CHAPTER 2

Heather Louise Baumgartner and I became a romantic item the summer between our sophomore and junior year of high school. She was, and probably still is, an exquisite beauty, at least physically. She had silky blonde hair that flowed straight and luscious past the middle of her back. She was a little on the tall side and had perfectly proportioned curves. With her breezy, outgoing personality, she could have easily been head cheerleader. Why wasn’t she? And what was she doing with an average farm boy like myself?

I had a distinct advantage over my male high school peers at winning the affections of Miss Baumgartner. Her family and my family both belonged to the same ultra-conservative church.  Why was this an advantage?     

Church was everything to her family, and she really tried to be an obedient child. So when it came to male companionship, she was expected to yoke up with a fellow church member. Of these choices, she didn’t have many options, four realistic options to be exact. Compared to her other choices, I looked like Brad Pitt.  Her parents also required her to wear ankle length skirts and blouses that went to the neck.

Although I’m average, I guess I have my good qualities. I have a very muscular physic from years of farm work and helping my dad with construction. I have wavy blonde hair and light blue eyes that are wide and appear to be caring. I have a crooked nose, thanks to my brother and I never liked the thinness of my lips. I stand six foot three in my work boots and six foot two without. Oh, and Heather always said she loved how deep and introspective I was. I guess I still am since my wife tells me the same thing.

Heather and I became genuinely close. As we worked our way through high school, we discussed going to the same college and then marriage afterwards. We were saving ourselves for marriage, in other words we were refraining from physical intimacy. We did kiss quite a bit, and began to push the limits with touching.  I looked forward to one day being betrothed to such a stunning female. Then when our senior year was mostly over, we experienced “The Great Condom Fiasco.”

I tried to clear the mystery up with her father, Myron D. Baumgartner. But he didn’t believe me, and quite honestly, I didn’t blame him. So he saw to it that my relationship with his lovely daughter came to an end. She and I never even made it to senior prom, let alone college and then marriage. So I left the rural community of Spring Valley and moved to the thriving metropolis of Cedar Rapids.

A friend of my older brother was working at UPS, and he got me on there part time with the goal of one day becoming fulltime. Not long after that, I met the woman who would not only become my wife, but help me transform my spiritual life.  In the process, she became my soul mate. Ironically, it was through my future wife that I ended up working part time at Lake Produce. One of the craziest work places that you can imagine. It would have made interesting reality TV, if reality TV existed in the late eighties. I guess this memoir will have to suffice.

When I first started working at Lake Produce, I didn’t drive a delivery truck; I worked in the sprout room. This space was the area where they grew and packed alfalfa sprouts, as well as bean sprouts in an adjoining room. There was also a tomato room where hydroponic tomatoes were grown and packed.  When I arrived at Lake after my part time shift at UPS, I wasn’t even there two minutes when I had the “leap off of the truck encounter” with Dean Benet. I didn’t tell you about the rest of the day though.

My first assignment there was to help pack sprouts. A guy named Lon Dalton was in charge of this area. He reminded me of Wolfman Jack with his bushy dark hair and beard. His helper was a hyper little guy named Mervin Newman. There was this initial presence about Mervin that was so professional looking. He always wore polo shirts or button up shirts, as well as Dockers-type pants. Plus his flame red hair was always neatly coiffed and his mustache neatly trimmed. I wondered why he was doing the menial job of packing sprouts. I eventually found out that he used to be a pharmacist, but he lost his license as a result of sampling his product. I don’t think losing his pharmacy job had to do with substance abuse alone. Forgive me, but Mervin wasn’t all there.

Lake grew bean sprouts in a completely dark ten by ten room in white plastic tubs that were about two feet by four feet around and about three feet deep. These tubs had drainage holes and were propped up by bricks so they could drain properly. After they grew not quite a week, they were ready for harvest. There was a different elevated tub filled with water and a sloped table that drains. Lon would bring a ready tub out and wash the sprouts, cleaning off the husks and the dirt. He threw the ready sprouts on the table so they could drain, dry, and be packed.

I was given the task of putting sprouts in eight ounce cups. I didn’t need to be exact. Mervin weighed them on a scale, getting them to slightly above eight ounces per cup. Then, after quite a few accumulated, I would switch and put a lid on the cup.  Mervin would put a label on them from a hand held roll. Lastly, we would box them for delivery.

Mervin was thirty years old or so.  I truly felt bad that he spent all that time in college to be a pharmacist, only to end up packing produce.  Man that guy could wear on you though. Several years later when someone told me he was on disability for mental illness, I didn’t bat an eye. As a matter of fact I nodded, because it made perfect sense.

On my first day Lon was washing bean sprouts while Mervin and I were standing side by side packing. All morning the three of us had pleasant conversation.  Although Mervin was very quirky, I had no idea he was really unstable. Around lunch time Lon and Mervin decided to go to a burger joint to get some food to bring back and eat at the picnic table behind the tomato building. Mervin drove us in his almost new Olds 98. That car was ugly as sin, but it sure was a smooth ride. We get out of the car at the burger joint.  Mervin marches to the door with me trying to catch up when Lon grabs my arm, pulling me back.

“Did you notice Mervin’s pants?” Lon asked.

I hadn’t.  Lon went on to explain. Because the sprout table was wet and Mervin was on the short side, his crotch was even with the table. Plus he was wearing tan pants, making him look even worse.  Lon suggested we try to appear to not be with him.

As we entered the restaurant Mervin was standing on the left, hands boldly on hips scanning the menu up high. Girls behind the counter were giggling and whispering. Cooks were peaking up front and then disappearing with laughter. I stole a look and had to refrain from laughter myself. It really looked like he wet himself big time. Well, I suppose he did, but I meant with his bladder, not a sprout table.

In the back seat of Mervin’s car, food in hand, I lost it. I was laughing so hard my gut hurt and tears were rolling down my cheeks. Fortunately, I managed to be fairly quiet, and Mervin was talking at Lon a mile a minute. Lon glanced at me and chuckled, causing Mervin to stop talking and glance at me in the rear view mirror, aviator sunglasses covering his eyes.

“What?” he asked with a grin, wanting to be let in on what Lon and I thought was funny.

“Nothing,” Lon replied, but chuckled a little bit more.

“Come on, what?” Mervin was no longer smiling, not liking to be left out of the loop.

Lon put a fist to his mouth and began to shake with laughter. I completely lost it now, causing Mervin to adjust his mirror to look at me and take off his sunglasses. I saw fury in his eyes, but it didn’t snap me out of laughing at all.  It made me laugh even harder. My stomach hurt. Mervin let loose a string of profanity, wanting to know what was so funny.

“Do you not realize that it looks like you wet yourself?” Lon asked, almost angrily, pointing to Lon’s crotch.

Mervin looked down and then up. He became eerily quiet and that actually extinguished the laughter. It was working after lunch when I got my first clues that Mervin was, to whatever degree, unstable.