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Version 2, Chapter 1

In Search of the Chinaman

My father once told me that there is an ancient Chinese curse, “May you live in interesting times.” Consequently I’m looking for the chinaman, so I can kick him in the balls. My life, to say the least, has been a little too damn interesting for my taste.

While I can’t deny that some of the things I’ve seen or done may have been either worthy of seeing or doing, mostly life has proven to be a curse; an interesting one at times, but definitely a curse.

During my life there have been such events as man walking on the moon, the fall of the Berlin wall, and the spread of AIDS. Interesting events, times which, to paraphrase Bob Dylan, “Have been a’changing.” However, while such major events have occurred in human history, there have been other events which more directly affected both my family and myself.

My father, Arthur Jones, invented the Nautilus machines during the later part of the 1960’s, and began marketing them early in the 1970’s when he could not find anyone who wanted the invention. He offered to give it away, did not want the headaches he anticipated would be involved in manufacturing and marketing his own invention. There were no takers, and since he was in need of a source of income, by default he ended up making exercise equipment.

This was not the first interesting time in my life. Before inventing Nautilus equipment, Arthur had spent a number of years making films, capturing wild animals, (and many other things), and eventually had decided to move the family to South Africa. Arthur had made a deal with the government of South Africa; he would be allowed to capture animals and film their capture. For Arthur it was a perfect deal, a deal that would have been perfect if the government had lived up to its end of the bargain.

Apparently Arthur too has been cursed by the chinaman, for as soon as we got to Africa things started to go wrong. The government did not do what it had agreed to do, continually blocked Arthur from trying to do what he needed to do, in short, acted just like all governments everywhere. Arthur is fond of calling bureaucrats “Abominable No-men,” people who will automatically say no to anything, least they be at all responsible for anything. While I was not directly exposed to most of the happenings in South Africa, I did see some of the atrocities, and have heard of many others from Arthur.

One example of such was the decision by the conservationists to “cull” the herds of animals in some of the parks. At that time there were two major game parks, Kruger and Natal. The experts at these parks had determined that there were too many animals, so the herds needed to be thinned. When this was discussed with Arthur he asked to see the numbers, how many of which types of animals were estimated to be in the parks, how many were planned to be killed? The answers shocked him.

According to the these experts there were so many animals that they would have been stacked three deep, with nary a place to stand. Arthur knew their numbers were wrong, and offered to prove such to them. They accepted Arthurs’ offer, and were shocked (and highly displeased) to discover that Arthur was right. If they had killed all the animals they had planned to (which would have meant killing each animal multiple times), there would have been no animals left alive in the parks. Where they grateful? “Let no good deed go unpunished.” Such gratitude is likely to kill you, and eventually did result in several deaths.

An extreme example, perhaps? No. Just one of many. So Arthur decided to cut his loses and move again, but unfortunately he did not learn from his previous mistake.

Arthur again made a deal, this time with the government of Rhodesia, and again we moved. We had stayed in South Africa for about eighteen months, however our stay in Rhodesia ended up being only about six months. The government in Rhodesia was worse than that in South Africa; same movie, just a different set of actors.

While staying in Rhodesia, Arthur continued to work on designing exercise equipment, a hobby he had indulged in for many years. It was here that I first saw a prototype for what would become the movement arm for the Nautilus Pullover machine. While the Rhodesian government slowly strangled Arthurs’ finances, Arthur continued to pursue the only outlet he had, to invent.

One invention of Arthurs’ from that time was a camera mount for a helicopter. At the time, helicopter film shots were very shaky, nearly nauseatingly so. So Arthur designed his own, a rigid mounted frame, welded to the helicopter, with the camera bolted to the frame. With such a mount he flew a helicopter through the mists of Victoria Falls, filming it both from the helicopter and from a cliff nearby. Flying a helicopter in normal conditions is unsteady enough, but through the turbulence caused by a large waterfall is even more so. However the film footage shot from the helicopter was steady, Arthur had completely solved the problem of camera vibration. Did he bother to patent his invention? No. It was just one of many, and he did not have the time or wish to take the trouble to patent such.

During this phase of my life, the interesting times I participated in were mostly as that of an observer. When we left the United States for Africa I was only eight years old, turning nine on the ship on which we voyaged. Before leaving America, we had lived in Slidell, Louisiana, across the bay from New Orleans. I did not have a choice, or a voice, in the events that were to occur. It is only now, years later, that I recall and finally choose to recount, perhaps out of fondness for the few events that were good, but mostly as a warning: Don't piss off the chinaman!

As a child I had several brushes with death, a regular occurrence that has put us on almost a handshake basis. One of the earliest memories of such was when I almost choked to death. At the time I was at our house in Slidell, alone, and probably not over the age of six. I had something get caught in my throat, could not get it out, and thought that I would die. I went into my fathers’ room, accepted death, and went to sleep (passed out?). When I awoke, the obstruction in my throat had cleared. Call 911? In the early 1960’s such a service had not even been dreamt of. It was my problem to fix, help was not an option.

Another event early in my childhood was when my mother was forced off the road while driving. We landed in a ditch, and I was thrown into the dashboard. Child safety seats? Again, something that did not exist, and most people did not even think to wear safety belts. The net results of that accident were several bruises, and several stitches. Fortunately(?) I was born with a rather hard head, and I have had the head trauma to prove it.

In our backyard in Slidell we had several large trees. One tree was good for a tree fort, and we constructed one. A number of feet away were two tall pine trees, separated by a gap of just a few feet. We therefore got a long rope, and made a swing that would go between the two trees. We would swing off of the fort, and go whizzing between the two pine trees. To add to the fun, we would put something on the ground that we had to pick-up as we went between the trees. If you didn’t pick it up, you lost. Once, while playing by myself, I put the toy between the two trees, got the swing up to the tree fort, and off I went. As I leaned over to pick up the toy, I leaned too far. My head slammed into one of the trees (the left one I believe). Somehow I managed to maintain my grip on the rope, even though I was knocked into a violent spin. When the rope reached the end of the arc furthest away from the tree fort, I let go (this was standard practice for us). Did I pick up the toy? I don’t believe so, so I guess I lost.

In certain ways, living in South Africa was quite different from life in America; though at the time there were also a number of similarities. Since we had moved there from Louisiana, we were used to prejudice against black people, and at that time both Louisiana and South Africa were mostly segregated. Blacks in Africa were considered second, or even third, class citizens, required to ride in the back of the buses (and sometimes on different buses), separate drinking fountains, schools, the list was almost endless. One perfect example of this was made clear to Arthur when we moved there.

Arthur had brought with him a large amount of equipment, including cars, airplanes, cameras, guns and ammunition. After checking in with customs, Arthur was informed that if he had any dangerous weapons he must register them with the local police. So Arthur went to the police station, and presented them with a list of the numerous pistols, rifles (including several machine guns) and large quantity of ammunition that he had brought with him. The police looked at the list, and asked him why he had come. Arthur replied that the customs inspectors had instructed him of the requirement to register dangerous weapons, and the police said that there was no need, that none of the weapons Arthur had listed were on the list of dangerous weapons. So Arthur asked them to inform him of just what would be considered a dangerous weapon. The police replied, “A knobbie.” A knobbie is a long stick of wood, with a large club like head on one end (preferably with several bumps or spikes on the “knobbed” end). Such a weapon was not carried by white people, but only by blacks. A dangerous weapon was obviously only a weapon that was possessed by a black person.

While living in South Africa I attended school there. Their school system is based upon the British system, with the school year starting in January, and running throughout the entire year (they take several short breaks, instead of one long one). Another factor they have in common with the British school system is the requirement to wear uniforms (including ties), and I therefore developed a life-long hatred of ties.

Our first African residence was in a small town outside of Durban. This house was at the top of a tall hill, with a long and rough dirt road leading down to the bottom. My brother, my sister, and several neighborhood kids got together and made several soap-box type carts, but we were always forbidden to go down this dirt road, and for good reason. The road had been made by cutting into the hill. On one side of the road there was a dirt wall, and on the other side there was a large drop-off, into thorny trees and bushes. I was, of course, tricked into going down this hill. Being the youngest in the family may have its advantages, but it can also have its disadvantages.

The cart-de-jour was made from an old canoe. Steering it was accomplished by a rope tied to the front wheels; pull right, turn right. Since it was made from a canoe, several people could ride at one time, and that was how I was tricked. The cart was put at the top of the hill, I and one other person (who was in on the gag), got in. The idea was that I would start with the cart, steering it until it was going, and then I would hand the controls to the other guy and I would jump out. So we started down the hill, but when I turned to hand the controls over I discovered that the other guy was gone!

I almost wrecked the cart at that point, but managed to regain some semblance of control. The roughness of the road made the cart bounce back and forth, and the several dips in the road added to my speed even more. Finally, after one such dip, the cart was headed almost straight for the drop-off. I yanked the left rope, and spun the cart into the wall. Being slammed into the wall knocked the wheels off (fortunately), and the cart/canoe slid backwards to a stop, with me staring back up the hill at everyone laughing at me. Needless to say I was not happy, but they were also pissed at me; after all, I had just wrecked the cart!

Not all my time was spent going to school, or wrecking carts. I did get to go to the bush, or animal parks, on several occasions. We would travel to the parks via airplane (Arthur was an accomplished pilot, and owned several aircraft at the time). When traveling to such places you had to be careful, the runways were just rough dirt and grass tracks, and animals sometimes liked to lay on them. Before landing it was advisable to always “buzz” the runway, chasing away any such animals, otherwise you might hit one when you landed. Night flying was another problem, as these runways had no lights. The only way to land at night was to get someone to be there in a jeep or landrover, and then have them park at one end with the headlights shinning towards the other. I never flew on any trips that required a night landing, and from the stories Arthur has told me I am quite glad.

Another problem encountered at the “airports” were the lions. For some reason lions like the taste of airplane tires. After landing, the plane had to be surrounded with a “fence” of thorny bushes, failure to do this would result in having no tires the next morning. Erecting such a fence was bad enough in the daylight, at night it became a most uncomfortable necessity.

It has been popular in America to dramatize the old west, where people carried six-guns strapped to their sides. If you have never been in an environment where such is necessary, it would be easy to say that such a style of living is fake. Try living in the bush in Africa without doing so, and you can easily become some animals lunch. One particular incident that proved this point comes to mind.

We were staying at a small permanent camp (several concrete buildings) and there were various vehicles and at least twenty people there. Arthur strapped on his sidearm (a nice .44 Magnum), and took us for a walk around the outsides of the camp. This camp was not surrounded by a fence, the border being determined by a break in the grass. Outside the camp, the grass was high, inside it was not. While walking around the outskirts of the camp, we unknowingly came near a warthogs’ bolt hole. The warthog came out of the ground, seemingly from nowhere. Arthur drew, a motion he says he has no memory of doing, but fortunately the warthog bolted away from us. Such animals are fairly large, and can be quite vicious.

An isolated incident? No. While staying at a tourist camp, with numerous huts, perhaps a hundred or more people, and surrounded by a wooden stake fence, another incident occurred. We spent a night in this camp, and then discovered that during the night hyenas had snuck into the camp and attacked a woman in another hut. Though people may think that hyenas are only scavengers, this is not true, they can and will hunt, including people. Some tourists never learn, or at least don’t survive the opportunity to learn.

Were wild animals the only danger? Again, no. While we lived in Rhodesia there was an undeclared “war” going on between Rhodesia (which was controlled by whites) and one of the neighboring countries (which was controlled by blacks). Terrorist attacks from across the border were not uncommon. Arthur had a friend who was a crack shot, and this ability saved that mans’ life in a most dramatic fashion.

While driving in the country one night, this man turned a corner in the road and discovered there was a tree blocking further progress. Such incidents were not totally uncommon, but there were normally only two reasons: one, an elephant had pushed it down; two, an ambush. Without hesitating, Arthurs’ friend figured ambush, laid down in the jeep and reached for his gun. As the jeep ran into the tree, a number of shots started to be fired at it from the surrounding bush. Since it was night, the people shooting at the jeep could not see who or how many people were in the jeep, it was just their mission to kill. Arthurs’ friend had one gun, one clip of ammunition, and was out manned.

Being a crack shot, he proceeded to do what he could do best, shoot. While being fired at, he would watch for the flame from his attackers rifles. When he had a fix, he would fire back, one shot at a time. As he slowly picked his targets, the number of attackers dwindled, till finally the attack ended. He waited till morning, he had no more ammo.

When morning came, he got an ax from his jeep, and went to look in the bush. He found eight dead, all killed by shots to the head, and one wounded. This one he dispatched with the ax. After clearing the road of the tree, he proceeded on his way. Were there more than nine people that attacked him? He didn’t know, just that there were nine less to attack anybody else.

Years later, when Arthur became famous with Nautilus, he was asked about his life prior to inventing the Nautilus equipment. Arthur talked about his time spent in the jungle, and was quoted as saying, “I’ve killed 63 men, and over 600 elephants, and I regret the elephants more.” I have not yet had to kill anyone, though have had to make the decision not to several times, and I can understand quite well why Arthur regrets the elephants more. Arthur once told me, “There is no regret like that of not killing someone who richly deserves it. Especially when you get the chance to do so, and don’t.” Like Arthur I have regretted every incident where I chose not to kill.

Prior to living in Africa we had kept at our house in Slidell a jaguar, an ocelot, a jagarundi, a horse, a hawk, a sloth, and numerous other exotic animals (not always at the same time). But once in Africa, the only pet we acquired was a common house cat (which we named Meow). This pet we kept for quite a number of years, even bringing her to the United States when we finally returned.

Meow proved to be an interesting pet, in a number of ways. After living outside of Durban we finally moved to an apartment in Durban. This apartment house was like a large hotel, with numerous floors. One day Meow decided to go outside, via the window. Unfortunately for her we lived quite high up, so the first step was perhaps a little more than she had counted on. She fell, and landed on the roof of the larger first floor (or ground floor as it is called in Africa). She was rescued by some people whos’ apartment window she crashed outside of, and except for one broken bone she was quite fine. Afterwards she was always a little more careful about going out windows.

Meow apparently liked to have kittens, and she had them for years. One particular batch of kittens, however, was not fathered by another house cat. While living in Rhodesia, Meow was impregnated by some kind of wild cat, though we never did find out what kind. Arthur filmed the birth, and within several hours of birth these kittens eyes opened. Within several days, one kitten tracked and killed a bird. It would have been interesting to have seen what those kittens grew up to be, but unfortunately we left before and could not take any of them with us.

Finally, when it became obvious that the Rhodesian government would never cooperate, or live up to their end of the bargain, Arthur moved the family back to the United States. To make things even more interesting, after we left the Rhodesian government seized all of our assets, which resulted in our returning to the United States virtually penniless. We arrived in Miami (after a small detour to deboard an injured passenger and dead stewardess caused by turbulence over the Atlantic), and began our next step with destiny.