Blackburn Family, The Begining

Hello to all  Blackburns and relatives wherever you are.

I am working on some stories, biographical material really, about Evelyn and Richard my parents.

I'm basing them on memory, so, at my age, I need to get it down pretty quick.
If I make any errors that anyone knows of, please let me know via  my email address.
Also, any memories that anyone would share would be helpful.
You know, what goes on the Internet, or, "the internets" as some call it, lasts forever.
So with help I can insure Evelyn and Richard's story will last forever, and their plethora of descendants will have access to biographical information about them and each other.
Many friends on facebook knew Evelyn, my Mom, and know or knew my brothers, children , sisters and so on.
So any recollections would be helpful.
Anything too personal you can email me.
Thank you.

Mary Anne Blackburn

The lady I married in another time, long ago.
I have made a mistake or two, but marrying this beautiful and intelligent lady was was not one of them.
Together we created two lovely and intelligent daughters.
The day I met Mary Ann, a life long
obsession with her began for me.
Oh, I didn't show it.
But she occupied my thoughts  much of the time from the very first time I laid eyes on her.
When I think of her blood flowing
In the veins of the descendants of Richard and Evelyn, it gives me great joy.

I saw her in the park for the first time. MacCarther Park, a mile or two from downtown L.A., the day was perfect, seventy degrees, everything was green...well the lake and sky were blue, the shrubs near where Mary Anne was wrestling were green....

Evelyn

I used to daydream about Mom being in heaven and looking down on us.
I can remember when she was the World's Greatest Mom.
Your Mother, a tie that can't be broken.
I physically  feel her as part of me, and the rest of the Blackburn's, and the entire genetic pool of Blackburns.
We were at Echo Park lake, 57 years ago, Mom was fashionably dressed, in those days women wore skirts to their ankles and blouses that kind of hid everything, she wore her long, dark brown  hair swept up in a bun.
We were feeding ducks.
It was kind of scary because the ducks had no fear of 3 year olds, and they were pretty aggressive :-)
We were on the banks of the lake, a goose ran at me, I threw up my arms and splash! I was in the green murky waters.
I didn't really know what was happening.
I thrashed helplessly, my arms moving in slow motion, my three years passed before my eyes.
I can still see the distorted green haze, and objects and fish floating and swimming by.
"Mommy!" I cried silently as I swallowed the cold water and in my rigidity hurled me to the lake bottom.
Suddenly I was moving upwards, then everything went black.

I don't know how long it was, but I regained consciousness to Mom's cooing, "Michael, Michael, it will be alright, Mommy's here."
She was soaking wet, we were both wrapped in a thick blanket, we were in a boat, a a young man had his arms around both of us.
Now, I didn't know what love was then, but this young man was looking at Mom with what I could see was deep emotion.
I really think, looking back on it, he had fallen in love with her in the time it had taken to pull both of us from the water, and comfort us.
But Mom was centered on me.
I could feel the power of her love.
The day was grey, and foggy, but I was bathed in a warm glow of compassion, so strong I feel it right now, 57 years later....

Stay Tuned

I haven't forgotten about the family that is most significant, certainly to me and my plethora of descendants.
I have a request from a family member in now for documents.
That should get the creative juices flowing. :-)
Love you all.


All You Need is love

Blackburn's

It was funny how Evelyn seemed inexorably and irrevocably tied to my Father, Richard.

She would only say, “I fell in love with him from the moment he said hello.

He was handsome, and self-confident and intelligent.

It was all very romantic, at least at first.

He couldn’t do enough for me in the begining.

He was very gallant and gracious.

Then, after we were married, he changed.

He was nasty, and demanding.”

Her blue eyes clouded over

“Mom, Dad loves you. I know he does.”

I did.

She smiled and brushed a tear from her eye, slightly smearing the Mabelline.

“I don’t know, Michael, some times I think he does.

Sometimes I think he only loves himself

I never even thought of another man when I was with your father.

He thinks I was sleeping with other men, but I wasn’t. I had no interest in other men.

Then I got pregnant with Patrick.

He was pretty sweet for a while after that.

He was crazy about Patrick.

He thought Patrick resembled him.

That’s what every man wants, of course.

He wants his children to resemble him.

Your Dad must have had a guilty conscience, because when you were born he started saying things like, ‘Why is his hair so dark?

He has green eyes? No one in my family has green eyes.’

Then he said, ‘He’s not my son.’

I’ve told him there was zero possibility that he was someone else’s child..”

The first time Mom told me that story I was shocked and puzzled.

It has been said many times, by various family members, that Dick had charm. He had kissed the Blarney Stone.

He was called by some, “The Influence.”

I felt his charisma.

I was his boy behind the lines, in a way.

Oh, I didn’t inform or spy, but I felt at the time we had a special relationship.

So even though I knew there was a possibility that Dad thought I wasn’t his son, I was crazy about him.

He was like G-d to me.

I should add, a god that did lots of bad things, as some gods do.

At least, according to legends.

Mom was making a dress for Maureen,

Maureen popped in and hugged her.

She chirped, “is it almost done, Mommy?”

“Almost, Sweetheart.”

“Thanks for making it for me, Mommy.”

She looked down at the smiling child, “ Well, Honey, you are going to look like a fairy tale Princess in this dress.”

It was Dad’s birthday.

We had been talking about it all day.

Mom had been cooking and sewing and cleaning all day, and she was looking forward to the party we were going to give Dad.

“I’m  going outside Mom, ok?”  I said as I headed towards the door.

I figured I’d hang out with brother Ricky  for a while.

I found him in the back yard, in a hole near the back fence.

The hole .

It was our clubhouse.

Working

The old man stood on his porch on a tree lined street in a town in Arizona and madly fired off a round from the 30.6 rifle he cradled in his arms.
Within minutes, South Tucson and Tucson Police surrounded his little white stucco house,
and believing that a group of snipers was inside, filled the house, and the old black man, with a number of high impact projectiles.
During the "battle" two Policemen, Sargents, Andy Garcia and Roy Garcia were hit by stray bullets.
Andy's wound caused an ugly scar, he was transported by ambulance to Tucson Medical Center.
Sargent Roy Garcia of the South Tucson PD., was hit in the spine, and paralyzed from the neck down.
The old man now lay on his back, cold and stiff on the pavement in front of his lawn, killed in the opening salvos of gunfire.
Al quesada and I were manning the Paramedic unit that night and were asked to verify the man's death.
"He's about as dead as he could be." Al remarked drily, after a brief visual exam.
"Poor son of a bitch," I muttered.
One of the cops looked down through veiled eyes, hand resting comfortably on the blue steel revolver on his hip, "Call a Meds unit for this worthless, former, piece of shit, fellas, let's go home."
I'd been with the Dept for five, I'd experienced a lot of death and disaster, but this  scene left a very bad taste in my mouth.
Chief Roquillo had watched the entire scene unfolding, his dark, handsome face impassive throughout.
After the ambulance removed the body his eyes were moist, "Christ, what a waste of human life." he said.
He looked at the Paramedic Unit, then at Al and I.
"Take it back to the corral, Men." He said.
Al backed the vehicle out of the driveway, pointed the wheels to the north, and gunned the engine.
Some of the crowd that had gathered looked in our direction.
I heard someone say, "Look at all the blood!" as he pointed towards the sidewalk.
We drove slowly back to the Station in the light of a full moon, the black asphalt street wet and reflective from rain.
A barefoot Mexican kid trotted paralell to our rig, splashing up glassy puddles as he ran, shouting and waving, "HEY Rescue! Hey Al, Hey Mike!"
Al clicked on the siren for a second as he waved at the urchin, who beamed back gratefully, his shiny, black hair streaming rain drops.
We'd been running calls all night.
A cold film of sweat covered my face, my uniform was blood-streaked and damp.
Al pulled the truck to the curb, an ancient, black crone laid on the sidewalk, struggling to rise.
Her white hair was in disarray as she lay propped on one skinny arm.
Al walked over to her and spoke gently, "Are you alright, Grandmother?"
I felt like I was in a dream.
From a small adobe hut in the blackness across the street, mariachi music brassily poured out into the night, mixed with muffled yelps and cries.
The old lady snarled, "Get away, leave me alone or I call the police!"
Next to the house emitting the strange sounds was an old market, made useless by a recent fire.
The rain brought out the smell of burned and blackened timbers, a sickly, smokey, dead odor.
The crone rose unsteadily, desperately clutching a wet paper bag which threatened to dissolve, exposing the green wine bottle within.
Al looked bemused as he returned to the rig and drove on.
He was the kind of Fireman that was moved by death and exposure to the daily grind of existence for so many of the poor in this little barrio in Arizona.
Thunder exploded in the distance, my window was down, the rain drenched my face, it felt good.
Al turned the corner and we approached the Station.
A small, foamy, brown river churned in front of the driveway as we backed in.
Al shut down the engine and I snapped off the radios as he climbed from the rig.
"Let's have some coffee, Mike," he suggested softly.
He walked around the shiny, red unit, opened my door lightly and rested a hand on my shoulder, "Come on, Partner."
I rubbed my eyes wearily, I felt old.
"Go ahead, Al, I'll be right in."
I couldn't get the eyes of the dead, old man out of my thoughts.
As I'd kneeled over him and looked into his staring, sightless eyes, I'd felt something, something that I couldn't verbalize.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
I was sweating profusely, techincally, I was diaphoretic.
I gazed through the windshield at the stall door, my thoughts drifting.

"Mike, wake up! Wake up! We have a call!"
I had dozed off in the cab, still belted in.
"I'm awake, Al." I groaned.
"Are you alright, Mike?" He looked concerned.
I shook my head, drops of perspiration flew from my face, "I'm fine, Al, let's roll."
I grabbed the Meds Radio microphone, "What have we got?"
I looked over at Al as he shifted the vehicle and rolled out into the still rainy night, "Structure fire, " he answered, "Wood Bros Hardware."
I keyed the mike, "Meds, this is Rescue four zero, we're out of service responding to a structure fire at 2229 east two ninth street."
"Check, rescue four zero, let us know when you're back."
"Ten four, Meds control" I replaced the mic and looked in the direction we were headed.
Even in the rain and grey, overcast sky , thick black clouds of smoke were visible.
"We're going to earn our pay tonight, Al." I commented, drily.
Al nodded.
Adrenalin was flooding my system, and I began focusing on what I'd be doing next.
Over the years I'd developed some techniques for dealing with fireground situations, most of the techniques involved ways of physically controlling the results of stress that assaulted the body and mind, while working inside of a building that has become a blazing inferno.

Within a few minutes I would be, once again, putting those techniques to the ultimate test.

Dream Angel

There is a tune is by Ruzsa Magdolna, but it could have been sung by Evelyn to her daughter, my sister, an angel who was taken from us at such a young age.
The song, a mixture of sadness and promise....

Evelyn and Richard Blackburn

Evelyn Marie and her husband Richard, in happier times, obviously.
Richard, formerly known as George, intelligent, handsome, self-confident, he was going places, and he knew it.
He could take it and he could dish it out.

Evelyn was a young beauty, but she didn't think so, or modesty kept her from saying so.
She was intelligent too,  but of a different kind than Richard.
Richard could see a blueprint and extrapolate a supersonic aircraft.
Evelyn saw poetry in everything.

She took to motherhood with a warmth and natural eagerness.
As a young child, when everything, including our father, seemed slightly unfamiliar and confusing,
the warmth and love of the perfect mother was waiting at home.

I remember her taking Patrick and I to school, and feeling sorry for the other kids, and wondering what it must be like to have a mother that wasn't beautiful, like ours.

George Andrew Blackburn, Jr. with Evelyn Marie Blackburn

George still had the body of a middle-weight boxer, which he had been.
He was the Tri-State Golden Gloves Champion, according to Marie Blackburn, his first wife.
Evelyn Marie Blackburn had done some modeling, and probably would have done more, but she fell in love.
She disappeared from the life of her family in Texas.
She left a husband behind.
George left a wife and 5 children.
Was it biology that controlled them?
Was it Kismet?
They started off tragically.
George's wife, when I spoke to her, still loved her husband.
After 30 years she hadn't divorced him.
I never spoke to Evelyn's first husband, but from whart she told me, he was deeply, passionately in love with her.
They started off tragically, but the sparks were there, the love and passion and happiness were there too.
All life ends in death.
We all die.
It's just a question of when.

Liver for all!

Michael came home from Kindergarten, he was excited, "Mom, I learned the pledge of allegiance!"
"Let's hear it, " I respond.
He recited it and did quite well, until he got to this part, "One nation, under God, with liver, tea, and justice for all!"

By Evelyn Marie Blackburn

Liver for all!

Michael came home from Kindergarten, he was excited, "Mom, I learned the pledge of allegiance!"
"Let's hear it, " I respond.
He recited it and did quite well, until he got to this part, "One nation, under God, with liver, tea, and justice for all!"

By Evelyn Marie Blackburn

Happiness

By Evelyn Blackburn, circa 1950


I am floating; suspended in fluid, I  am warm and full and happy, I want for nothing.
I turn, stretch, kick, from sheer delight.
I am alive, the most supremely content human in existence. I do not cerebrate, I absorb sensations, and there are no unpleasant ones. I utilize oxygen but I do not respire. I receive the most ample nourishment
yet I neither masticate nor swallow.
One thing there is which never happened before. This recurrent impression of tautness, surely it should not be, it has been occurring with regularity and increasing frequency, as the the wall of my domain were tightening, closing in, as though ( I must be mistaken) I were being forced out.
But there can be no "out"-what is it? I will not be ejected, help me, help, I am being propelled now through a moist red canal,  save me, something of hard bone and flesh is holding my head!
By my feet I am swung aloft, my lungs inflate to contain my first breath.I release it in a mingled scream of rage and terror as I perceive my tragedy.
This is the World, and I have entered it, I have just been born.