Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
David C. McLavic - 1. Chapter 1
My name is David C. McLavic and this is my story.
I was born at the medical facilities of North West University. My father is the head of the archeology department and my mother is the Head Nurse at the University’s medical facilities. I have an older sister and a younger sister.
My father was an Associate Professor of Archeology at Pennsylvania State University where he met my mother who was studying to be a nurse. They dated and when Dad was offered the position at North West they got married.
Dad grew up in Philadelphia. Grandfather was a successful lawyer and Grandmother was a socialite. That is what Dad called her. I never met my dad’s parents nor my mother’s. Mom told me she grew up on a farm.
Besides Mom and Dad, Dad had a friend who was an Indian, I called him Uncle Joe. It seemed he was always in my life and according to Dad, he took care of my sisters and me when Mom and Dad were at work.
My older sister was five when I was born. I think that was when she discovered boys are different than girls. Three years after I was born, Mom had another girl. Dad, according to Uncle Joe, said three children were enough. Uncle Joe said because he got his son they wouldn’t have any more children. But mom disagreed and dad wanted another son. Mom had another girl, my younger sister. I think Mom wanted more children, But Dad said three was enough.
My older sister, Mary Lou, was close to Mom and said she was going to be a nurse as well. My younger sister, Beth Ann took life as it came. When I was 6 I started school. Mary Lou was in 6th grade and spent most of her time with her mom. Beth Ann started School when I was in 4th grade.
When I started to walk, Uncle Joe was my companion. When I was five, we would walk to the desert and Uncle Joe would tell me about the Indians that lived here. As I got older, Saturdays and Sundays we would spend time in the desert and among the rocks at the head of the desert area. According to Uncle Joe, this was once a plain with grass, trees, and animals. A river flowed along the western part which provided water for the Indians and animals. Then men from the east came and hunted the animals for their skins. Men came and cut down the trees. According to Uncle Joe, the Indians asked the Great Chief in the sky and Mother Earth for help.
Mother Earth caused the ground to shake. The mountains at the head of the desert were shaken and fell. A large split along the side opened and the river disappeared. The Great Chief caused rain to fall and the area was under water. Then the sun came and dried everything up. The chief and his counsel moved south and that is where we live now.
I asked Uncle Joe if he planted a tree and watered it, would it grow. He said the ground was to dry and hot, and the water would return to the sky.
Dad tried to find the river that ran beneath the sand. He and Uncle Joe would dig a hole on Saturday and Sunday it was filled in. They dug again only this time they put wood on the sides of the hole. The next day, sand had piled up on the side and overflowed into the pit. They dug that sand out, and then Dad put some boards across the top. The next Saturday, they removed the boards and continued to dig. Dad had a jar which he filled with what looked like mud. He smiled at Uncle Joe, he had water. They removed all of the wood. Dad was satisfied that the story Uncle Joe told was true.
Now since there was proof of underground water, Uncle Joe and I searched the rocks looking for unusual rocks. I found some red rocks. I took a few homes to show Dad. He took one of the rocks to school. That evening he said the red was caused by deposits of iron ore. Then we found black rocks, dad took one to school and said the black rocks were coal used to heat homes and to use in specially designed stoves. Uncle Joe said it was fuel. I had to look that one up in one of Dad’s books.
As we searched among the rocks our area of search moved further north. There close to where underground water seeped out, I found a rock with yellow in it. Uncle Joe looked at it and told me to continue to search for more. That afternoon, I found a total of four rocks with yellow lines.
That evening I showed them to Dad. He took them to his workshop in the garage. There he crushed one of the rocks and then lit his torch and heated the crushed rock, The yellow part turned liquid. Dad just smiled.
Two nights later, Dad brought three books home from the school’s library. He said these books tell the story of the University. In the evening after dinner, I started to read these books. If I had a question, I’d ask Uncle Joe or Dad. Uncle Joe had stories when his grandfather was a young man and worked at the University. Dad said Uncle Joe’s stories were based on stories his people told each other. I should listen to his stories but I also needed to read the books.
As I read, I would tell Uncle Joe what I read. On Saturday, Uncle Joe took me to the back, east corner of the University. There was a small corner with a lot of trees. Following Uncle Joe we walked to the center and there were two stones. Uncle Joe said that the men who were responsible for the University died and were buried there.
That evening I told Dad. He got one of the books he had brought home, opened the book, and pointed to the names that were on the stones. “If you want to know more about those two men, read this.”
For the next few weeks, I read about these two men. According to the book they were prospectors looking for gold during the days of the California gold rush. They found a gold vein in one of the hills which they mined. They hired an architect to build them a home. Before the home was finished they died. The architect inherited their money and built the University in their honor.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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