What Do I Do Now, Mom?
by: E Walk
(© 2009-2010 by the Author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 39 

Dad, I Wanna Go Home

As we were driving to the courthouse, I was reading the notes that Uncle Mark had written for us.  I started to laugh.

“Dad, what’s wrong?”

“Witt, these directions that Uncle Mark gave us are so explicit that we should be in and out of the courthouse in an hour.  Uncle Mark must think we’re first graders.  I’m surprised that he didn't schedule our bathroom breaks.”

When we arrived at the courthouse parking lot, Witt parked as far away from the entrance as he possibly could get.  “Witt, there are a lot of parking spaces closer to the entrance.  Why are we parking way back here?”

“Dad, I'm sure that everyone who comes here is in a hurry.  They don’t care about other peoples’ property.  I need to make sure that I can take good care of my car, and keep it looking nice, as long as I can.  It will probably be a long time before I can buy another one.”

I’m not going to explain in detail, the experiences we had in the courthouse, because you wouldn’t believe me.  Our first stop was at the office, to pick up the ten copies of Mr. Latham’s death certificate.  Forty five minutes later, and $60.00 poorer, we made our way to the vehicle registration desk, where there was a line waiting to be serviced.

This stop took us an hour and fifteen minutes, before the lady who was servicing us put the information into the computer.  “Sir, there has to be a mistake.  There is no way that you could purchase this vehicle for that price.”

I looked at the lady, “Ma’am, call Mrs. Rhodes, and she will verify that that is what Mr. Latham paid for the vehicle.  Her number is on the purchase agreement.”

The lady made a call and that started the round of consulting with at least six supervisors, before we were told that we would have to pay the sales tax of $187.50 and a processing fee of $20.00.  The lady almost had a stroke when Witt asked, “Where do I change the name on the deed to this property, to mine, instead of my deceased Father?”

The lady pointed, “Young man, this window only deals with motor vehicles.  Real estate is handled by the adjacent window.”

Oh. I forgot that we also had to stop and pay the $207.50 at the cashiers cage, which took another 20 minutes.  When we stopped at the real estate office, the lady looked at the documentation that we gave her and said, “Come back in an hour and I’ll have the title transferred to your name.  It’s my lunch break.”

Witt climbed on the counter, “Lady, get someone else to take care of this, or take your lunch break later.  What are all those people doing who are sitting there looking like they’re busy, doing?  Get your supervisor here, and I mean now.”

The lady started to shake, “I’ll have the new deed ready for you in twenty minutes.”

The new deed was ready in record time, but we had to spend another 20 minutes in the treasure’s line to pay the $50.00 fee for processing.

Witt looked at me, “Dad, what do we need to do now?  I’m getting hungry and we’ve been in this building for almost four hours.  I thought you said we would be out of here in about an hour.”

We went to the vehicle licensing area, and there was one person on duty,  but there were twelve people standing in line waiting to get their licenses or renewal tags.  Witt looked around, “Dad, what are all of those people doing who are sitting there ignoring the people waiting in line?”

“Beats me.  I guess they’re taking care of mail order renewals.”

“Why can’t they do that when there aren’t people standing in line?  It seems to me that everyone in this building is moving in slow motion.  Not only that, there seems to be a lot of people standing around visiting.”

Our conversation was interrupted by a voice, “Pardon me, young man.  We’ve been taping your experience here at the Court House.  It appears that you aren’t impressed with the service that you’ve received.”

Witt looked at the man, “We came here expecting to be out of here about an hour.  We’ve been here over four hours.  I think that I can safely say that service isn’t one of the virtues of the county employees who work here.  I would guess that the number of employees could be significantly reduced without a loss of the non existent service.”

Finally a second station was opened by a gentleman.  We were the next in line to be served when a man arrived in a wheelchair and moved to the front to the station that was handicapped accessible were scheduled to be served.  Witt looked at me, “It’s a conspiracy.  They’re trying to keep us captive.”

The man called out, “Next.”

Witt and I moved to the counter and the man looked at the paperwork, “There must be some mistake.  The amount due must be incorrect.”

“Look mister, the paperwork has been checked, double checked and checked again by everyone in the vehicle registration department.  Just do your job and issue me my license plates.”

Witt turned to the man who was taping, “Sir, this is the kind of service we’ve been receiving all morning.  The people working here don’t even trust the paperwork that their fellow workers have completed.”

The gentleman serving us picked up the phone and made a call.  We stood there as the man sat doing nothing and the line was growing longer, since the other station had been closed.  Finally a man approached us.  “What seems to be the problem, here?”

Witt spoke before anyone could, “I don’t know who you are, mister, but the problem here is that the employees here obviously aren’t interested in providing the citizens of this county with any sort of quality service.  If they were, there wouldn’t be this many people standing in line and all those people sitting at their desks ignoring the line entirely.”

The gentleman turned, “I want all stations open and I want them open, now.  Fred, why did you call me here?”

The people who had been standing in line behind us stopped to thank Witt as they went to the open stations,

The Fred person handed the gentleman the paperwork Witt had submitted for his license plates, “Sir, these can’t be the correct figures.”

“Fred, it is not your job to question what the patrons hand you.  Your job is to issue license plates.  For your information, I have already seen these papers, and they are correct.  “Young man, I apologize for the hassle, but you did present a unique problem to us.  I still want to know how you got Mrs. Rhodes to sell you the car for that price.”

I answered, “The car was advertised in the Monday paper for $3000.00.  When we went to see it.  Aunt Della felt sorry for Witt and sold it to him for $2500.00.  You people act as if he committed a crime.”

As we were finally leaving the Court House, the man taping us grinned, “Gentlemen, you might want to watch the five or six o’clock news.  I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t get some calls from county officials before the dust settles.”

As we were going to lunch, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the house. 

“This is Billy Taylor.”

“Billy, it’s Dad Hank.  Is everything okay?”

“Yep, there have been some calls, but Walt took the messages.  How come it’s taking you so long?”

“Billy, we ran into a few problems.  We’re going to have some lunch, and then we need to go to the bank.  We should be home in about an hour and a half.  Make sure you call my cell if there’s a problem.”

“Okay, talk to you later.”

As we were driving to the bank, Witt commented, “Dad, I don’t ever remember being in a bank.”

“There has to be a first time for everything, son.”

As we were walking into the bank, Witt looked around, “I’m still confused as to why our father had a safe deposit box.”

We went to the receptionist and I asked, “Could you direct us as to how to get access to a safe deposit box?”

The young woman pointed,  ‘Mrs. Cross, at the desk over there, will be able to assist you.”

We walked to the designated desk and the lady stood, “Good afternoon, gentlemen, please be seated.  How can I help you?”

After we were seated, Witt pulled out the two safe deposit keys.  “We’d like to gain access to safe deposit box 517.”

Mrs. Cross pulled out a file drawer, “Mr. Latham, do you have any identification.  “Witt pulled out his driver’s license and handed it to the lady.”

“Witten, the only authorized signature on file to have access to that box is Wilbur J. Latham.”

Witt looked at me, but said, “Mrs. Cross, my father is deceased.  I have a copy of his death certificate.  I’m the oldest of his children.  What am I suppose to do, let whatever is in the box stay there permanently?”

We were interrupted by a voice, “Hi Hank, what are you doing here?  You don’t usually do your banking here at the main office.”

I stood and shook the gentleman’s hand, “Good to see you, Steve.  How was your trip to Cabo San Lucas.  I hope you, Kris and the children had a great time.”

“Witt, I’d like to introduce you to the president of the bank, Steve Snyder.  Steve, this is my oldest charge, Witt Latham.”

Witt stood, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Snyder.”

Steve shook Witt’s hand, “Sorry to hear about what happened to your father, Witt.  What brings you here?”

Witt shrugged his shoulder, “When we were going through my father’s things, we found the keys to a safe deposit box that is here in your bank.  Mrs. Cross says that we can’t have access the box, since my father’s signature is the only one on an  authorization card.  What do we have to do to gain access to the contents?”

“I showed Mrs. Cross the certified copy of his death certificate.  I have a copy of the paperwork, appointing me as the custodian of his affairs.  What else do I need to have to be able to find out why our father had a safe deposit box?”

Instead of answering Witt, Steve turned to me, “Hank, what is your relationship with Witt.  You introduced as your oldest charge.  What did you mean by that?”

I pulled out the copy of the document that Mr. Latham signed before he died, “Steve, Mr. Latham appointed me as guardian of his six sons, before he died.  I’m looking into the possibility of adopting them, as soon as possible.”

Steve shook his head, “Emma, let Mr. Latham and Mr. Adler have access to the safe deposit box.”

“Thanks, Mr. Snyder.”

Mrs. Cross took us into the vault and led us to the safe deposit boxes.  “Witt, you need to put your key in first turn it and then I’ll put my key in.”

The door opened and there was a box inside. I thought, ‘So this is how these things work.  I guess I should think about getting one.’

Mrs. Cross motioned, “You can look at the contents at that table over there.  Your key should unlock the box.  Would you please stop and sign the access card on your way out so you won’t be hassled the next time you visit?”

The box was full of something.  On top was an envelope addressed to: To Whom It May Concern.  Witt tentatively opened it and started to read:

If you are reading this, then I have probably gone to meet my maker.

I assume that Witt is reading it, but I would like for you to share it with your brothers and sisters.  I know that you will find this hard to believe, but I really did love all of you, even though you may not have thought so. 

I’m sure that you thought I was starving you to death, but the truth is that you always had just enough to keep you going.  I know that you wore hand me down clothes, but at least you didn’t freeze to death.

When I was eighteen, I joined the Navy and traveled the world and had a blast for twenty years.   What you older boys are probably thinking is right.  That’s where I got spoiled.

What you are going to find in the envelopes for each of you is a share of my retirement pay.  At the bottom of the box is my discharge papers.  You need to contact the Veteran’s Administration and the Social Security people.  I should think that they will be providing you a small sum of money, as long as you’re not adopted.  Also, you should be able to get dependent identification cards and be able to take advantage of the facilities at Offutt. 

Witt hit the table, “Why are we just finding this out, now?”

My military identification card is in the top drawer of my dresser.  You will probably need it to be able to get what belongs to you.

Witt stood, “Dad, I just want to go home.  I’m afraid to read the rest of the letter.  I want to scream.”

We put the contents of safe deposit box, making sure it was empty, into the folder we brought with us, with the other important papers, and I put the box back in place and closed the door.  We stopped at Mrs. Cross’ desk and signed the access card.  “Guys, I hope that what was in the box will be helpful to you.”

I waited for Witt to answer.  He finally did, “The contents were very enlightening, and disturbing.  Thank you for your help, Mrs. Cross.”

We stopped by Steve’s office and Witt also thanked him.

When we arrived at the car, Witt handed me the keys, “Dad, you drive.  I don’t think I’m in any shape to drive right now.  I’m so mad at our father for putting us through what he did, when it was not necessary.”

Witt didn’t talk on the way home.  I drove directly to his farm, and we went to find out what else besides his father’s military identification card was in the top dresser drawer.

Witt led the way and we finally figured out which drawer Mr. Latham had been referring to.  It was filled with papers, but more importantly, there were several bottles of pills.  While I’m no doctor, I felt certain that they were psychotic types of medicines.  “Witt, let’s take this drawer and go through the contents, later.  Are there any other places where your father could have kept papers?”

“Dad, I haven't the foggiest idea about anything, right now.”

We stopped at the Latham’s mailbox to see what was in it.  It was filled.  Witt climbed out to make sure he had gotten everything.  He moaned, “I guess the bills are starting to come in.  We should have checked the mailbox before.  I need to go to the post office and tell them to deliver the mail to our new house.”

I started to laugh, “Witten, you need to start making a list of all these things we need to do.”

Witt looked me with a glint in his eyes, “What ever you say, Henry.”

To be continued...

Editor's Notes:  Now there was a passive aggressive comment, if I ever heard one, or was that two?

I think I will pass on a comment that I remember from somewhere. Heaven only knows where it came from, originally, but I will point out that I grew up on a farm.

I noticed that there were several places in this chapter where the word service or serviced was used.

When I was a youngster.  My dad would often call our neighbor from the farm down the road and ask him to come over and bring his Bull so he could service one of our cows.

It was only later in my life that I heard someone exclaim that they now understood what it meant when you were serviced by some public service company or by the services of the government.   I will leave it to you to figure out what he meant.

Mr. Latham Sr. was quite an enigma, wasn't he?

I think that Hank was probably correct in thinking that the man was suffering from some sort of mental problem. 

I doubt that most of the time, the man knew what was actually happening around him.  Apparently he had a few moments of lucidity, but they must have been few and far between. 

He certainly didn't show his children that he had any positive feelings, toward them, let alone that he loved them.  He was certainly not fit to be a father to his children, in the condition he was in.  I am so glad that his children are now being cared for and loved.  Maybe their father is in a place where he can see what he did to his children, and see how much better off they are, now that he has passed on.

If I were in Witt's position, I would not concern myself with remaining a part of their father's family, and forgo whatever money he and his brothers and sisters were entitled to, and become part of a family that will love them and cherish them, for the fine people they are, and that they will become. 

The boys have two dads that love them, and the girls are now happy with their new family. 

I think they should all discuss their options, and decide what is best for them, but I would certainly consider making a clean break from their now dead father and all he stood for, or didn't stand for, and move on to something much better.

I hope things settle down for the family, and that everyone finds the love they deserve.

I'm ready for the next chapter.

Darryl AKA The Radio Rancher

Posted: 10/15/10