what prevented the house from burning, because the flames came to a halt only a few feet away. If the wind changed direction you would nearly suffo-cate on thick, black smoke.
The one time that the house did nearly burn to the ground was because the wood-burning stove started a fire in the ceiling. The fire department had to come and spray the place down. Unfortunately, the trucks arrived in time to put it out.
As I watched, I desperately prayed that the entire shack would burn so I’d never have to see it again. It survived with little damage.
Jack was a roofer by trade, and he started taking small jobs on the side, repair-ing residential homes to bring in a little extra cash. I started going with him, learning the process. I was only about thirteen, so mostly what I did was clean up the area when he was finished, and he’d give me a few dollars.
Perhaps up until this point I’ve painted a completely unsympathetic portrait of Jack. He wasn’t an absolute monster any more than anyone else is. He was just a man, both good and bad. I believe he cared about both my sister and I, in his own way. He could be generous, and stopped to help every single person whose car was broken down on the side of the road. He always gave hitchhikers a ride, and was more tolerant of any form of self-expression I chose than any other parent would have been. I was free to dress however I pleased and listen to whatever music I liked. He had no problem with things like me wearing earrings, and I heard him tell my mother more than once, “He’s just trying to find himself.”
Damien Echols
31
My mother was also a more dynamic character than she may seem. She always made certain we had enough to eat (even though it was junk food), she always went to open house night at school to meet my teachers, and she made sure that we got Easter baskets with chocolate rabbits. She tried to take care of us when we were sick, although she had no idea what she was doing. Sometimes her idea of taking care was to sit next to the bed as I struggled with bronchitis, and keep watch while smoking generic cigarettes.
I’m now at a point in my life where I look back on both of them with mingled feeling of love, disgust, affection, resentment, and sometimes hatred. There’s too much betrayal to ever be completely forgiven. I am not like my mother who may argue with you one day and go back to life as usual the next. My grudge is always there, and my moods are not flippant. The best I can do is say that their good deeds may have softened the blow of the bad ones.
XII
Next to come were the joys of junior high school. Many significant events and rites of passage took place during the time I inhabited the halls of this repugnant example of our educational system. I had my first taste of beer, I had my first look at pornography, I took up skateboarding, and I met Jason Baldwin.
The beer and pornography were compliments of my stepbrother, who was actually a pretty decent guy despite having a drinking problem. He gave me the first of only two experiences I’ve ever had behind the wheel of a vehicle. He drove an old pickup truck with a jacked-up rear end and super wide back tires. One day as I sat in the passenger seat, listening to Alice Cooper on the radio, my brother tossed out the empty beer can he’d been holding between his legs, looked at me with bleary eyes, and asked, “Wanna drive?”
I responded with the phrase every southerner uses on a regular basis—“Hell yeah.”
He pulled over and exchanged places with me, then instructed me on how to drive the last couple of miles to his house. He was extremely laid back (out in the middle of nowhere there’s not much to crash into), and told me repeatedly, “You can go faster.” I used to look up to him, but haven’t seen him in many years now.
By this time all of Jacks’ kids had long since moved off on their own, but this particular stepbrother, along with his wife and infant daughter, were forced to
The one time that the house did nearly burn to the ground was because the wood-burning stove started a fire in the ceiling. The fire department had to come and spray the place down. Unfortunately, the trucks arrived in time to put it out.
As I watched, I desperately prayed that the entire shack would burn so I’d never have to see it again. It survived with little damage.
Jack was a roofer by trade, and he started taking small jobs on the side, repair-ing residential homes to bring in a little extra cash. I started going with him, learning the process. I was only about thirteen, so mostly what I did was clean up the area when he was finished, and he’d give me a few dollars.
Perhaps up until this point I’ve painted a completely unsympathetic portrait of Jack. He wasn’t an absolute monster any more than anyone else is. He was just a man, both good and bad. I believe he cared about both my sister and I, in his own way. He could be generous, and stopped to help every single person whose car was broken down on the side of the road. He always gave hitchhikers a ride, and was more tolerant of any form of self-expression I chose than any other parent would have been. I was free to dress however I pleased and listen to whatever music I liked. He had no problem with things like me wearing earrings, and I heard him tell my mother more than once, “He’s just trying to find himself.”
Damien Echols
31
My mother was also a more dynamic character than she may seem. She always made certain we had enough to eat (even though it was junk food), she always went to open house night at school to meet my teachers, and she made sure that we got Easter baskets with chocolate rabbits. She tried to take care of us when we were sick, although she had no idea what she was doing. Sometimes her idea of taking care was to sit next to the bed as I struggled with bronchitis, and keep watch while smoking generic cigarettes.
I’m now at a point in my life where I look back on both of them with mingled feeling of love, disgust, affection, resentment, and sometimes hatred. There’s too much betrayal to ever be completely forgiven. I am not like my mother who may argue with you one day and go back to life as usual the next. My grudge is always there, and my moods are not flippant. The best I can do is say that their good deeds may have softened the blow of the bad ones.
XII
Next to come were the joys of junior high school. Many significant events and rites of passage took place during the time I inhabited the halls of this repugnant example of our educational system. I had my first taste of beer, I had my first look at pornography, I took up skateboarding, and I met Jason Baldwin.
The beer and pornography were compliments of my stepbrother, who was actually a pretty decent guy despite having a drinking problem. He gave me the first of only two experiences I’ve ever had behind the wheel of a vehicle. He drove an old pickup truck with a jacked-up rear end and super wide back tires. One day as I sat in the passenger seat, listening to Alice Cooper on the radio, my brother tossed out the empty beer can he’d been holding between his legs, looked at me with bleary eyes, and asked, “Wanna drive?”
I responded with the phrase every southerner uses on a regular basis—“Hell yeah.”
He pulled over and exchanged places with me, then instructed me on how to drive the last couple of miles to his house. He was extremely laid back (out in the middle of nowhere there’s not much to crash into), and told me repeatedly, “You can go faster.” I used to look up to him, but haven’t seen him in many years now.
By this time all of Jacks’ kids had long since moved off on their own, but this particular stepbrother, along with his wife and infant daughter, were forced to
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