I had enough of hospitals and the entire healing business. I wanted to become a Lawyer to that I could make some money. Lets face it, I could say I wanted to become a lawyer to change the world and make it a better place to live, but that line has been worn out and the horse is dead on that note. People become lawyers to make money, lots of money. Then the baby lawyers get the shock of there lives. There are a zillion lawyers out there and damn few of them are making lots of money. There are few jobs available for lawyers without any experience. Most are getting by and making a living but are not in any danger of becoming wealthy.
So, I decided if I could not become wealthy as a lawyer and I needed some experience, I would prosecute criminals and represent the State of Texas. At least that way my job would be fun, exciting and always changing. And I could gain experience along the way. I had small stints a prosecutor in Hays and Coryell County, Texas. But for reasons that will never be known in this lifetime, I wanted a change of pace.
So after prosecuting for a few years, the grass seeming to be a bit greener on the defense side of the bar, I resigned as a States Prosecuting Attorney and hung my shingle as one of the multitude of struggling lawyers. That law office was one of life's little eye opening experiences. I had no idea that running a business was such a nightmare. There were income taxes, self employment taxes, property taxes, equipment taxes, and of course employees to pay. Not counting utilities, water and an unknown amount of other little nick picky dang awful little bills, expenses and outflows to destroy any profits. This was even before I had the wonderful pleasure of dealing with clients, their parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, sisters and brothers and of course concerned family friends and clergy.
For eight long years of hell and lots of high water, I plugged along, struggling to make the grass even grow much less be green. My wife and children endured this macabre adventure into the depths of private law practice. Finally, reaching the ends of what rope I had left, my wife suggested that I get back into prosecuting. But I whined, I am my own boss, I am making money, I am working to be wealthy. She smartly countered, as wives sometimes do, that she could see I was miserable, that I made her miserable, the my children were miserable. That being my own boss was killing me and destroying my family. So in a desperate attempt to save my life and my family, I again hit the resume' trail.
I discovered that all my experience both in State and Federal Courts, all of my jury trials, all of my not guilty verdicts, and all of my successful appeals overturning criminal cases, did not count for much in the job market. Because during my time at trying to be a businessman lawyer, the law schools were churning out zillions and zillions of more baby lawyers that would work for half what I needed just to pay the bills.
I landed a job as a Special Prosecutor for Texas and life is good.
What does this have to do with writing or loving a fountain pen. Not much, but it is my bio. As for fountain pens, I love them all. I do not have a collection, nor am I a collector. However, my wife would argue with that point because I have several pens. She is not one to appreciate the beauty or passion that writing with a fountain pen brings. But my wife is a complete other story that would take precious space. Lets leave it at this, she is content with a BIC Clicker. You make your own conclusions.
I have written with fountain pens for as long as I can remember. I went through college and law school using an A.T. Cross chrome fountain pen and a Cross Chrome ball point. I acquired several different pens when I was attending Loyola School of Law in New Orleans, Louisiana. But never really got interested in fountain pens until quite recently.
I have always used fountain pens of one make or other, so I never thought much of collecting them, since they were my daily tools. I find that writing with a fountain pen is much more pleasurable and more satisfying that using a ball point or roller ball.
I have discovered several web sites related to fountain pens, and I am planning to attend the Houston Pen Show in June at the Marriott by the Galleria.
My family and I live in Deep East Texas in what is known as the Piney Woods of East Texas. We are closer to the grand parents on my side who live in Houston and on my wife's side who live in New Orleans, Louisiana. This makes things nice, because our children love to go to grandma's house.
My favorite pen, at the moment is my Platinum Stainless Armor. This is quite a nice writer and lays down a good flow of ink. I own several Cross fountain pens, a Rotring Initial, a Parker Stainless (made in France). I also have a larger number of fine ball point pens that have found there way to my roll top desk. I am in the process of locating several new and old vintage pens. But it is the search and hunting that is fun in the never ending quest to find the next great writing fountain pen.
I love to read and write. My favorite authors (at this time) are Elmer Kelton from San Angelo, Texas and Doug Bowman. Both write wonderful stories with a western flare. I read everything from the Birth of Christianity to Goose bumps. My tastes in literature is as varied as my tastes in pens. My all time favorite author has to be Edgar Allen Poe. He was my first literature love and the first author to stir my immortal soul. He forever and always holds a most honored and special place in my heart.
As you can see, if you have made it this far down my bio, I love to write and I am long winded. But I guess that is the lawyer in me.
Happy Inking
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