Jonny Tremain…

School was almost out and I was getting sick of El Matador. On one of the last days of school, I watched a movie named Johnny Tremain. In the movie, Johnny walked into Ephraim Lapham’s silver smith shop and said, “I want to be your apprentice, and I will work for free.” That very day, I hopped on a bus and rode to Salt Lake City to the Hotel Utah. I walked into the restaurant and asked the hostess if I could speak to the chef. (I had heard that they had a famous French Chef.)

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Sit down. I will check.”

Sharon #48

My mom was never home then.  All of my older brothers and sisters had moved out, and my little sister had gone to live with her dad.  So, I pretty much spent all of my time at school and work.  My mother had been taking Black Beauties every morning and sleeping pills every night for years.  I can remember both bottles being on her night stand throughout most of my life.  I didn’t understand it then, but I now know (from my own experience) that you can’t make your body go up every morning and down every night with artificial stimulus without it taking its toll on those around you.

My mother loved to fight.  She was married five times to five different men, and she fought like cats and dogs with all of them.  When all of the men had left her, she started fighting with my older brother and sisters.  It wasn’t long until they all moved out, leaving only my little sister and me.  My little sister said that she couldn’t take it anymore, so she went to live with her biological father.  This, of course, left me alone with Mom. 

My First Trip

School had started, and I was finally in the ninth grade.  There was no more getting stuffed in my locker, or having my books knocked out of my hand as I walked the halls between classes.  It was my third year at Millcreek Junior High and I was as old as any other kid there.  In fact, it was a great new start because for the first time I had something cool to brag about, my dirt bike.  Although, I still had to go to the office every Monday and pick up the free lunch tickets they give kids whose parents were on welfare.  However, it wasn’t as embarrassing as grade school when they would just hand them to you every day in front of all of your friends.

One day, I was in the cafeteria with Mike eating lunch when he told me that he got a new job at El Matador (a local Mexican restaurant) washing dishes.  He told me to come to work with him that day and that he would try to get me on.  I wasn’t going to wash any dishes, but I went down there to see if I could get a job cooking.  The kitchen manager was interviewing me when I told him that I had been the night manager of Sandwich World.  He started laughing at me, and reminded me that I was only in ninth grade.  I thought to myself, “Dude, I owned Sandwich World for a few weeks.”  It didn’t really matter that he was laughing at me, because he hired me as a prep cook.  Mike only worked there a couple of weeks but I stayed on all throughout the school year.

Sandwich World

It wasn’t until a year after I first started smoking pot, in the summer of the eighth grade, that I found some friends my own age to smoke with.  Mike was my best friend.  We would score a joint and ride the bus from Bountiful to Salt Lake to go to this park that had an empty swimming pool.  We climbed on the roof of the changing room, and hopped down on the inside to ride our skateboards.  Walk-Mans hadn’t even been invented yet, so we would just sing our favorite Kiss songs out loud as we skated. 

I got us both jobs at Sandwich World.  Microwaves were the new big thing, and this sandwich place would slap some cold meat and cheese on a bun and zap it.  People thought it was the best thing since sliced bread.  One time when we both were all stoned, Mike forgot to put a bottom bun on a hamburger and the guy burnt the shit out of his hand when he picked it up to take a bite.  He was about ready to slug us both in the face, but we couldn’t stop laughing. 

…and I have always been a junkie.

I am a natural born addict.  It is as simple as that.  When I was a little kid sitting at the breakfast table with my five other siblings, I would pour my own cereal and milk.  I don’t even know if you can call it milk, because it was that powdered stuff they gave people on welfare.  It truly tasted like shit.  I couldn’t wait to go to my grandma’s house, just so I could taste real milk.

“Todd, you have to stop drinking the milk like its water!” she would always tell me, but I knew I only had a short time to consume as much as I could.  So, I did.  I would try to remember how great it tasted when I was drinking the powdered stuff, thinking that perhaps it would help.

Anyway, when I poured my cereal I would place two heaping tablespoons of sugar in exactly dead center of the bowl.  I would then proceed to eat around it so that at the end I would be rewarded with a few soggy flakes that were totally drenched in sugar.  This was a wonderful ending to a crappy bowl of cereal.  Once in a while my mom would sneak behind me and try to stir it up.

“It’s my bowl of cereal! Let me eat it how I want,” I would tell her, freaking out.

I’m a junkie…

Today is March 19^th, 2006. March 11th was my youngest son’s birthday, Todd Cody Hall. He’s been dead for quite a while now, but I still celebrate his birthday every year, silently in my heart. On January 28^th, 2006 (my middle son’s birthday), I was riding motor-cross bikes with my son Parker, nineteen, and my son John, the birthday boy at seventeen. There are few things on this earth that give you a rush like the one you get flying across the beautiful Arizona desert at eighty miles per hour, clamped down on a CR 450. Suddenly, I found myself flying through the air without my bike. I landed on my head and back. Then, when I came to, I couldn’t breathe. People have accused me of having a death wish, but, believe me, at that moment there was nothing more important to me than being able to gasp for air and stay alive.

Both of my boys were right on my tail when I bit it. They were both trying to figure out how to help me, taking off my helmet and goggles. The look in both of their eyes was shear panic and distress. I remember thinking, “They love me so much. Just look how worried they are.” I thought of how much I love them as well. It seemed like an eternity, but I was finally able to gasp for air, and the first words out of my mouth were, “I’m alright. I’m alright. Just settle down.” Simply hearing my voice telling them what to do, made them both feel a lot better.

An Introduction to Trampled Underfoot

On March 19, 2006, my father embarked on writing his memoirs for lent.  The Trampled Underfoot blog is a compilation of short stories from this book, detailing his life as a critically acclaimed chef, destructive addict, and fiery manic.  I plan to post a new story every Saturday.

I will begin with an excerpt from his last page:

I started writing this book because I tried to give up cigarettes for lent.  That went right out the window.  Ten hours later, I decided to give up my life for you.  Please learn something from it. Today is the last day of Lent. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, and I have finally risen. I feel much higher than I ever did on drugs…Chef Todd Hall

I hope you enjoy this work as much as I have. 

Thank you in advance for reading!

Sincerely yours,

Chelse