I had gotten most of myself outside the window and was hanging onto the only thing I could, the drainpipe that ran up the side of the building.

“I was dangling at a dangerous angle, holding onto the falling pipe.” Drawings by Beverly Baker Moore / The Rag Blog.
It was an old-time Austin jailbreak.
It was a jailbreak marriage, actually. The term was one of many pop sociology/psychology terms batted around 50 years ago. “Jailbreak marriage” was an appropriate description for those times, though, because for most young women the only acceptable and/or available way out from under their father’s roof was to marry.
That same 50-plus years ago, my family moved to Bergstrom Air Force Base from somewhere or other up north. Inside the windows of my high school classroom across the highway from Bergstrom, Austin beckoned in the distance. I didn’t know very much about it. Just another town our family got transferred to… there had been so many. This time was just a bit different, though. This time I would turn 18 in six months. This time I might have a say in where I would live next. This time I was paying attention.
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