Burgled brick solid anchor for Nightingale memories
JERRY AULDS

The question challenged a balky memory.

"How come you've been hauling those two solitary bricks around in the back of your pickup for umpteen weeks?" asked the nosy service station guy while spilling five bucks worth of liquid gold down the side of my semiclean S-10.

Buying time to clear my befogged brain, "You never know when you might need a brick to shut up a pushy gas jockey," I barked.

Not that anything ever quieted that little twerp, but in the interval, the fog cleared, "It's the newspaper guy's fault," I whined.

Which is sorta the truth. Bert West, former Edna Herald editor, now one of the Palacios Beacon's newshounds, heard via the Internet that the abandoned and crumbling away Nightingale Hospital was scheduled for demolition.

"My daughter was born there. Any chance you can swipe me a brick?" asked Bert.

Which is how on a black-catdark night, I stole two bricks from Nightingale's former nursery.

And I've still got 'em, 'cause Bert either built a new brick house or suckered someone else into corralling him a pair of bricks.

They're actually pretty good looking bricks, but through two garage sales, no one's bid on them, either for sentimental or construction reasons.

Which is okay. I've grown accustomed to these mottled, mortarencrusted bricks. I think about them like sea shells. If I put the brick next to my ear, I can hear a baby nuzzling, gurgling and even laughing out loud.

The other sound is the pealing of the memory bell. The inner ringing reminds me of my son T.J.'s Nightingale visit.

It was after school. T.J. and baby sister Shannon were running amok re-enacting "Star Wars" near the stairs out back at Radio Station KULP. T.J.'s wrist broke clean and thanks to Dr. Goelzer it came back stronger than before, releasing me to write a column entitled "Stair Wars" about the experience.

My next Nightingale memory lacks a title - too scary. What I recall is a roomful of stunned, on-the-edge-ofshock members of the '78 Ricebird basketball team. The "Birds" were returning from shellacking the Calhoun Sandcrabs. One moment the bus was a Good-Old-Time Rock and Roller, then it was in the ditch and kids, coaches and radio reporters forgot all about basketball and started remembering childhood prayers.

The prayers were answered. No one suffered serious injury and the team made the playoffs.

Later, I remember good screams from the Jaycees' fundraising Haunted Hospital.

But eventually, nothing held the abandoned place of mercy together except broken windows and four-letter graffiti.

The bricks, windows and emergency room are gone. But soon houses will rise where once a hospital lived and breathed.

If you're reading, Bert, come get your bricks. They look just like you.

This classic Jerry Aulds' column first appeared in the El Campo Leader- News on May 26, 2001.