Excerpts from
The Sunshine Kid
Living With Enthusiasm
by
Sonny Melendrez
In The Beginning
When I was 11 years old my father built a dream machine for my brother and me in our back yard. Now, others might say it was a tree house, but I knew it was a dream machine.
Almost every evening, at dusk, I would climb up onto this magical place and stare at the stars as I dreamed about who and what I would become. My thoughts had no limits and I knew that nothing was impossible.
Each day since then, I have tried to look at life through the same enthusiastic eyes.
This book is about the visions, the people, and places that continue to make my journey, a dream come true.
While you may recognize many of the personalities mentioned here, it is my heartfelt hope that you might also have your spirits lifted along the way.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, on with the show!
The Barber Shop
My dad was a barber who probably never made more than $600 in a single month, and yet he was able to support his family and send his boys to a private Catholic school. To do this, we moved out of a tiny duplex and into the back of his 2-seat barbershop located in a small strip center on the East Side of San Antonio, Texas. Our entire living area was about 20 by 60 (that’s feet) and the law said we were not supposed to be there since this was a commercial building.
With every haircut, for which dad charged a dollar, I would go to Prassel’s Drug Store on the corner and change that dollar into quarters. (Make a note of that. I’ll you why in a bit.)
Well, one morning around 4 am I awoke to the sound of footsteps on the roof. Now mind you, we lived in a strip center. Mom told us to be very quiet while Dad called the police and within minutes the place was surrounded by squad cars. When my younger brother Rick, who was about 4 at the time, peaked through the bars of our only window in the back, I heard one of the officers shout,
“There’s someone inside there!”
My dad went out very slowly, to let them know that he was the one who had called. We later found out that three burglars had made their way into the drug store through the skylight by first climbing up a pipe at our end of the building. When my mom explained that they were after narcotics, or “medicine,” as she put it, it boggled my mind why anyone would want to do that.
And, had we not lived there they probably would have made a clean getaway.
Now, back to those quarters.
My dad kept about 8 empty cigar boxes inside a cabinet in the barbershop. Each one represented a fund. One for the rent, for groceries, tuition, and so on. Looking back I now realize what he did to provide for his family. One quarter at a time. In fact, I can’t remember a single thing he or my mom ever bought for themselves that would be considered a luxury.
For them, it was all about us.
The Maternal Optimist
What my dad was to frugality, my mother was to optimism. She was a cheerleader without the routines. No matter what the crisis, she’d always find a way to get us through it.
Once, when I was about 15, I had a minor accident on a motor scooter, rented at a local park, when I went straight in a turn lane and the car on my left went right. The result was a ticket that we didn’t dare tell Dad about. I wasn’t even supposed to leave the neighborhood on my bicycle, let alone something with a motor.
The court date was set and Mom said she would pray to her lawyers. That’s what she called her saints. To this day, she has a “lawyer” for every situation. In this case, it was St. Jude – the patron saint of Impossible Causes. He would talk to God for us.
On my day with justice, we waited in the courtroom for my name to be called and when it was, we were told that since the policeman who had issued the citation wasn’t there, the ticket was dismissed.
No telling what St. Jude did to that poor policeman.
When my mom wasn’t praying for a happy ending, she was taking matters into her own gentle hands.
One Mother’s Day I wrote her the following letter. It best explains what she has meant to me.
Dear Mom,
You always knew what to say when I needed comforting. I’d still hurt, but just knowing you were there made life a little easier.
You always encouraged me to dream, cheered when I succeeded, and urged me to try again when I failed.
You helped to save for my first radio. $19.95 plus tax. A lot of money back then, but you knew I just had to have it.
When I needed Dad’s permission to spend the night at a friend’s house, you lobbied on my behalf.
When I made my First Communion you asked me to make I wish. I wished for a little brother. Nine months later, my brother Rick was born. Was there anything you wouldn’t do for me?
I can still see your face the day I got the measles. You would have gladly traded places with me, just to take away the pain. I would have let you.
You told me we couldn’t afford a bicycle for Christmas. It was true. Yet, there it was on Christmas morning, exactly as I had dreamed it.
You’ve always loved making me happy. How could I have survived my first heartbreak without you? At the time, I was sure you didn’t understand. Looking back, I know you did.
I can still taste the filling you’d leave for us in the bowl after putting a lemon meringue pie in the oven. No one can make them like you.
Den Mother, Safety Patrol Mom, PTA, Home Room Mom: You were always ready to help. How could we not be proud? We belonged to you.
My sense of humor, outlook on life, love for children…they all come from you.
You’ve always taught me to give back and to put things in God’s hands through prayer and faith.
Mom, you’ve always been there and I am so grateful.
Thank you for all you’ve help me to become. Thank you for giving me your heart and your smile. May I wear them as bravely as you have.
God bless you, mom. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day. –Sonny.
Automagic
My brother Rick and I were never short on ideas growing up. If it was dream-able, it was make-able. That’s the attitude with which we set out to build our first car. Hey, if the Little Rascals could do it, so could we. With Dad’s tools we sawed and hammered, using orange crates and any other scrap wood we could find. And, though we didn’t have any, we knew that somehow we’d get our hands on some wheels.
After all, we only needed four.
Then, something truly amazing happened.
Charles, a kid who lived up the street, strolled into our backyard with the answer to our prayers: He was pulling a brand new red wagon!
I knew exactly what to say.
"Hi, Charles. This is your lucky day!"
"Why?"
”Ricky and I are getting ready to have a
big backyard sale."
"What are you selling?"
”Oh, all kinds of cool stuff. Like these
slightly used football shoulder pads. And
these super-fast roller skates. And
these .... "
"But, fellas, (He actually used the word, fellas, just like in The Little Rascals.) I don’t have any money."
Thirty minutes later, we helped Charles load all the junk that he had traded for onto his new wagon. His new wagon, that now had no wheels.
He struggled, but managed to carry it all away and was convinced that he had made the deal of a lifetime.
After all, we had told him so.
Rick and I wasted no time nailing the axles onto the bottom of our wooden masterpiece. We were shaking with anticipation. Carefully, I slipped each wheel on and gave it a good spin. Finally, it was ready. I flipped it over and off we went. We took turns pushing each other up and down the block as we laughed with delight.
Well, if God had answered our prayers, he had also questioned them, because when we arrived back home, there, knocking on our screen door, was Charles and his mother, and she wasn’t happy!
The party was over. Mom didn’t have to tell us what we had to do.
As they walked away pulling his reconstructed wagon Rick and I sat there on the verge of tears, staring at what was left of our creation.
Looking back, I realize that all was not as bad as it seemed. For one precious afternoon, we had conquered the world. We had lived our dream. We had been to the mountain.
And we had driven there in style.
Automagically.
Name That Toon
I was in the fourth grade when it dawned on me that cartoons were voiced by grown ups that made their living by having fun.
Watching cartoons on our family’s black & white Philco TV set, (with a coat hanger for an antenna) one afternoon after school, I decided that some day I would do that.
While my friends were collecting baseball cards and stamps, I was collecting voices. One by one, I added to my repertoire. First Yogi, then his little friend, Boo Boo. Quick Draw McGraw, Augie Doggie, Popeye the Sailor, Mickey Mouse, and others all became my close personal friends.
While others heard words, I heard sounds and wanted to find a way to recreate them. Making characters and famous people say funny things was about as much fun as I could imagine. By high school, I had learned to imitate popular singers of the day like Bobby Vee, Bobby Vinton, Johnny Mathis, Gene Pitney, and others, taking my fun to another level.
On Saturday nights, my brother and I would go through our weekly ritual in order to watch The Jackie Gleason Show – “from Miami Beach, the sun and fun capitol of the world!” My father would fall asleep by the 3rd round of the Cavalcade of Sports Fight of the Week. We found that nothing would wake him …except the sound of changing the channel! So, I would sneeze and change the channel at the same time. Worked like a charm. I’m telling you, The Great One would have been proud.
Jackie Gleason, Red Skelton, Sid Caesar, and Milton Berle were all singing my song.
It was the early 60’s and America was laughing to Vaughn Meader’s First Family album, a perfect parody of the Kennedy Kingdom. I knew it by heart --the same heart that beat faster when a DJ named Don Couser mentioned on his KONO Radio afternoon-drive show that he was trying to reach the President. Every attempt in this running bit ended with the “White House secretary” hanging up on him. I phoned the station and left word that “JFK” had called. After his show, Mr. Couser called back and I answered as Kennedy.
“Ah, yeeeeas. Who is cahlling?”
“This is Don Couser. (He was trying to hold back his laughter.)
“Ah, Mr. Cah-ouser. What can I do for you, and puhleees make it quick. I’m a very busy man!”
He loved the voice and asked if I would play the part on the air.
Was the President a Catholic?
My schoolmates didn’t believe me when I told them that I would be on the next afternoon. Day after day, Don would call; we’d set up bits and then deliver them to a thirsty audience.
Life could be a dream, sha boom sha boom!
_____________________________
And now, a story within a story…
I was a high school senior when President Kennedy came to San Antonio to speak at the dedication of the Aero Space Medical Health Center. His motorcade was to come down Broadway Street, a few blocks from my school, Central Catholic.
I had to see him and later apologized to my mother for forging her name on a note that would get me out of class for a “dentist appointment.”
I was standing on a street corner, eagerly awaiting the Presidential entourage when my best friend’s mom drove up. I explained my intentions and she invited me to join her and her 5 year old as they were headed to Incarnate Word College several miles up the street.
When we arrived, a sea of green and white uniforms covered the sidewalk as students from the all-girl Incarnate Word High School, located up the hill, had come down to watch the President go by.
Imagine. Hundreds of Catholic schoolgirls and me.
Hmmm. I had an idea.
What if the motorcade were to slow down long enough for the President to shake a few hands? I told the girls around me to pass on three words: “Rush the motorcade.” Otherwise, I explained, our memory would be of a blur of motorcycles and limousines.
It worked.
As the motorcade approached, seven hundred and fifty girls, and one boy, tore through the 50 foot paper banner that read, INCARNATE WORD WELCOMES PRESIDENT AND MRS. KENNEDY and rushed the motorcade. There we were, excitedly hoping to touch the President of the United States.
His royal blue suit served to compliment his golden brown hair as he stood up in the open car to greet his young admirers. While the Secret Service tried frantically to stop the screaming youngsters, Kennedy smiled and graciously shook as many hands as he could, including mine. In a matter of seconds our lives had changed forever.
The date was November 21, 1963, the day before his fateful visit to Dallas.
Little did we know.
___________________________
One of the characters that caught my ear on television appeared on the Hanna-Barbera produced Yogi Bear cartoon show. He was a little duck who kept following Yogi and asking,
“Mr. Bear, Mr. Bear, would you be my momma? I don’t have a mama, I’m just a poor little orphan.”
What a voice, I thought. I had to find a way to do it and for weeks I would talk into my trusty reel-to-reel tape recorder and repeat the phrase over and over, determined to master his little sound. Even when I ended up with a sore throat, it didn’t keep me from trying again and again.
Finally, one morning, I woke up, looked into the mirror and repeated,
“Mr. Bear, Mr. Bear, would you be my momma?” just like the cartoon.
I couldn’t believe my own ears.