My late dad Charles had the same problem with near misses on
parking lots. When several motorists tried to hit him on a Schnucks lot in
Afton, he asked me to go to the store for him. I did not understand this in
1998. Now I do, because without question Charles was Howard Hughes’ son, and
many people knew this. I was still a skeptic when I would finish my day of
community social work by writing a few reports in a Saint Louis Bread Company
store near St. Anthony’s Hospital, and then I went to Schnucks.
When I arrived at his Heritage Estates apartment, I asked for no
reimbursement. We would sit and talk until late on Friday evenings, and he spun
story after story I listened to with interest, when alleged relatives hated the
man. Why? Many times the conversation continued until my later vandalized,
wrecked, and still missing Nissan 240SX backed up with Charles in the
headlights. He’d wave, I’d leave, and I never revisited the “Howard stuff”
until 2004.
My photo of his “totaled” Nissan in front of that apartment? I’d
sure like to have many arrested and it returned to me soon. This ongoing delay defies
all logic and reason. You are welcome to see an e-mail exchange with an
ancestry researcher in her 80’s who said, “You
are a royal but not related to the oil money.” Royal? Is this why Prince
William and Catherine drove by? I said, “I don’t want to see them. Have they
not heard of a helicopter? I thought he flies one.” This sort of commentary is
spread around when you are “stuck” outside of Los Angeles. Another quote? “I
just saw George Kennedy. I thought he was dead.” (He was in a movie called Airport).
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