Thread: Wayne Baldwin's Amazing Story: Baldy's Eual Eldred Baldwin

  1. #361
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    Wayne:

    I can completely understand leaving your luggage in the crazy guys car. Had a few rides like that myself when I was hitching back and forth from Louisiana to Little Rock when in college.
    A couple of the guys that picked me up were right out of the "Swamp Tales" or whatever that TV show is that is on now. (No offense to the "MORE SMACK" Boys)

    Did you ever go back and get Tommy's snakes, or is that in another chapter in the story?

  2. #362
    Team Member Gene East's Avatar
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    Wayne,

    Check your e-mail. I want to know about Tommy's snakes too!

  3. #363
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    I too was wondering about the status of the snakes.

    Bill Rosado

  4. #364
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    coming attractions include the snakes, and I guess I should have made myself more plain, but I didn't. When Tommy and I were driving in the bar ditch, he had both hands on the wheel, and I had both hands on the map. We had left our luggage in "Our" car either because we forgot in in the excitement originally, then didn't have time to go back for it before we headed for the plane, or we didn't think in the beginning that it would take so long. So we flew home with all our luggage still in that New Yorker.

    All the whole part of the trip at this point the snakes had been quiet and not bothered us. I plan to pick up with the snakes when we come back to get the car and resume our trip to North Carolina.

    ADD: I got to thinking maybe you guys missed the part about the snakes in post no. 362



  5. #365
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    We were lucky and didn't have to wait all that long for our flight considering we did not have reservations or even knew the flight times to get us home. We booked two coach tickets on Trans Texas Airways which would take us to William P. Hobby in Houston, then on to Corpus Christi.

    It was still in the afternoon when we took off. Tommy and I had seats a little more than halfway back on the port side. I don't remember the manufacturer of the plane, but I do remember the turboprop engines. I could see the port side one from my window seat.

    Trans Texas Airways (TTA) was also known as Tree Top Airways. I'm sure management was all too aware of that, so when they got enough jet planes, they changed their name to Texas International. I guess it was because of their turboprop engines they flew at a relatively low alttitude. I don't remember how high we flew, but it was probaly between six and twelve thousand feet which is perfect for turbulence.

    The stewardess had gone down the aisle asking passengers if they wanted anything to drink, and Tommy and I both declined. The guy in the seat in front of me got a hot cup of coffee. Shortly afterward the pilot told the stewardess (I think there was only one, but might be wrong on that) to take her seat as there would be some turbulence. That flight is the reason I never take my seat belt off. I will loosen it a little to get comfortable after the pilot turns of the seatbelt sign, but I never undo the hasp.

    There must have been a cloud bank, or close to clouds where the turbulence was, but I don't remember that part. All I can remember is a little bit of a bumpy ride earlier, but when we flew into this turbulent section, the plane dropped about one hundred feet in two seconds. I can still see in slow motion like in a racing accident the ball of coffee that rose up past the guy in front of me and splattered onto the ceiling of the fuselage. At least that's what it looked like. The plane actually dropped so fast that the coffee stayed where it was and started turning into a ball when the ceiling smacked it. Then, haven gotten it's bearings back, the coffee started dripping on the gentlman. Tommy and I were a little spooked, but that was the worst of it. It was still very rough flying for three or four minutes more, then we came out of it. After the stewardess started making rounds again, he asked her for some towels. After he got cleaned up as best he could she asked him if he wanted any more coffee. He declined. Every five or ten minutes we flew through some more turbulence, but it was never as vicious or lasted as long as that first one. Soon we were on the ground at Houston. I don't remember if we had to switch planes or not, but it was nighttime when we met Baldy at the airport to take us home. We had a few wild tales to tell him. I guess he thought we weren't in over our heads, so the trip would resume after the car was fixed.

    ADD: This wasn't the first time I landed at the Corpus Christi airport. Almost exactly two years earlier I landed there, but was in the left hand seat at the controls. I was a student pilot and it was my first "cross country" flight. I was intimidated flying into a "big" airport with jets coming and going and a runway so wide I was just wanting to land anywhere and get out of the way. I did exactly what I had not intended to do. My instructor George Smith always told me to pick out a spot to land on final and set a glide path to land on that spot. I never landed on such a wide and long runway so I picked out a spot. I set the little Cessna 172 down a little ways past where yellow chevrons were a couple of hundred feet or so from the beginning of runway 130 and the end of 310. I had told this way back at the beginning of this thread, but since this was my first landing at this airport, I thought I would repeat it.

    The air traffic controller got on the mike and said "What's the matter George....not enough runway for you?" George did something he never did before. He took the controls from me and sped so fast down the runway to the first taxiway, that the plane almost took off. It was wanting to fly, but George kept it on the ground. Then he turned it back over to me to taxi to where where we were supposed to go. In all fairness to George, he was a good instructor. He knew I was going to land way, way short, but he kept his mouth shut just like the first time he pulled the throttle and told me to do an emergency landing. He kept his mouth shut until we were just about committed to landing in a spot that we might not have made, then took the controls. He knew from the beginning I screwed up, but he let me see for myself how bad it could be. I knew we couldn't land where I picked, but we were both silent as I glided down to a field full of lumps and stumps.

    George did the same thing at this airport. He knew I should have looked further downfield for a longer glide path, but he wanted me to figure it out on my own. My landing was perfect, but the ribbing got to George. He taught me a lot, and I have never forgotten the "hands on" troubles he let me go through.



  6. #366
    Team Member Master Oil Racing Team's Avatar
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    There was still stuff to do back home while waiting on the car to be fixed. First on the agenda was to fix that A Konig with the bent head.

    I removed it and began to lap it in on the heavy steel plate that Jack Chance had given us to lap in blocks. We mostly used it to make flat surfaces for a water tight seal between the block and head. I could have taken it to a machine shop to have it milled I suppose, but I thought I could do it all in our shop. Jack had taught me how to move a piece around so that you do not lap it in all in the same pattern. However, with the head being bent like it was, I had to have a more or less flat place to start, and the flattest portion was the part that was pushed out. The top cylinder, to below the top half was most flat, and so in lapping the head in, I was taking more off the top than the bottom. It wasn't obvious to the naked eye, but you could really see it on the diminishing volume top the top cylinder head.

    It took several days, as I would get bored and go to something else for a break. At last I could tell I had made enough headway (no pun) that I was getting close. Jack told me to get some kind of blue spray to coat the surface with. I don't remember what it's called. Bluing comes to mind, but that's how firearms are treated for corrosion protection. Anyway, you guys know the stuff I'm talking about.

    I would spray this on then lap the head. Finally, all the blue would come off all the way around the outside of the head for a good outside seal on the water jacket, as well as a good tight seal for the combustion chamber. The ring which would seat up against the liner was now very wide. I centered up a piston and marked around it to see where to start grinding to get the CC's of the head back to the proper specs.

    Those little Dremel tools have been around a long time, and it was with one of those I patiently ground away trying to match the bottom part of the head. It needed more volume as well, but not quite as much. The top part was also uneven since more aluminum had been taken off the top part. In the meantime, Baldy had ordered a new crankshaft from Scott Smith and this one had needle bearings for the little end of the rod like all of our other Konigs.

    After several days of off and on grinding, I was getting close to bolting the head to the block and checking clearances and volume of each cylinder head. I couldn't do this though until we installed the new crank, pistons, rings, and got everything spaced out.



  7. #367
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    I can't remember how many days it was before we got one way tickets back to Lake Charles to resume our trip, but it was around a week or so. Fortunately, the delay didn't affect Tommy any. He was still available and ready to go, plus he was really looking forward to getting his snakes to a new home.

    Baldy dropped us off at the Corpus Christi Airport. It is still not big as airports go, but it was pretty small back then with only one gate for all flights. There was a large room with glass walls to look our over the field and watch planes landing and taking off. Eastern, Trans Texas, and Delta flew out of there, and of course charters, and maybe some smaller commuter planes. The baggage terminal was outside next to the gate under a roof. The baggage cart would just drop off all luggage from all flights at the same place, and if it was cold and raining you had to pull your coat tight, duck your head and run from the gate to the covered baggage area. It would only keep the rain off, but not the cold out.

    To board or disembark from an airplane you had to walk about fifty to sixty yards out on the apron where the plane was parked. Ground crews would push a stair step ramp with wheels up to the plane exit behind the cockpit for passengers to walk up or down. It was common in South Texas to leave an air conditioned gate to face blazing heat was shimmering heat waves coming off the asphalt on the way to board the plane.

    We went back to Lake Charles the same way we got home via "Tree Top Airways" through Houston. There was nothing memorable about this flight other than the novelty of flying over new territory in the daytime with a planeload of passengers. This time we took a taxi, and we went straight to the Chrysler dealership. We were anxious to get on the road. We should have already been back home from our original start.

    I don't recall whether Baldy had made arrangements to pay before we got there or he sent the money to me, but what I do remember is the mechanic who had befriended us came running up as Tommy and I walked over to where the snakes were stashed. He had another cajun mechanic with him and said to me "Tell him what you done tol me bout dem snakes you got on a leash." I was a little bit confused. In the first place I had to listen closely because of his accent, but I couldn't remember anything in particular I said. So I asked, "What do you mean? What did I tell you?" "Aww you know. Bout how you walk dem six foot rattlers aroun on a leash?" He was such a good guy I hated to bust his bubble, but I told him "No...I didn't say we had them on a leash, I said they were on our LEASE...a deer lease where we hunt.". His buddy ribbed him and if I thought there was a way to help out his story, I would have, but I couldn't lie. He had obviously been waiting the whole time for us to get back for me back up what he thought I said. Just a little misunderstanding between a South Texas drawl and Southern Louisiana Cajun.

    With the 13 rattlesnakes and 1 hognose once again resting on the floorboard behind my seat, we hit the road. We were getting a much later start than we wanted to, but with all the waiting that goes with flying, you just have to go with what is available.



  8. #368
    Team Member Master Oil Racing Team's Avatar
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    When we left Lake Charles headed east the weather was fine. A few miles out of town getting closer to Kenner, Tommy and I both looked over to the right where we broke down. I don't recall if we said anything, but I remember checking it out. Maybe to see if there was any scorch on the asphalt.

    Now we could lay back and cruise. This interstate stuff was nice. Go the speed limit, not have to worry about cities and towns, red lights, stop signs or 30 mph traffic. Just go..go..go!

    The only stop we had to make between Lake Charles and Greensboro, North Carolina besides fuel, food, and sleep was LaPlace, Louisiana. It is about thirty miles northwest of New Orleans the best I remember where IH 10 dips back down from Balton Rouge. Correct pronunciation is La PLAHHSS! LaPlace was where the snake farm was that Tommy wanted to take the snakes.

    We found it on the map, and it was where Tommy said it would be. I wanted to see New Orleans for the first time, but the snakes needed to get to their new home. We would stop by New Orleans on the way home.

    I was driving, and we had the music going listening to Stevie Wonder belt out "I was made to love her" and Scott McKenzie sing the the song "San Francisco" that I think helped solidify the phrase "Flower Power" in the Summer of '67, and caused it to be known from then and ever more as "The Summer of Love".

    With some apprehension I began to feel our journey entering an unknown phase. Red taillights, traffic slowing, not an accident. Lane signs appeared showing a detour just about the time a mist on the windshield seemed like the first boats entered the first turn. No...it was a detour. No problem. We have gone through detours before. Lots of construction going on all across the United States. The Interstate was being constructed and there were lots of detours around all the little towns while the engineers moved traffic around.

    How many of you have ever been to Breaux Bridge? I'm sure it is a very fine town. I never had the chance to see after exiting IH10 at the Breaux Bridge exit. Having to take the detour, I noticed that most of the traffic was truck traffic. There was never a time that headlights weren't shining over the top of our New Yorker and close enough to give us a jump start should we need it. It may have been just the one truck pushing us, but I doubt it. The westbound traffic was just as packed. Two lanes east, two lanes west funneled down to one lane each way meant frustration and PO'd truck drivers. This was before CB's and "Smokey and the Bandit". I don't think the writer's could have figured out a way, other than some James Bond method of passing on this stretch of highway.

    It was one lane east and west heavily crowned. On each side there was no shoulder at all. If you started to slide going either direction, you were going down into the swamp. There was water on both sides. The road was built to get from one side of the Atchafalaya Delta to the other long before IH 10 was envisioned.

    It must have been a fantastic road for doing that, back when the alternative would be barges, boats and pireauxs. But with all the traffic on IH 10, the road was a white knuckle headache to cross.

    Rain picked up, and I was terribly stressed at driving this section. It was dark, overcast and traffic on the left unrelenting. I would not even consider passing the truck in front swirling billowing clouds of spray despite the headlights of the truck behind that I thought would just as soon as push us off into the swamp.

    I don't remember exactly how many miles it was before we got back on IH 10 to cross the Atchafalaya River Basin, but it was a lifetime experience of driving. I had to repeat it once more at this same exit, the next year, then once more on the way to Minnesota several years later on the deadliest 21 mile stretch in America.

    The slow down from the detour, plus the rain put us way behind schedule. Tommy was very worried. We had to keep on our track to North Carolina. Boat races were scheduled. We had already lost more than a week, and we had too much time to make up. After this detour through Breaux Bridge, we didn't know what else we would be looking at.

    Tommy was very down, but I told him, I would try to get us to LaPlace as soon as I could, but if they were not open, we would have to continue down the road. It was around six O'clock that evening that we pulled into a gravel lot with a nondescript white clapboard building looking at us. The parking lot was empty. Rain was pouring down harder than ever. It was a miserable day.

    I told Tommy "I think they are closed". He said "Let me go knock on the door". I said "O.K." That was the least I could do for him since it was "drownded rat" rate of downpour and he would be the "drownded rat".

    Surprisingly, the door opened after Tommy beat a couple of raps. He said something to the man, then pulling his jacket over his head, he ran back to my side and hollered "Come on".



  9. #369
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    I got out of the Chrysler and ran to the open door, but still got wet. We didn't lock car doors then. I would have been a drownded rat if I tried. Who would ever thought back then you could push a button and your car's horn would honk to let you know that it locked itself.

    The proprietor of the place flicked on the regular lighting and Tommy commenced to tell him our story and begin to bargain. It wasn't much of a bargain. Tommy had to produce the snakes, and the alligator he would recieve depended on how much they weighed.

    I don't know when or where Tommy got the snakes, or how long it had been since they had been fed. They looked kind of skinny to me, but they never rattled, hissed, or even seem pissed that a hognose snake laid in that sack all that time with them and no food.

    The owner looked inside that towsack, grabbed the top of the open side, then grabbing the bottom, dumped the whole sack into what looked like a stainless steel bowl suspended below the scales.

    I don't know how much they weighed. The snakes just let the guy do what he wanted and never complained. My eyes were focused on the hundreds of rattlesnakes in the pit below us.

    About fifteen feet inside the door was a pit about twelve or fifteen feet across and about the same depth. The scales were about 7:00 O' Clock on the circular pit, and below it were all those rattlesnakes. They were all sizes, and probably different makes and models, but not were as large as the south Texas models. Since Tommy's weren't fat and sassy either, I figured that's what the herptologists do. Keep the snakes skinny and lethargic. I'm kind of glad about that, since Tommy stashed them behind my seat instead of his.

    The proprietor measured Tommy's snakes including the hognose all together then turned the tray and they all fell down into that pit. I was worried about the fall, plus that hognose. Tommy and the guy didn't seem bothered. They knew snakes, and I didn't....so I quit worrying. The snakes below only seemed to be bothered about having to move to a different spot, but not too far.

    The proprietor gave Tommy an American Alligator about eighteen or twenty inches long, based on the weight of the rattlesnakes and one hognose. He put that in a sack, and I was ready to hit the road. The sun was still not down, but it was very dark and still pouring rain. I wanted to get as far down the road as we could before we had to shut down for the night.

    Tommy had already told this guy about his Dad Dr. Albert and his love for all types of reptiles. The guy said that he would not only give us a free tour of the snake farm, but show us a rare white cobra with it's hood flared. That not only did it for Tommy, but for me as well.

    Driving up to the Snake Farm, you would not be that impressed. Inside, however, was a different story. It wasn't that big, but the glass displays were clean and immaculent.. The number of species was unbelievable. It was arranged like a Zoo would do it.

    He quickly showed us around all his exhibits, and pointed out some of his special snakes including a flying snake. I had never heard of that until then. I've seen several since then, The way this guy displayed his snakes was a marvel. I suppose that's how Dr. Albert and his son Tommy picked this place out. But the special white cobra was waiting..

    We had passed the cage of the white cobra in the quick roundabout and came back to it. The proprietor led us back to the cage and started talking to it. I don't remember what he was saying, but the cobra didn't care. We stood there looking directly at a rare white cobra. It was not that big in circumferece that I remember. Maybe one and a half or two inches thick, but it was very long. It was hard to tell exactly how long because it was curved around. The color I remember was about like ivory.

    The proprietor kept trying to coak it to lift his head and spread it'hood. It ignored him. Finally the guy opened up the door to the cage and tugged a little bit on it's tail. No bother. He pulled this time. Nothing. The Cobra didn't care. He reached farther in and moved the cobra's tail to a different position. The man was careful each time, and kept his eyes on the cobra's eyes and head which was still resting on a coil at the back of the cage. The cobra was also watching the man. I don't know about Tommy, but I was ready to leave. Not just to get down the road, but I didn't like being there with a guy tugging on an eight foot cobra's tail with the door opened.

    The proprietor knew we had to get on the road so he jerked the cobra's tail real hard and the white cobra lifted his head about a foot and a half off his coils and spread his hood. That was enough for me and the proprietor. He wasn't afraid. He just figured he had to do something to make his cobra impress his guests before we hit the road. he did. I'll never forget that personal tour.

    We got back out onto the highway, and it was still raining. Even though it was dark, the sun had not set that long ago. There was still some ground to make up before we shut down.



  10. #370
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    We continued to head east on IH 10. I don't remember where we spent the night, but it was probably just west of Mobile, Alabama near or before IH 65 turns northeast. I really didn't remember IH 65 until a few years ago when we went down a big part of it with our neighbors, but back then it was piecemeal. Drive a little way on it, then get back on state roads and U.S. Highways.

    I normally didn't eat breakfast back then. In those days, I didn't like bacon, eggs or coffee, and while pancakes were good, they tickled the roof of my mouth. So, unless we found a doughnut shop, we hit the road without breakfast. Somewhere a little after noon, we began looking for a place to stop and eat. We were on a very long stretch of the interstate now somewhere in Georgia. It must have cut through some large forests with no towns because we never passed through any cities, and there were no gas stations or restaurants at any intersections. Every time we approached an intersection the signs showed the towns to be ten, fifteen, twenty miles or more in either direction so we kept moving.

    Finally, around 1:30 or so we spotted a sign of a town about twenty miles north of the intersection. We had not come upon any signs of towns anywhere near for awhile so we took the exit. It was a winding road taking us through the forest to a small town set back in the hills. I don't remember the name of it, but it had one outstanding feature. There was a very large brick building that I believe was two or three stories and went a whole block. I think there were other structures behind that building in a courtyard like area, but my memory is too dim. There were around twenty to thirty people walking back to it having come off a lunch break, or shift change. We found no real restaurant in the town as you would envision, but there was a large white frame clapboard house up the hill caddy corner to the factory, and half a dozen or more people were on the porch and walking down the steps headed back to the factory. Somebody in town must have given us directions because I don't remember seeing any sign on the house..

    We found a piece of ground to park, and walked across the road and up the steep hill to the stairs. The wooden porch was about forty feet long and ten or twelve feet deep. The door was open, and a screen door with a spring kept the bugs out. The house was completely surrounded by large broadleaf trees, and with the ceiling fans inside the house, no airconditioning was needed. It was a large old home turned into a cafe to feed the workers.

    Every person I saw that worked in the cafe looked like someone's grandma, and they were just as kindly as a grandma could be. The lady who waited on us, told us what they had, and said we got there at a good time. Workers were heading back to work. She told us that the factory was a tannery.

    Tommy and I were starving, and we didn't have to wait long because the food had already been prepared boarding house style. All we had to do was wait for the food to be placed on the plates and brought to the table. We had a couple of meat choices , and several choices of vegetables. Tommy and I both got fried chicken, and I got mustard greens, mashed potatoes with gravy and a real homemade biscuit. I don't remember what else Tommy ordered, but in short order we were shoveling down food. Plates were piled high, and it was all home cooked. On top of that we got a generous bowl of peach cobbler to finish the meal off. I can't remember the exact amount, but I do recall that it was just about what you would pay for a big breakfast in a city. It was somewhere between three fifty but less than four dollars per plate.

    Fully satisfied with our accidental and lucky choice, we drifted back toward the interstate admiring the scenery. Back on the interstate, I was still behind the wheel and had been doing all the driving so far. About a half hour later we had to leave the interstate and get back on a U.S. Highway or a State Highway. I was getting very drowsy also from eaten that much food, so I thought it would be a good time to let Tommy take over the driving chores for awhile. It was a two lane road, albeit hilly and curvy, but traffic was fairly light this time of day. I laid against the passenger door and tried to get a little sleep, but every time I just about went out, Tommy would drift one way or the other too far, and jerk the wheel to get the Chrysler centered back in our lane. Then I would be startled awake. He would not maintain speed either. He would speed up or slow down. After about twenty minutes, I couldn't take it any more. I was afraid I would wake up when the car started tumbling down an embankment. I couldn't sleep so I sat up and watched him drive for a little bit more. Tommy was a good guy, and interesting to talk to, but he was not a good driver at all. After I got back behind the wheel, we were able to reenter the interstate another five or ten miles, so I told Tommy to kick back and get some sleep.

    I can safely say that the Tremelo's were playing there song "Silence is Golden" about this time, because it was on the air about every twenty minutes it seemed. I just set back to cruise down the highway and listen to music. Stevie Wonder's "I was made to love her", Procol Harum's "A whiter shade of Pale", Beatle's "All you need is Love", the Doors Light my Fire", Scott McKenzie's "San Francisco" which was like the anthem of the Summer of Love, and one song we hadn't heard yet, but DJ's had been talking about every since we got into Louisiana. It had first been played somewhere in the south, I think either Tennessee or Mississipi. We kept having to change stations as we got out of range, and all stations were AM. Without exception though, every DJ was talking about this song that had only hit the airways within a few days earlier or maybe a week. It was a song by an artist unknown only a week or so earlier by the name of Bobby Gentry. How it was that they could be so excited and ramble on about this new hit wonder and play "Silence is Golden" over and over, but not this new song puzzled me. They would tease that it was coming up, but with the mountains and our travel, we would have to change stations before we ever heard it.

    The New Yorker did not have cruise control. There was not much traffic, and the music was keeping me company. I generally did not speed, but I had not seen a state trooper for awhile, so I gradually increased my speed to make up some time.We had been rolling along about an hour when there appeared on the side of the road temporary orange signs with a notice of a work crew and other signs with a temporary speed limit of 35 miles per hour. I didn't brake, I just let my foot off the gas and let the car start slowing down. The change of wind noise caused Tommy to wake up. He sat up bleary eyed and asked "How slow are we going?" I looked down at the speedometer and said "Fifty five." He eyes suddenly wide awake he then asked "How FAST were we going?" I just said "A hundred and five." It seemed like we were going so slow, I just couldn't bring the speed down to thirty five and we were shortly through the maintenance zone.



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