CHARLIE a memoir

Charles Coughlin, now there was a piece of work. Here was a young man that called his father “Bony,” and played to his own tune. Charlie and his older brother Larry were both adopted by the Coughlin’s. Mrs. Coughlin was a little woman and had her hands full with Charlie and her oversexed son Larry. Bony, despite his name, was uncommonly handsome and tall. He was a businessman; however, because of his good looks, he would model for clothing magazines on the side for fun. Larry, although not related to Bony by blood, was also a good-looking guy, and always had a stable of young ladies after him. The way I imagine Huckleberry Finn was what Charlie looked like. He had thick, reddish hair that always stuck up in the back even when it was combed. Charlie’s face was covered with freckles, his eyes were brown and looked as if they belonged to a sad puppy dog.

 

Charlie had many talents, but his most impressive gift was art. That boy could draw like nobodies business when he set his mind to it. He was so skillful that he was offered an exposition at a place called Montalvo in Saratoga, California. Montalvo had been a former governor of California’s private estate and was given to the public for various functions including art shows. Another one of Charlie’s talents was a complete lack of ambition. Lack of a goal might not be considered a talent, but, in Charlie’s hands, this lack of aspirations was honed to a fine art. For example, the opportunity to display his work at age 11 in a prestigious place like Montalvo would be a dream come true for most artist, let alone a remarkable young artist. What Charlie needed to do before the show was build up his portfolio of drawings; in other words, he needed to produce, to work.

 

As soon as that word “work” came up there was going to be a problem. Work entails self-discipline and Charlie didn’t have that. One time Charlie went through a period where he wouldn’t even change his socks. Another friend of ours, Les Oliver, was trying to see how long he could go without having his jeans cleaned. I am not sure, but Charlie might have been inspired by Les’s attempt and translated that into his own sock challenge. It wasn’t that Charlie didn’t have clean socks available, for all practical considerations the Coughlin’s were a respectable family. It’s just that Charlie didn’t want to change his socks for whatever reason. The outcome of his challenge was a severe case of athletes foot, which became infected so badly that Charlie was bed-ridden for the better part of a week. By the way, Les Oliver’s challenge resulted in an infection that turned into a series of seven boils.

 

Getting back to the art show. Trying to get Charlie to sit down and work toward a deadline was like trying to pull the teeth of a condor. I can remember sitting in Charlie’s bedroom with his mother yelling through the wall for him to get busy, and Charlie sitting on his bed with charcoal and paper begrudgingly “popping” out drawings of nude women. I don’t know if he made the deadline or not. Regrettably, because of Charlie’s lack of ambition, I think his abundant artistic talent went pretty much to waste.

 

He must have been a hellion in school, because he never attended any school I went to, and we lived in the same neighborhood. I believe he went to what is called nowadays an “alternative school.” For the most part, alternative schools are for students that do not do well in regular public schools. Alternative schools are more individualized and far more forgiving towards students like Charlie, who like to do what they want and not necessarily what they are told to do. Charlie was a part of my play-world outside of school, and looking back I find it interesting that I do not know anything about Charlie in regards to his schooling. What it shows me is that kids that age are in the moment. They are not asking questions like, “did you get in trouble in school today.” Instead, the things of importance are what we were doing or going to do now. Living in the “now” is a place that many philosophers claim is the higher consciousness that ideally should be achieved for better living. That might me true; however, living in the now and not considering the future got Charlie, myself and others in trouble at times. The operative word here is consequences. Living in the now for a ten or eleven-year-old boy can get them in trouble, because there is no consideration of the future, and what effect their actions in the present will have on that future.

Charlie liked anchovies and would eat an entire can in the same sitting with no regard for future consequences. After getting sick to his stomach, his mother would try to explain the cause and effect relationship between eating so many anchovies and having a stomachache. The explanation made complete sense, even to Charlie; despite that, if he did happen to get hold of another can he would eat the entire contents while in the “now,” with no contemplating the future gastrointestinal problems. This conundrum of living in the now balanced against future consequences was a problem that comes up with all children, but with Charlie, it came up often.

 

Musty was a German Short Haired Pointer that belonged to Charlie, and like Charlie was a real character. The dog had been shot with bird pellets by a neighbor that was overly protective of his property. As a result, when you ran your hand down Musty’s back you could feel the small pellets still under his skin. Another idiosyncrasy of Musty’s was his extreme dislike of having someone blow in his face. One day I tried. I bent down and blew right on his nose. He quickly knocked me flat on my back and immediately stuck his paw in my mouth. The dog’s paw was the consistency of steel wool and a piece of rough cement. I never blew in Musty’s face again. He never bit anyone or was mean and aggressive; he just didn’t want anyone blowing in his face.

 

Despite Charlie’s school problems, he could be an exemplary student when it came to something that interested him. I don’t know where he caught the bug, but for one reason or another Charlie became interested in falconry. To learn more about it, he actually got a hold of a book and read it, which might appear to be a minor accomplishment, but in the eyes of his parents, this was a historic event. He next found a Sparrow Hawk nest and captured a young hawk on the verge of being able to fly. I know that this seems a politically incorrect thing to do, but this was before the days of political correctness, and to practice falconry you needed a bird. Due to his reading, Charlie knew how to feed and care for his bird and the hawk thrived. Charlie made some jesses out of leather to tie around the bird’s feet, and began training the bird to come back to him. After a period of training, the hawk became quite a performer and would always fly back to Charlie on Charlie’s command.

 

After Charlie’s experiences with the hawk, I wanted one too. I would often ask Charlie if he would teach me what I needed to know to care for a hawk and train it like his. He would always give me the same advice, “if you are really interested in having a hawk, you will get a book and teach yourself like I did.” The advice he gave was not what I wanted to hear; however, in actuality it was darned sound advice because to teach yourself about falconry demonstrated a sincere commitment to the sport and responsibilities of taking care of a wild animal. I am not sure if Charlie’s wisdom was based on forcing me to be a conscientious falconer, or, he just wanted to be the only kid in the neighborhood with a bird. Putting his motivations to the side, I did learn about falconry and successfully raised and trained a Sparrow Hawk.

 

Procrastination was a synonym for Charlie, who could waste an entire day motivating himself into inaction. I found this trait most frustrating because I’m the exact opposite of that particular tendency. I like to get a plan together and then go do it without a lot of “dinking” around. One time we came up with the idea to go to the reservoir and fish. By the time we actually got to the fishing spot it was a dark, moonless night and fishing was impossible. I got angry with Charlie and told him about his always wasting time and not get things done, and how I found that frustrating, especially when his inaction affected me directly. Surprisingly, Charlie took my criticism very well, and in fact, he complimented me on my ability to be decisive and get things done; he went on to say that he wished he could be more like that. How could you stay mad at someone with a comeback like that? Needless to say Charlie continued to be Charlie; and I learned if I wanted to spend a day not accomplishing much he was the guy to hang out with.

 

Later on, when we were high school age, Charlie decided to live in a tree in the Santa Cruz Mountains. I was involved in other pursuits at the time, so I never actually knew why he decided that tree life was the life for him. It didn’t surprise me, or anyone else that knew Charlie, that he was living in a tree. He was highly eccentric and lovable. I lost track of Charlie during my college years and only heard about his intrigues through the grapevine.

 

Apparently he got married to a woman that had a daughter that was the same age as Charlie. They moved to some small obscure town in British Columbia, where I was told Charlie had become a VW mechanic. That was a number of years ago and there is no telling where Charlie is now, or what he is doing. Anything is possible. He could be living up in a tree again for all I know.