RESTART THE WORLD

KJ Hayes/ RESTART THE WORLD Page 1

CHAPTER #1

Albert Einstein once said, “The definition of genius is taking the complex and making it simple.” My name is Jack Dean Madox and this is the journal of my life for my family's private records starting from the beginning.

I was born in Seattle, Washington with a sizable silver spoon in my mouth. Unlike many brothers, Dad and my Uncle Ron have been inseparable since birth one year apart, preferring each other’s company than the friends they met early in life due to their higher intelligence.

Growing up, for fun they would take all the appliances around the house apart so they could get their hands on, just to see how they worked. Their parents were ecstatic when they finally learned how to put them back together when finished playing with them. One of the most challenging things to do is find your niche in life. For them, learning how things worked, then making improvements when possible was their thing.

Sharing 185+ IQ’s, they were still grounded with caring hearts. Along with their three childhood buddies whom they met in junior high packing about the same number of marbles in their buckets. Dr. Eugene Golden, Dr. Sid Kibler, and Dr. Kelly Bain. I grew up knowing them as my loving Uncles.

At the ages of sixteen, together they started their first company called INLAB, named after where they spend most of their time. Together they repaired and upgraded medical diagnostic imaging equipment like X-Ray, CT, MRI, and Fluoroscope machines eventually making enough money to start their own line of diagnostic equipment.

Their new line of equipment was more advanced, faster, and less expensive than the competition, which leads them to an early fortune. With most of the money they made from their new line of diagnostic equipment it was an easy decision to invest in their fellow “Seattle nerd’s” project two blocks down the street. A group of friends who called their company in their garage, Microsoft. This investment led them to their real fortunes.

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With an IQ of one hundred and twenty-seven, along with an (Eidetic) photographic memory, I’m the dummy of the family, with my younger cousin Jesse having an IQ slightly higher than all, making him the top dog on the Brainiac totem pole, with me holding it up.

I’ve never kept a journal so writing in this format should be interesting. One can be sure at least with my memory, the events, and conversations will be right on the money. The only writing I’ve done is for songs or poems so this will be something new so will have to see where this goes.

Growing up among minds of their caliber was no mental walk in the park for me.

Most dinner conversations flew over my head more often than not. I was usually left to my daydreams of playing Bass guitar, becoming a rock star someday. After jumping two grades ahead in High School and graduating at fifteen.

I joined a friend’s band who was getting ready to go out on tour when tragedy hit with their Bass player, my friend was disabled in a motorcycle accident. I was a shoo-in since I had jammed with them for years, knowing all their songs.

With the blessing of my disabled friend, I got my break and joined the band. My family backed my Rock-and-roll fantasy in every way they could. With a fake ID saying I was eighteen, we were off to take on the world on, one stage at a time. I felt on top of the world traveling around the world in a private jet my Dad provided us.

Playing in every Venue that would book us in different countries. As good things sometimes do, my world crashed and burned around me when I developed a nasty heroin addiction along the way.

After the junk had leached my health, and nearly my soul, I sat in the corner of a hotel room with my Dad’s Colt 45 resting on my temple. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t muster the strength to squeeze it’s hair-trigger. I couldn’t get the image of my cousin Jesse’s face out of my mind, nor the thoughts of what my action would put him through.

It was too much for me to deal with so I laid the revolver on the floor and started praying as I had never before for help in finding my way out of this noose I had so willingly placed around my neck. With the support of my family, I checked into rehab finding my miracle for the most part.

After detoxing off the drug, we found I had Rheumatoid Arthritis. I hadn’t felt the pain from it due to the high doses of pain killing opium in my system at all times. Even though I had no wish to go back doing the amounts of the drug I used to do, I still had to kill the pain now and then with pain pills when an RA attack became too much to handle.

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In the year two thousand, our entire group decided to move to California for the warm weather and access to facilities with illegal materials only found in the old deep dark industrial areas of downtown LA for their work. They found the perfect spot of land to build our new home to plant our roots.

Located between the Hurst Castle and Santa Barbara off the Ventura 101 freeway they jointly bought two hundred acres of paradise on top of the steep slopes overlooking the sea. When the group got together to design the house, of course it wasn’t going to be just any run of the mill mansion.

With the Hearst Castle up the street sparking inspiration with money not an issue, they decided to build a mansion with castle like fetchers to it along the ridge with the spectacular view of the coast line. Upon completion in 2007 the family moved in. Not quite the size of our neighbors the Hurst’s, but nonetheless a beautiful place we could all call home.

Whenever we went on family outings we preferred to watch, we prefer to go someplace where there was some type of racing. Not caring the size of motors or type of boats in the competitions, all that mattered was there was a race to watch or participate in.

One of our other passions in life was feeding our mind in museums and the old Castles of Europe. For a family of nerds, this was the equivalent of going to Disneyland. Jesse and I relished the times we spend together venturing through the never-ending numbers of Castles or Estates museums We enjoyed the cultural centers listening to the famous folklore talked about each. The stories we liked best were the spooky ones that always inspire and vitalized our imagination, giving me more in my toolbox for writing songs.

On a bright summer day, I pulled into the auto court with a man standing in the driveway in grease and grime-covered bib overalls he rarely gets time to put on. It was my Uncle Ron, Dr. Ronald Jesse Madox. Rolling down the window, I yelled, “Hey old man, get your rotting sea carcass out of my way.” With a big grin, he showed me the back of his middle finger.

Like I was saying, the family’s sport of choice is racing, racing of any kind, especially when there are motors evolved. The boys have been collecting and restoring autos way before I was a gleam in my dad’s eye. Not having much time to get their hands dirty with their rides anymore due to the latest project they have been diligently working on, they have certain shops restore the new toys they come across and keep the old ones in working condition. They share the collection of rides with a policy of if there’s not a note on it with someone’s plans for the vehicle, it’s up for grabs.

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Walking to the back entrance of the Castle Uncle Ron was waiting with a couple of Segways, saying, “I’ll go change into something not so messy and meet you in the living room.” I grabbed one and before I took off asking, where is Jesse?

He replied, “In the pool with some friends. Everyone else took off for the weekend and won’t be coming back until Monday, so we have the Castle all to ourselves.”

As usual, I went down the corridors of the Castle pushing the Segway like a skateboard so as not to dare knock over any of the valuable pieces along the way. With Burgers in hand, it tried my patients not to speed down the corridors to the living-room with the priceless artifacts of our ancestry lining the walls, with artifacts on podiums which can be traced backed as far as the early Seventeen-Hundreds.

When it comes to the architecture of the old Castles of England, the family has a particular taste for the style of the old Sixteenth-Century Estates. You know, the kind you see in the scary films where monsters, and vampires’ dwell.

I walked over to the sofa with the aid of my dragon’s head cane Jesse had brought me when I was in rehab. After the junk wore off, and I was able to feel my body without the mask of the poppy, felling my first real arthritic attack, which curled my legs into the fetal position in raging pain.

What scared me the most was not knowing what the cause as did the Doctors at first. With my body now in touch with itself, a Rheumatologist diagnoses me with RH, and Gout, started me on the proper medication to get me out of the wheelchair, and somewhat back on the road again.

Planting my butt on the couch, I placed the burgers and fries on a silver platter Uncle Ron had set on the Chippendale coffee table in preparation for the burger feast.

The living room is oval-shaped, and could easily fit a semi-tractor within its walls. Half the oval room faces the ocean encased in the twenty-foot-high glass windows, giving an unobstructed view of the sea and beach below. With elevators on both sides of the room providing access to the swimming pool below.

I started on my burger as I walked onto the balcony to have a look-see who Jesse’s friends were, since he didn’t have any friends his age, they happened to be the Kringen twins. Dawn and Deborah Kringen, are a couple of brilliant identical blond sisters who father time consistently overlooks.

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Two brilliant minds who the elders, trust to outsource their most technical parts of projects, and two of the most beautiful people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

I said, Hey, to the girls. Then told Jesse, “Your burger is on the table so if you don’t get to it before I finish mine, yours will be next on my menu.”

It busted me up watching my coming-of-age twelve-year-old cousin torn between the company of two beautiful women and his cheeseburger. Not knowing for sure if I was bluffing, he found it not worth the risk saying farewell to the women for now, and made a bee line toward the elevator. He was up the lift, and running out sniffing the air like a bloodhound for his dinner.

When he saw the plentiful pile of burgers on the platter with loads of fries an onion rings, he shook his fist in my direction saying, “Bite me.” Uncle Ron found his way to the living room inhaling his dinner. Then asked between mouthfuls of burgers and fries if I wanted to take the twenty-five-cent tour of the lab. I had been away for so long, things I’m sure had changed”

I said, “We better get moving before the burgers settle in tethering to the couch watching TV instead.” I asked Jesse if he was coming, replieing, “I’ve seen the tour, I’m still waiting for my refund.”

During my absence, they’ve kept adding on to the place like it was the Winchester Mystery House with the complex now a third larger. We jumped on the Segways and skateboarded down the hallways slowly until out in the auto court, then the race was on.

Down the trail to the far back of the property where they built their new lab. We battled each other down the path, trying to knock each other off the Segways to take the checker with both arriving at the same time, boasting each other had won.

Once we parked the Segway Uncle Ron said, “With some of the elements we have been working with, we needed a place to be shielded from any outside interference. To carry out this we built the laboratory, seventy feet underground. We figured fifty-five feet would do, but since we were at it, we thought there might be advantages of going a little deeper.

“Why do I feel my chain is being yanked.”

“Not in the least, you will see for yourself my young primate.”