….She had been seriously considering the act of murder. If that long legged husband of hers had stepped through the door of the delivery room, she had been pretty sure she could have taken him. Yep. She would have just killed him right where he stood. He would have been lucky to make it two steps into the room before she would have gone all kung-fu on his skinny ass. At the time she hadn’t thought it would have made the pain go away, but she would have felt a whole helluva lot better.
The night of July 3rd, 1967 was a long one for the doctors and nurses at Twin Falls Community Hospital, and especially long for young Josephine Anderson. Josephine had been there to bring a new child into the world. Her baby had much different thoughts on the matter. It had seemed to Josephine that the little creature was going to be a handful before it even breathed in its first lungful of Idaho air, or nursed at her swollen breast. Her thinking, at the time, was correct.
The argument between mother and child had been intense. It raged for hours. Poor Josephine did not having an easy time of it. Neither did her child. He had been a determined baby, and he fought a losing battle against birth. He was forced into a world he wanted no part of, and he fought every inch of the way. Forever he would long for the warm comfort of his mother’s womb.
Josephine’s husband had dropped her off at the emergency room on his way to work. Harold had been employed as a night watchman at the local lumber mill, and he hadn’t wanted to do anything that might jeopardize his job: being late for work was one thing Harold Anderson avoided at all costs.
Josephine loved music, and she was a huge Elvis Presley fan. She had owned a copy of every song The King ever recorded. Just two months before the night of July 3rd, Josephine had become so distraught when she heard that Elvis and Priscilla had gotten married (she dreamed that he’d be her man) that Harold had to take her to the hospital’s emergency room. Josephine had gone into false labor, and it had frightened the young couple. They thought for sure that their baby was going to arrive much earlier than anticipated. The unborn child had different thoughts on the subject of arriving into the world prematurely. As a matter of fact, he would have been quite content in staying right where he was for another two or three years, maybe longer. He just wanted to let the young couple know who was going to be boss around the house when he did make his entrance into the world. “Better to start early than never start at all.”
Harold lost a day’s pay for that little incident. He had seen it as a bad mark against his stellar employment record, and he wasn’t about to take the chance it might happen again. So, on Independence Day Eve, 1967 Harold had walked his wife into the hospital, and turned her over to the admittance nurse. He then kissed her goodbye, patted her big belly, settled behind the steering wheel of his rundown Ford Fairlane, and drove to work.
Josephine endured 15 hours of hard labor, most of it alone, in a cold, dingy room at the only hospital in Twin Falls. By the time she had delivered the 8 lb, 12 oz. baby boy, at 10:15 on a sunny July 4th morning, Harold had returned from work, and had curled his lanky form into the fetal position on the lime green naugahyde couch in the waiting room of the maternity ward in an attempt to rest his tired body.
When the nurse had shaken Harold awake he had rushed down the hall to Josephine’s room only to find mother and child sleeping soundly. Still extremely tired, Harold slouched into the uncomfortable chair in the corner of the semi-private room where Josephine and her newborn baby boy slept, closed his eyes, and, in no time at all, began to softly snore, in rhythm with the quiet breathing of his wife and son. The next day the little family drove home to the tiny house in Ketchum. That was the beginning of time for Dwayne “Pinky” Anderson.
Now, you may ask, where did the name Pinky come from? Children are born all over the world, some with physical deformities, others with mental incapacities, many with neither. The son of Harold and Josephine Anderson came into the world with a small extra appendage on his left hand. The nurse in the delivery room had exclaimed, “Oh, isn’t that cute? He’s got an extra little pinky.” The name stuck. Many times throughout his life Dwayne Anderson wished it hadn’t.