The Truth is Bad Enough: What Became of the Happy Hustler? Read Online Free PDF

should have seen his face when he realized I’d seen what he’d done.”
    No matter how many times she told me the story, it was always like I was hearing it for the first time.
    “I said, ‘Land’s sake, boy, what are you doin’?’ I wasn’t yellin’ because I was angry; I was tryin’ to be heard above the train, which had already run over that helpless little bear.
    “After the train sounds died down, he looked me right in the eye and said, ‘Mama, I was just tryin’ to see if my teddy bear would bleed.’”
    I howled at the punch line, the moment I had anticipated. So did she. We were giddy with grief. I wonder if my grandma made the connection that blood would, decades later, prove to be Uncle John’s enemy in the progression of his deadly disease.
    Trains were part of the Kearns folklore. In fact, my grandfather Lannes Kearns was working for the railroad when he first laid eyes on Katherine, his future wife.
    Several years her senior, he would watch her walking to school every day with her sisters through the fields of wildflowers adjacent to the railroad. She stood out, not only because she was the tallest, but also because she appeared to be the most sensible. And while she was more distinguished than beautiful, her strong features added to her allure.
    “See that girl?” my future grandfather would say, indicating the statuesque one. “I’m going to marry her one day.”
    Katherine and Lannes did indeed wed. Their firstborn was my father, Joseph, who would eventually find himself on a train—in the dining car of the New York–Chicago–St. Louis Railroad (nicknamed the Nickel Plate Road), working as a waiter. My mother wistfully recalled taking trips from St. Louis to Chicago and New York with her dashing husband before my brother and I were born.
    Hearing stories about those glamorous cities made me aware that there was a way out of St. Louis. It always felt to me like it was a city one should escape from.
    There was a tree in our backyard that must have been about six feet tall, with scrawny branches virtually void of foliage. I had a recurring dream: the balloon from The Wizard of Oz would land there, carrying Dorothy, Toto and the faux wizard, with one seat left for me. The balloon would take Dorothy to Kansas and me to my home. Home. I was in the backyard of our family house and dreaming of being taken home.

CHAPTER 6                
    Being in our backyard was not confining, like being in St. Louis was. It was limitless terrain, defined only by the parameters of my imagination. I’d play on the swing set, finding as many ways as I could to wrap my body around the various bright red poles that made up the structure. Then I’d swing for long stretches of time and eventually return to exploring every inch of the swing with every inch of my body. I could hear the psychiatrist say, “Don’t fall on your butt.” I remembered the way his blond hair swept across his forehead.
    I often got hard, like I had on that day with Davey, and once, as I recreated our skinny-dipping scene in my head, I was completely shocked to feel something involuntarily squirting out of my dick.
    Even though the unexpected eruption felt good, it was a bit scary. Within a few weeks, however, I was sidling up and down those poles and shooting on a regular basis. A pole dancer is born.
    That multipurpose backyard proved to be a romantic getaway with a same-sex partner who committed suicide, an outdoor theater, which I headlined, and a place to get my rocks off without a breath of shame, only wonder.
    Entering third grade in a new school could be pretty intimidating, especially if you already felt like an outsider. Very early on, I learned how to get attention and a bit of respect from my peers. By serving up some relatively acceptable version of myself, rather than imploding, I could make some friends.
    During recess, while most of the boys were engaged in some competitive game, I would perform solo on the