A Partin History

Prelude

I was very high and sitting cross legged and looking through the campfire flames at my friends holding their beer bottles. One of their daughters, my goddaughter, was sitting cross legged beside me.

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Rumors

In the summer of 1977, my dad pulled into PawPaw’s gravel driveway in his big, new Ford F150 truck and opened the passenger door for me. I tossed my weekend backpack onto the seat and crawled up and in, kicking empty beer cans out of the way so I could step into the floorboard and heft myself onto the bucket seat. I was anxious to show him my new pocketknife, the Old Henry PawPaw had given me and taught how to use after I killed Stretch Armstrong with a screwdriver. I was safe, kept it sharp, and always had it in my pocket, ready for action should there be trouble.

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Introduction

I’ve had a remarkable life. I’m not famous, nor have I overcome obstacles forced upon many people based on where they were born or their race or gender. I was born a hale white male in America, and I have multiple college engineering degrees, easy access to healthcare, a respectable individual retirement account, diverse and upbeat friends, a loving family, a beautiful home with several raised bed gardens and a refrigerator full of food, and no worries that I don’t impose upon myself. I’m aware that almost half of the 7.7 billion people on Earth will go to bed hungry tonight, and I’m in the top 0.001% of what most people consider privileged. That’s so rare it’s remarkable.

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Wendy’s Angel

I was strolling near my home in San Diego when I answered my phone and learned that my mother was dying in a hospital 3,000 miles away. I hung up and purchased the next plane ticket to Baton Rouge.

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A Partin History

My grandfather, Edward Grady Partin, was a big man with a small part in history.

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Wendy’s Angel

I was strolling near my home in San Diego when I answered my phone and learned that my mother was dying in a hospital 3,000 miles away. I hung up and purchased the next airplane ticket to Baton Rouge. Two days later, my plane began its decent and I stared out the window, worried and fatigued and lost in thoughts.

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JIP

A 1976 court record easily found online summarizes the first few years of my life concisely and accurately. In Partin vs Partin, the plaintiff was my biologic father, Edward Grady Partin Jr., and the defendant was my biologic mother, Wendy Anne Rothdram Partin. I was “young Jason,” Jason Ian Partin, and I was in the physical custody of Mr. and Mrs. Ed White, my PawPaw and MawMaw. All were trying to gain legal custody of me.

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Rocky shot up a small town during the war on drugs

I don’t know if my dad, Ed Partin Junior, saw his father portrayed by Brian Dennehey in “Blood Feud,” the 1983 film about Jimmy Hoffa and Bobby Kennedy, but if he did he never mentioned it to me.

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A Part in History : My Biased Summary

Most information about my family, Hoffa, and the Kennedys is publicly available, and anyone with access to the internet can sort through immense amounts of data and make assumptions and guess what happened. I did, and though I still don’t know for sure what happened, this is my biased summary.

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