Ken Frisbie Jr

I don’t get heavily armed and jump out of airplanes no more.

I don’t run moonshine no more.

I don’t sell vacuum cleaners door-to-door no more.

And I ain’t married no more.

I was born on the Jersey Shore a while back, and did my best to leave my mark. Early on I delivered newspapers on horseback and sold pony rides. I learned to play several instruments and played the slide trombone in the Pleasantville High School band, and dated the best looking majorette. My Dad was my favorite teacher.

I became the guru of Robert’s Rules of Parliamentary Procedures, and was elected student body president. Of course I tried hard to educate the “powers-that-be” in an appropriate way of managing school business, and was thus a frustration to my Dad. They built a new school after I left.

Pre-Med at Rutgers University was interesting; I wanted to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps and be a veterinarian. I gained notoriety by becoming the only student, ever, to be reprimanded by both the dean on men and the dean of women during the week of orientation. (That’s a whole ‘nother story) I especially enjoyed traveling to football games with the band, the co-ed mingling, my stint as a short-order cook, the gang I hung out with at the roller rink, the black eyes and bruises I got skating professional roller derby, and my…uh…studies.

Uncle Sam requested my services. I went. Soon I earned a court-martial for striking the officer who caught me selling cases of beer in a remote bivouac area. I volunteered for airborne duty to escape the wrath of the company commander. (That’s a whole ‘nother story)

The 8081st Airborne Quartermaster outfit was crucial during the Korean Conflict. I worked hard and did my best, but had another misunderstanding with the brass, and had to earn my PFC stripe again. (That’s a whole ‘nother story)

We were stationed at Ashiya Air Force Base on the island of Kyushu, Japan when the truce was signed. I was the only paratrooper to qualify for the Air Force football team. I played right half-back on the traveling team. I wasn’t all that good.

Back home I took my severance pay and drifted back to Ft. Benning, Georgia, where I had gone through jump school. I played poker well, so fell in with the gambling crowd across the river in Phoenix City, Alabama…”Sin City U.S.A.” I was soon running a little moonshine, chasing a girl or two, and with my winnings bought a small eatery. But, as luck would have it, on July 18, 1954 some underworld murderous activity brought Martial Law to our town. Armed soldiers on every corner, and some stationed in-between, led to a dead town.

I retreated to Miami Beach, Florida, and immediately, through no fault of my own, displeased the local constabulary. The murder of Albert Patterson in Sin City was well covered by the national press, and the Russell County tag on my brand spanking new red Chevy convertible didn’t help. We agreed for me to leave town. Orlando, Florida was my next stop.

I could talk a lot and I could sell anything. Door-to door selling was in its glory days and I prospered. The Corporation sent me to Sanford Florida to manage a branch office. I soon resigned my position and founded my own Appliance and L.P. Gas Company.

My best salesman sold a unit way out in the country, and, by chance, I went on the delivery. It was a hot day and just as the delivery was done and the papers signed, the customer’s daughter came home. Wow! She was a looker. I had to impress her. I dilly-dallied around until she changed to her swim suit; it was…revealing. I ended up borrowing her brother’s swimming trunks and we headed for the Mill Pond. We were alone. Things worked out. After an eventful courtship we were married.

An…uh…mistake, or two precipitated another change of domicile and I went to work for Walgreen Drug Company. I moved into management and soon was transferred to Tallahassee, Florida. I embraced my growing family. Dad always said it would take me a while to catch on.

Managing someone else’s business was never my cup of tea. I was soon out on my own again, bought a restaurant, and then another. My family continued to grow. I opened another restaurant.

Bed time for five youngsters can be challenging so I introduced my kids to Jiles and Duke Robert who, back in olden times, lived in an English castle complete with moat and drawbridge. Although Jiles was a commoner’s son, the young lads played together, learned horsemanship and all about weaponry. The Black Knight, was a notorious outlaw who wreaked all sorts of mayhem on the countryside and troubled the Earl, Robert’s father, no end. Creating stories such as this one is how I became a story teller.

In 1980 Castro precipitated the Mariel Boat Lift. I bid on, and won a $6.4 million dollar Federal contract to feed five thousand Cuban Refugees twice a day. In my opinion, Uncle Sam still owes me some dollars. (That’s a whole ‘nother story)

Before I retired, I operated a fleet of snack trucks.

My wife divorced me.

I now have five successful children.

A passel of Grands.

And a crowd of Great Grands.

I graduated with an Associate’s degree from Tallahassee Community College, where I excelled at creative writing. (That’s a whole ‘nother story)

I’m in school now; want to be a paralegal when I grow up

I enjoy life, family, writing, and tooling around in my blue VW convertible.