played music at night, then came straight home and got some sleep. At eleven A.M. , I was off to the day job. I started by making appointments with people working at offices in the Gulf Building in downtown Houston. I would begin on the top floor and work my way down to ground level. Even though I was only showing up for three hours a day, I was the company’s top salesman. I figured that I was doing pretty damn good. Unfortunately, my boss, Ed Benson, saw it otherwise and fired me.
First he called me in and demanded that I work a regular nine-to-five schedule. “But I’m already selling more than anybody else,” I said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Ed said. “Just think how much you could sell if you put in a full day. Look at the commissions you could be earning!”
“I don’t care about the commissions,” I countered. “I’m doing just fine.”
“Well,” he replied, “you’re bringing down the company’s morale. You’re the top salesman and only working three hours a day!” I found that to be a position I couldn’t argue with. Ed had a point. I had to go.
Ed Benson was actually a good guy. He and his wife, Elaine, liked me and no doubt just thought I was undisciplined. The trouble was, it wasn’t discipline I lacked. It was time. I needed every hour I could squeeze out of a day to become a musician.
The truth is, Janice’s parents never got used to the idea of their son-in-law being a musician, whether I was making money with a series of day jobs or not. Once they saw that I wasn’t going to change my career ambitions away from music, they wanted little to do with the marriage. They wrote me off as a long-term breadwinner, and our marriage turned sour and lasted only until the next October of 1959.
The whole thing ground to a halt one day when our daughter, Carole, was about six months old. Janice and I were having what some might call an argument, but it was actually more of a difference of opinion. I don’t even remember what it was about. I am capable of getting pretty heated during an exchange of views, and Janice was the kind of person who hated confrontation.
The one thing I didn’t want to happen was to say something that would hurt Janice or fill me with guilt and regret down the line. I loved Janice and had no intention of hurting her. Plus, remember, I never saw my dad, even in his most drunken state, fight with my mom. I hadn’t grown up around parents who yelled at each other or said nasty things. So I decided to take a walk and cool off.
“I’m gonna walk around the block,” I said. “Let’s not say things that will be hard to take back.” I left, walked around a while, and returned to the apartment to find Janice’s mother there helping her pack.
“You’ve ruined my daughter’s life,” she snapped. “I’m taking her out of here, and don’t you ever call her again.” I was so shocked I honestly didn’t know what to think or do. Afterward I kept trying to get Janice on the telephone, but I never could make it past her parents. Finally one day I called in the middle of the day and Janice answered. I had my speech prepared.
“This is crazy, Janice,” I said. “I love you. Let’s go somewhere with Carole and get a sandwich or something and try to work this out. I know we can.”
“Just a second,” she replied. “I have to ask my mother.” When she came back to the phone, she said, “I’m sorry, Kenneth, but Mother won’t let me go.”
Janice’s parents obviously thought I was worthless. That’s when I decided to just walk away. That’s how I have always been with unresolved, and seemingly irresolvable, situations. I give someone every chance, but if the situation turns bad, I completely shut down. I close myself off to that person and it’s never the same for me. It’s like a light switch. I click it off and walk away.
In April 1960, less than two years after we married, our divorce was finalized, with Janice having custody of Carole and me
First he called me in and demanded that I work a regular nine-to-five schedule. “But I’m already selling more than anybody else,” I said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Ed said. “Just think how much you could sell if you put in a full day. Look at the commissions you could be earning!”
“I don’t care about the commissions,” I countered. “I’m doing just fine.”
“Well,” he replied, “you’re bringing down the company’s morale. You’re the top salesman and only working three hours a day!” I found that to be a position I couldn’t argue with. Ed had a point. I had to go.
Ed Benson was actually a good guy. He and his wife, Elaine, liked me and no doubt just thought I was undisciplined. The trouble was, it wasn’t discipline I lacked. It was time. I needed every hour I could squeeze out of a day to become a musician.
The truth is, Janice’s parents never got used to the idea of their son-in-law being a musician, whether I was making money with a series of day jobs or not. Once they saw that I wasn’t going to change my career ambitions away from music, they wanted little to do with the marriage. They wrote me off as a long-term breadwinner, and our marriage turned sour and lasted only until the next October of 1959.
The whole thing ground to a halt one day when our daughter, Carole, was about six months old. Janice and I were having what some might call an argument, but it was actually more of a difference of opinion. I don’t even remember what it was about. I am capable of getting pretty heated during an exchange of views, and Janice was the kind of person who hated confrontation.
The one thing I didn’t want to happen was to say something that would hurt Janice or fill me with guilt and regret down the line. I loved Janice and had no intention of hurting her. Plus, remember, I never saw my dad, even in his most drunken state, fight with my mom. I hadn’t grown up around parents who yelled at each other or said nasty things. So I decided to take a walk and cool off.
“I’m gonna walk around the block,” I said. “Let’s not say things that will be hard to take back.” I left, walked around a while, and returned to the apartment to find Janice’s mother there helping her pack.
“You’ve ruined my daughter’s life,” she snapped. “I’m taking her out of here, and don’t you ever call her again.” I was so shocked I honestly didn’t know what to think or do. Afterward I kept trying to get Janice on the telephone, but I never could make it past her parents. Finally one day I called in the middle of the day and Janice answered. I had my speech prepared.
“This is crazy, Janice,” I said. “I love you. Let’s go somewhere with Carole and get a sandwich or something and try to work this out. I know we can.”
“Just a second,” she replied. “I have to ask my mother.” When she came back to the phone, she said, “I’m sorry, Kenneth, but Mother won’t let me go.”
Janice’s parents obviously thought I was worthless. That’s when I decided to just walk away. That’s how I have always been with unresolved, and seemingly irresolvable, situations. I give someone every chance, but if the situation turns bad, I completely shut down. I close myself off to that person and it’s never the same for me. It’s like a light switch. I click it off and walk away.
In April 1960, less than two years after we married, our divorce was finalized, with Janice having custody of Carole and me
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