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From: Asa Strong <asastrong@gmail.com>
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Thank you for the explination. Besides what my wife says, I can be trained.
I cut and pasted the story text from word into Outlook express. It looked
fine before I posted it, must be something embeded in the .doc format doing
it, or Bill screwed express up as bad as the other products he sells. Below
is a cut and paste from the text document. Hopefully, it will be more
readable.
Asa
<Snip>
-----------------------------------------
When I was in school, I ran with a kid down the street
And I watched him burn himself up on bourbon and speed
But I was smarter than most, and I could chose
Learned to talk like the man on the six O'clock news
When I was eighteen, Lord I hit the road
But it really doesn't matter how far I go
I can still hear the soft southern winds in the live oak trees
And those Williams boys they still mean a lot to me
Hank and Tennessee
I guess we're all gonna be what we're gonna be
But what do you do with good ole boys like me
("Good Ole Boys Like Me", performed by Don Williams)
A Long Way Home
By Asa Strong
Chapter 1
The prairie of Eastern Colorado can be unforgiving. The wind never stops.
The heat in the summer can suck the life right out of you and winter arrives
with a cold vengeance that pulls the life force out of your body. It is a
stark place, devoid of what most people would consider an enjoyable way to
live. I was well aware of this as I drove west on highway 36.
I guess if I'm going to tell this story I'll have to back up some, or it won't
make much sense. I was born in a small town, close to Ashville, North
Carolina. My father was a banker and his family had lived in this same area
for generations. The bank he worked at was established by my great
grandfather and my father eventually became the president. My mother comes
from an aristocratic family of some prominence in Raleigh. My parents met
while my father was in college at UNC, in Chapel Hill. They were married
the year my father graduated, in 1972. In 1974, they produced a son, one
Hoyt Allen Wring, that being me.
For whatever reason, I was an only child. I grew up washed in the blood of
the Old South; full of the traditions that surrounded a small, southern town
in the 70's. Unfortunately, my family's financial circumstances were
somewhat short of the history of my father's forbearers, much to the
consternation of my mother. I later found out that when it came to
investments, my father was less than adept. We were certainly not poor, by
any means; but my mother could never accept what she viewed as a step down
in society. From what I could tell, she never felt at ease in the small
town atmosphere. She looked forward to the trips back to Raleigh to visit
her parents. Often, she would stay for weeks at a time. Later, when I
reached ten or so, she would take me with her when school was out for the
summer.
As a child, I was small. It wasn't until my later teen years that I would
grow into my present 190 pounds, six foot two body. I was also an
introspective child, perfectly content being by myself with only a good book
for company. My Uncle Cecil used to say I'd pay hell for growing up with
Thomas Wolff running around in my head.
Academically, high school was not much of a challenge. I was never a very
athletic person, and the violence of football was an anathema to me. As you
may have guessed, this did nothing to advance my social standing. Saying I
was an outcast would not be entirely correct, as being from a prominent
family still had some hold over my peers, but it was not far off the mark.
I never really faced the bullies that many kids of small stature incur; it
was more a situation where I was ignored. Mostly, my social interactions
with the other kids were that of an observer. I watched others growing up
and making stupid mistakes, vowing never to do so myself.
My parents and I had all made plans for me after I graduated from high
school. Unfortunately they were all different. My father wanted me to
follow in his footsteps and eventually work at the bank. Of course this
would entail a college education with a degree in business or finance. My
mother had a vision of a future for me outside of what she called "This God
forsaken place in the middle of nowhere". Her priority was to have me
attend a good college where I could meet "the right type of girl" and settle
down into a life of privilege. I pretty much keep my plans to myself,
limited though they were. My need was to just get away from it all. The
town, my parents and what I considered a restricted way of life.
My father's brother, Cecile, owned a fairly large farm just outside of town
and grew mostly cotton and tobacco. When I was about 13, I started working
for him in the summer. My first jobs there were rather trivial; hoeing
tobacco plants comes to mind immediately. Later when I knew more, he would
entrust me with the supervision of some of the black's that worked on the
farm. In addition to learning the appreciation of growing things, I also
learned how to use the farm implements. I could drive a tractor and plow
straight furrows with the best of them. Being that he was my uncle and had
no children, Uncle Cecile also paid me pretty well. This allowed me to buy
a new pickup truck when I turned sixteen. It also allowed for me to put
into plan my escape, for what I hoped would be a new life.
Uncle Cecile was the only one on both sides of the family I respected. He
had never married and was considered by the rest of my father's family as
being a bit odd. My mother plainly ignored him when ever he was present. I
had immediately felt an affinity with him and I think he was the only one in
the family that had an inkling of what I had planned after graduation. I can
still hear him telling me in that soft, southern drawl, "Hoyt, growing up to
be a man is hard business."
The weeks leading up to my graduation in 1992 consisted mostly of arguing
with my parents. I had told them that before I did anything with college, I
was going to get away and learn a little bit about the rest of the world.
To say the least, they were not receptive. I was not on the best terms with
either parent when I drove out of town in the summer of 92. But at that
time, I really didn't care. I had my pickup truck with a full tank of gas
and over two thousand dollars in my jeans.
I spent that summer traveling, mostly through the Southern States. By the
time August rolled around I was in New Orleans and getting low on cash. I
either had to return home and face the music, or get a job. Never having
been one that was afraid of work, it was not difficult to find a job. The
second day after I started looking, I was standing on a roadbed, shovel in
hand working for a construction company as a laborer. The job although
physically challenging, was not hard for an eighteen year old kid full of
piss and vinegar. Within six months I learned to operate a road grader.
After two years I could run or operate just about any piece of equipment in
the company.
I spent two and a half years working construction, but something was
missing. I loved the job, but we had been working on the same project for
almost a year and my feet were getting itchy. This was in May of 1995, and
we were in Natchez, Mississippi. On a Monday, it rained like a cow pissing
on a flat rock and the foreman called me to let me know I wouldn't be
working today. I really didn't want to lie around the company trailer and
get bored, so I jumped in my truck and drove to downtown Natchez. While
walking the streets, I came across a recruiting poster for the Navy.
To make a long story short, I enlisted on the spot when the recruiter told
me with my background I was a shoe in for the Seabee's.
I loved the work as a Seabee, but the military discipline part didn't sit
too well with me. My enlistment was up in two more weeks, and I was unsure
if I wanted to re-up or not. Then the letter from a law firm in Denver,
Colorado came. The attorney's letter informed me that my uncle Cecil had
passed away and I was the major beneficiary in his will. The will was to be
read in my home town at my convenience but recommended that it be done as
soon as possible. For some reason, this made my decision easier. Two weeks
later I was discharged and on my way to Charlotte, NC on a flight that had
originated in San Diego.
On the afternoon of Ma the 28th, 2000 the plane landed at Charlotte and I
rented a car for the trip home.
Since I had left home after high school, I had sporadically kept in touch
with my parents, always by mail. Occasionally I would receive a letter from
my mother, but she really didn't explain much of what was going on back
home. I hadn't seen or talked to either of them since I left on that summer
day in 1992.
When I drove into town, it looked the same as when I left. It was almost
like moving back in time. All the stores downtown looked the same, even if
there were a few different names on the windows. The same could not be said
for my parents. Eight years had taken a toll on both of them. My father had
gained a considerable amount of weight and my mother looked to have aged
thirty years. It didn't take long to figure out that both of them were
hitting the bottle on a regular basis.
They both made me welcome, but I could tell they were uncomfortable and didn't
know what to say. Hell neither did I, so we said the few pleasantries
required and dad helped me carry my seabag to my old room. Dad didn't know
much of what Uncle Cecil's will contained as it was being handled by the
attorney in Denver. He could not understand why his brother used an
attorney all the way in Denver.
Fortunately, my parents and I reconciled our difference over dinner that
first night back. I doubted very much it would change any of our lives, but
at least there was no longer any animosity between us.
The rest of the family met us at the hotel in town, where the attorney had
made provisions to read Uncle Cecil's will. My dad's other brother, Uncle
Wade, Auth Cynthia and my two cousins Randy and Beth were there along with
mom, dad and I. The lawyer quickly brought the proceedings to order and
read the will. Basically, he left some money to his two brothers and a
smaller amount to my two cousins. Everything else was left to me. There
was also a sealed envelope for me to read as well.
After the will had been read, the two families decided to meet at the only
restaurant in town and discuss what had happened. I really didn't want to
go, but could see no way around it and agreed to meet them, after I read the
letter Uncle Cecil had left for me.
After they left, the attorney left me in the room to read the letter in
private. He said he would be waiting for me in the lobby as he was sure I
would have some questions.
I sat down in a chair by the window and opened Uncle Cecil's letter. It
read:
Hoyt,
When you read this, I will no longer be around and there are a few things I'd
like for you to know and also take the time to explain what I have done.
You know that I have always been considered by the rest of the family as
being a bit strange. That has never bothered me, as I really don't care
what others think of me, even my own family. Don't let them affect what you
will do after finishing this letter.
Now, the reason for this letter and an explanation of what I have done.
First, I've made it a stipulation that my farm be sold. This should have
already been accomplished before you read this. Second, six years ago I
bought a piece of property in Colorado. I did this with the express
intention of giving it to you. You see, I think you need a place to find
out who you are. It has always been my opinion that you are like me, when I
was your age. It took me many years to understand who I am and come to
grips with it. I think you need the same opportunity; this is my way of
trying to give it to you.
There should be a considerable sum of money for you, of course at the time I'm
writing this I can only speculate how much. What I'm asking you to do is
use it to build a place to live. Build a house, with your own hands. I also
think that the property in Colorado is a perfect place for you to do so and
ask you to give it a try. It is an isolated and a harsh place to live, but
sometimes a man needs adversity to find peace in this world.
Go with God's love my friend, and may you find peace in your soul.
Signed: Uncle Cecil
I sat in the solitude of that room, weak spring sun streaming through the
windows, absorbing my uncle's words. I didn't know if I agreed with him or
not, but I also didn't know that he was wrong either. I eventually decided
that I owed him enough for what he believed, to give it a try.
When I left the room, the lawyer, as promised, was waiting for me. We sat
in the lobby while he explained that he had been Uncle Cecil's lawyer for
the past ten years, and had been the one that drew up the will. He also
informed me that he had in trust for me over eight million dollars. This
was quite a shock, as although I knew my uncle was well off, I had no idea
it was to this extent. We made arrangements for my access to the funds and
other title documents then I left for the restaurant.
Needless to say, the meeting with the rest of the family did not go well,
especially when I told them about Uncle Cecil selling the farm.
When asked how much money I was left, I told them that it was considerable,
but refused to state the amount. By the time I left, emotions were running
high and it was a relief to finally get out of there.
When I got home, my parents had already arrived. It became clear that the
atmosphere was not conducive to my staying, so I give my mom a quick hug and
said I was going to stay in Ashville for the night and would let them know
whey I was settled.
Now, four days later, I'm on highway 36 in Eastern Colorado, heading west
into a future of uncertainty.