1964 - Picked On

I wrote this some time ago but for some reason hesitated to publish. Comments?

1964 – Let’s Examine The Question: Was I Really Picked On As A Kid?

When playing pool I usually take the shot where the ball is directly in front of the pocket. This is an easy target and a logical choice. The guy with big ears, the guy with an upturned nose, the girl with hairy arms or the girl who is taller than all of the boys are also easy targets when a joker is looking for an easy laugh. The individual of either sex that is the first of their peers to develop adult physical characteristics is an obvious target. Sometimes a particular individual only targets the easy target occasionally. Unfortunately when several individuals only poke fun once in a while it can still seem like a steady message of abuse to the frequent target. There is no way to condone the incident at Columbine…but it is not impossible to understand.

This has always been a question about which I have mixed feelings. I’m pretty sure a lot of kids’ feel they are “picked on” but how much of that is personal insecurity and how much is actual bullying?

After attending a recent 40-year class reunion I realized that much of my perception had been colored by my personal insecurities and, perhaps, a few small incidents that had been blown out-of-proportion by my youthful insecurities or years-old memories. So how much of this was valid? I DON’T REMEMBER, for instance, being stuffed into my locker. I DON’T REMEMBER being tied naked to a tree in the schoolyard, I DON’T REMEMBER being beaten senseless by classmates…so where did feelings of victimization come from? What exactly DO I remember? Let’s examine some of my memories and perhaps some reasons for my insecurities.

I am not large of stature but I like to think I’m well adjusted so that the fact is simply an accepted condition. I take after my dad. Dad was always a bit insecure about his height, which caused him to slump a bit. On frequent occasions, dad would discuss or tell stories about how he had arm-wrestled one of the biggest guys at work or how he had overcome some event that had been colored by his small stature. Both of us accepted the need to often stand on something that would give us the required boost. My admiration for my dad is boundless but his insecurities regarding his size have always been an obvious issue. My best friends are all quite tall but as far as I can tell we are eye-to-eye when we stand together. It is mostly in pictures where I notice the difference. I suppose, internally somewhere, my size is a big issue but to my conscience world it is a consideration, but, normally, a minor consideration. But when I was younger and had to deal with a less-mature world than the one I currently inhabit size may have been a larger issue – let’s see:

In my early years I really don’t remember any negative incidents until, around the age of 8 the minister’s kids de-pantsed me and ran my jeans up the school flagpole. While I was being held securely by the twins, Wayne and Duane, both a year younger than me but comparatively my size, their older brother Ray, 2 years my elder and much bigger, pulled my pants off and ran like the wind toward the grade school which was handily located next door to his house and across the street from my own. I pursued in my underwear with single-minded concentration. I was not really concerned about my exposure to the outside world as embarrassed by being so easily abused and concerned about retrieving my new pants. We were not in a situation to replace them so these would be my new jeans and would have to last until they were outgrown. Mom would be very upset if they were lost so, not knowing Ray’s ultimate goal was a flagpole I ran as fast as I could to catch him. As he began running the pants up the pole I reached him and grabbed for the line. As I reached my hand out my feet were swept away and I found myself under the twins who were doing everything they could to keep me away from their big brother. I barely felt the skin scrape off of my knees as I hit the concrete pad surrounding the flagpole. After successfully running my pants to the top of the pole Ray attempted to tie the rope off well above my head. Luckily he could not find a good spot for this and he was reduced to winding the rope a couple of times around the pole and tying it off. It immediately came undone with no effort and I was able to retrieve my apparel. The other boys had run off and were standing across the street laughing at my predicament while I redressed and headed back to play. I was a bit irritated at my impotency to deal with kids that were bigger and whom had me outnumbered. I accepted my fate philosophically and rejoined the group laughing along with the joke although not feeling as carefree as I acted.

A year later Westfield opened and all classes over 4th grade transferred to that location. School was now several blocks away and no longer right across the street. It was not very long before someone I had considered a distant friend had grown to be quite bigger than me and for some reason began to take advantage of that condition. For ease of storytelling I’ll call him Art. Art and I had recently cooperated in an English class where we were all asked to write a creative story. After Art had read his story aloud to the class the teacher noted that his story and mine were both about medieval adventures and seemed to have a lot in common. Soon thereafter we put our 2 stories together and bound them in cardboard tied with a shoelace. I still have that “book.” He and I had never been too close but we had years in classes together and although I had always considered him a classmate that was more of an acquaintance than a friend, there had never been any friction between us and at times we worked together well when we were teamed together. When he called me over during recess one day I responded to the call with a short run to his location near one of the little saplings that were still struggling to grow after their transplanting just a few months or weeks before. For reasons still not understood he decided it would be great fun to tie me to the tree. Despite my lack of cooperation he and his cohort had removed my belt, tied my hands together behind my back and around the young sapling with that belt and proceeded to pummel me in the chest and stomach with their fists. They left me there to struggle out of my bonds and back to class late. I recall I got sent to the principal for being late to class and, although I complained, there were no witnesses and I was warned not to make up stories as excuses for my tardiness. I didn’t see the bruises myself until I undressed that evening, my brother being the only witness to these wounds.

The summer between my 7th and 8th grade years I shaved for the first time. Mom cried. I took this in stride expecting that it was about time I became more mature. My voice began to change from tenor to baritone. Unfortunately I was the first classmate to develop in other ways having pubic hair as well as significantly increasing certain physical attributes. In my embarrassment I would change in a corner of the locker room with my back to the other boys until my somewhat obvious changes were noticed by a classmate who was somewhat taller than me and one of the big “jocks” of the school. Today I would hardly be embarrassed by the comments made to me, but as an 8th grader, jokes about going out for the pole vault or having trouble walking upright with all of the extra weight or comments regarding extra-large jockstraps or the increase in the cost of haircuts “because there was so much more to cut” were less than appreciated. It was just one more way I was different form everyone around me. I understand girls that develop early have similar experiences as, I am sure, many an “early developer” has. That doesn’t make the personal experience any easier.

My 8th grade year I decided I wanted to play football and I went out for the team…and was immediately cut following the first practice. When I stopped the coach in the hallway right outside the library and spoke to him regarding this he replied offhandedly, glancing towards the library, that such a little guy should go out for something more to my size “Like a librarian.” I was devastated and, although I’m sure he didn’t give his comment a second thought I obviously have remembered that remark for years afterward. With determination I joined the intramural football team from which a team member could not be cut. Although I could not be cut I didn’t see much playtime, which is why I was available to converse with a friend who happened to be on the opposing team. My team was winning by a touchdown and when I mentioned this fact he disagreed with some anger and punched me in the stomach. I went down like a sack of potatoes but immediately jumped to my feet answering in anger that he should look at the scoreboard and not to blame me for the score. I said something like “Blame your teammates!” Wham! I went down again this time to a sock in the jaw. Before I had a chance to recover he was on me. Boney legs (did I mention he was tall and skinny?) on my upper arms, sitting on my chest pummeling my face with boney hands and knuckles yelling, “Take it back! Take it back!” He was suddenly pulled to his feet by Mr. Bush, the intramural coach, and held immobile by the back of his shirt collar. As I tried to rise I found myself in the same position. “You’re both off the team for fighting! Get out of here!” Mr. Bush shouted. He turned his back and walked away refusing to listen to my protests. This may be one of the 1 or 2 fights I’ve ever had, of course excepting fights with my brothers. Now the outcome was not to my liking and, to me unfair. Now my opponent was much bigger than me, but despite that this incident does not fell like being picked on– just one of those things that happen between boys. Even though I didn’t necessarily agree to the fight or participate willingly it was still a legitimate disagreement and misunderstanding and not an incidence of being picked upon.

Coach’s comment was thoughtless and uncalled for. It took a very long time to outgrow, as it was the opinion of an adult and not the behavior of a kid whom I could ignore as ignorant.

In grade school I had a friend, classmate and fellow scout who was approximately my size and yet he insisted in humor that consisted, to a great extent, of put-downs at my expense and occasionally slapping me on the cheek, which he saw as the height of humor. I didn’t feel the same…but I never objected strongly either. I am essentially shy and although secure in my philosophy feel less than secure when it comes to physical conflict.

As I examine these little acts I wonder if these incidents happened because I am short or because I am a passive person. Before I had a personal philosophy my MO was simply to avoid conflict of any kind. Nowadays I prefer to confront the conflict and eliminate it while it is still fresh and before it has built or expanded. I don’t relish conflict and avoid it by facing any potential conflict early. You know…like an adult. I learned long ago that conflict is often unavoidable but dealing with the early fall-out has proven to be easier than ignoring the problem, letting it explode into to bigger issue or allowing inaction support the reasoning of someone who dislikes a certain course of action because they don’t understand the decision-making process. This does not always result in eliminating conflict but I am sure reduces the amount of conflict in my life.

As a freshman in High School an unnamed classmate insisted on stealing my briefcase every day at lunchtime (yes, I was a bit of a geek, despite my terrible grades) and flushing the briefcase in the boy’s room toilet. This persisted daily until, finally fed up with this behavior and his refusal to listen to reason, I snapped as I saw him approach. I waited for the briefcase to disappear. I had previously tried a tug-of-war over the bag but had not succeeded in overcoming his superior leverage and strength…it was obvious this didn’t work. This time I waited until the case disappeared and waited a beat for the lad to turn his back after which I followed only a few feet behind. As he bent to flush the toilet and insert the case I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and forced him to continue in the direction he had been bending trying to force his head into the toilet. I tried to secure the case from him but was unable to wrest it from his hand only succeeding in pulling it aside and out of the toilet leaving a clear path for his head which I continued to forced down as quickly as possible. He released his grip on the case and placed his hands each on the rim of the commode holding his head desperately above the bowl. Giving one last shove I released him expecting a fight on my hands. Instead one hand slipped off the rim and his arm splashed into the water as I released his neck and turned to go. Holding my briefcase I ran for the door pausing just inside to peer back around in preparation of a defensive stance only to see my tormentor looking close to tears and shaking his hand violently. He was paying no attention to me. Although he never mentioned the incident it was the last time he picked on me in that manner. It solved the problem but I have been embarrassed that I could not find a better solution.

My sophomore year a group of tuffs, guys I knew but didn’t hang with as they were all football buddies and teammates, none of with whom I socialized, managed to do the gym-shorts-drop where someone approaches from behind and, taking advantage of the elastic waistline, sweeping the shorts to the knees or beyond. I was then summarily picked up and thrown into the girls’ locker room. To both my relief and disappointment there was no one in the locker room at the time although I could hear them approaching through the closed entrance to the “Girls’ Gym.” I shot back through the door to find my tormentors all disappeared and my shorts lying on the floor. I didn’t report the incident as I took it as juvenile playfulness although I still didn’t enjoy being the subject of these little jests.

Although I don’t approve, of course…I do understand how the stress has caused some recent and past students to breakdown mentally and to do violence on classmates and teachers. Like I say I don’t approve – but I kinda understand. An insidious history of victimization by a number of people looks a lot different to the frequent victim than it does to the occasional bully.

Today I stand tall for equal rights for everyone including blacks, women, gays, etc. Am I, today, a bit overly sensitive to verbal jabs and unjust statements toward others and has this feeling of personal victimization had a lot to do with this attitude?

Probably.

But I am also proud of being mostly pacifist as I have a firm belief that most disagreements can be overcome with negotiation and education. I do believe in standing up for the underdog, physically if necessary and there have been times I had to solve a problem with the threat of fisticuffs but it has rarely come to that conclusion. I make every attempt to not make false accusations and to keep an open mind when there is disagreement as there are 2-sides to almost every story. Realistically, I do not believe all of this is 100% attainable as some people or organizations will adamantly refuse to listen to reason and in some cases, like the tale of the old mule and the 2 X 4, you just have to get their attention first…but overall I agree with the quote by Carlos Santana:

“If you try to solve a problem with hate,
You are part of the problem.
If you try to solve a problem with love,
You are part of the solution.”

As far as my being picked on as a kid – get over it!

1970 - My Lunch With Moray

I absolutely love swimming Southern Pacific waters. Always a new experience.

1970 – My Lunch With Moray

I dove for the bottom, only 15 or so feet below. I waved at Kathleen, my lovely wife, whom I assumed was watching through the glass-bottomed boat’s glass bottom as she was uncomfortable swimming in water that was too deep in which to stand. We had taken a day-trip south from Ma’alaea Harbor, on Maui, to a crescent-moon shaped sunken volcanic caldera a-ways off-shore. We were entertained on the way out with videos of past trips, talks about safety & snorkeling as well as a short presentation about the island, its history and the surrounding ocean. What was left of Molokini, the name of the part of this little island’s volcanic cone that stuck out of the water, was a shallow bottomed “pool,” the outside edges of which plunged almost straight down into deep-ocean.

(From Wikipedia) “Legend has it that Molokini was once a beautiful woman. She and Pele, the fire goddess, were in love with the same man. The jealous Pele cut her rival in two and transformed her into stone. The woman’s head is supposedly Puu Olai, the cinder cone by Makena Beach. During World War II, the Navy used Molokini for target practice because of its similarity in shape to a battleship.” Hmmm…ok.

Leaving from dockside we shook with the impact of the oncoming surf but soon turned south after leaving the relative shelter of the harbor. Running with the prevailing wind and waves made for a much smoother ride. After a couple of hours heading south at a good clip, we arrived ready for a swim and it didn’t take long before the water was fairly teeming with swimmers and snorkelers. Slipping into my mask and fins I was one of the first into the warm, heavenly warm, water.

Again, I dove for the bottom, at this spot it was only 10 or so feet below. The coral were filled with sparkling bright and colorful fish of all types and sizes. I dove into a pair of Butterfly Fish and they darted just out of reach picking at the tips of the coral, cleaning algae and the tiny little ubiquitous, shrimp-like crustaceans. A school of Blue Tangs swam through the cracks and crevasses as though the reef were part of an underwater fish-freeway. In between the coral-heads were clear stretches of bare sand. These areas were teeming with life of all colors and sizes. As I leisurely kicked my way across one of these patches of sand a pair of Moorish Idols cruised along with me less than a foot from the right side of my head. If I reached out to them they would move out of my reach but moved back in when I put my arms back to my side. I surfaced for air, blowing the water out of my snorkel. Keeping my head underwater I watched them cruise on ahead of me. With a quick flip of their tails they turned left and swam out of sight under an outcrop of coral. I cautiously explored some of these coral heads knowing from past experiences that surprises can lurk inside some of the deeper crevasses.

The swim reminded me of a day when I was in the Navy diving and swimming off Grande Island in the Philippines. Both areas similar in the temperature of the water and the color and variance of the fish.

The sky was crystal clear as was the water as we climbed into the Military Water Taxi that would take us to Grande Island. It had been a lovely, although decidedly hot and humid, day.

Just the day before, we had attended the mandatory Change-Of-Command Ceremony. During this ceremony the heat had become a major issue. We all stood in ranks in our dress-white uniforms awaiting the inspection of the ranks by the new Captain. This was normally a simple formality as everyone would be in their best uniform and as cleaned up as they can get. The helicopter-deck, where our division stood together in the early morning sun radiated heat back to us as the ¼ inch steel decking heated to an even greater temperature than it had maintained all night. The nights in the Philippines, at this time of year never got below sweaty and uncomfortable. Living inside the skin of the ship told us clearly why a destroyer is known as a “tin-can.” It made residents feel as though they were packed like tuna in a container that is also an excellent conductor of heat. Many of us had spent the night on an outside deck where the hot breeze made the radiant heat barely livable. This AM we looked forward to a quick inspection, a couple of short speeches and cake on the mess-decks. Everyone was surprised when our outgoing Captain stopped at the first sailor and looked down. He frowned. “Shoeshine, Chief.” Boats, the traditional name for the Chief Boatswains Mate, made a note on his clipboard and shook his head. Thinking of the faulted sailor he also noted to himself that it was going to be a long day if the Captain was going to actually start formalizing the inspection. Another step… “Shoeshine, Chief.” Another mark on the clip-board… Another step and another pause… The Chief stood at-ease as the Captain took a half-step back and looked down the row at the shoes of the sailors in the front rank. “Chief, Have them step back.”

“Crew, attention!” “One step to the rear…step!” We all took a step backwards. Although our eyes should have been on the horizon straight ahead of us I noticed more than one head turn, as did mine, as we examined the decking where we had stood moments before. Outlining most of the spots where sailors had formerly stood was the black outline of their shoes. The decking was so hot the polish was actually melting of off the well-polished shoes leaving a dull finish behind. The only exceptions to this were those few sailors that had purchased “Florshiem’s” a style of shoe with a highly-polished finish. At that moment Dave, halfway down the ranks, dropped to the deck in a dead-faint. At the same time 2 sailors standing in ranks on the main-deck dropped in a faint from the heat and humidity.

“Chief, dismiss the crew. We’ll carry on this ceremony in the Wardroom. Please assure all Officers and Chiefs attend.” The Captain turned to his replacement and motioned him ahead of him as they retired to Officer’s Country. Upon command we broke ranks and, after a short interlude with cake on the mess-decks, retired into our work uniforms and went back to our regular work. That was a Friday and we were off for the Saturday and had planned our trip to Grande Island all week.

We headed out Saturday morning expecting a great day. Our walk took us past the dry-docks, one of which now contained half of the USS Evans, a destroyer of the same model as ours. The Evans had been run over by the Melbourne, an Australian Aircraft Carrier. It had split into two pieces at the expansion joint and appeared to have been sliced down the middle by a razor-blade. Unfortunately the forward part of the ship had sunk immediately while the aft end stayed afloat long enough to tie it to the carrier and save most of the sailors inside. In a few weeks Bob, a USS Evans crew member would join our crew and wind up sleeping in the same compartment that he had slept in during his time on the Evans. The salvaged air conditioner from the Evans replaced the poorly working unit in our compartment so its familiar squeaks and whines continuously reminded Bob of his time on the Evans. He never slept easy. For the time being that Bob was in our future and Bob Kelly, our 2nd class PO was leading us to the island where he had been several times.

We were in Subic Bay for replenishment, repairs and R&R (Rest & Relaxation). Saturday was planned to be a featured part of the R&R. The island was known for its great swimming and diving and well known as a picnic/party place with an EM Club which welcomed us all with big fans to keep the flies down and beer inexpensive and cold enough to quench any thirst.

Merle, Ladd, Hank, Bob Kelly and I arrived on the dock and headed out immediately for the locker club where we could stash our street clothes or uniforms and change into swimming gear. We noticed that when we returned the EM Club was just a short walk across a shaded outdoor atrium. Perfect! We headed for the back of the island where the best diving was rumored to be. We would all meet for lunch.

The coral heads came near the surface of the water in some areas but between the heads were long stretches of pale-tan smooth sand where fish schooled and played in incredible volume. It was these stretches that would, one day, remind me of this swim as I glided above the bottom of Molikini.

I dove and swam for a while before Merle called my attention to a particularly well-populated group of coral-heads. I swam over near his location as we swam together for a few minutes. Merle wandered off as I dove towards a particularly lovely coral-head, cruising through the gaps and observing the fish, snails and undersea life that hid inside the many holes and gaps in the coral. A thick-faced dull-green head stuck out of a good sized hole and watched me with darting eyes. It didn’t seem concerned at all with my presence unlike most of the fish I swam toward. I swam in closer. Obviously, to me, this fish had grown big enough to survive to this size. I headed for the surface to blow the air out of the snorkel and take another dive down. I quickly located the fish I had last seen. I still waited just inside its hole with only its wide smiling mouth and eyes visible. As the sun passed behind a cloud I moved closer and steadied myself in the water. The sun re-emerged as I reached out. I moved my hand from side side-to-side and watched as its head followed my hand back and forth. I resurfaced and called to Merle shouting to him about the fish that showed no fear. “Do you have anything I could feed him?” I shouted. Merle replied to the negative and swam in my direction. I dove again and immediately found the waiting fish. The animal still showed no fear as I came closer until my hand was within about 6-inches from its nose. It watched my hand intently. The creature suddenly jerked to the side away from my hand and emerged a good 15 inches, most of its body remaining inside its lair. Simultaneously I jerked my hand away from what was quite obviously a very large moray eel and…well…I panicked. Merle said as I passed him it looked like I was running across the top of the water with flippers on.

I waited in the shallows recovering my wind from the scare. After a few short minutes I rejoined my companions and began exploring again with the same interest as before but with a greater level of caution.

This incident was in the back of my mind as I glided above the sand off Molikini. I was keeping my eye out for “scary” fish. I was well aware barracuda, sharks, eels & other various less-than-friendly denizens cruised this part of the ocean although preferring areas with deeper bottom and fewer people who were typically noisy, chasing game away, as well as numerous, dangerous and too big to eat, in most cases. I saw, of course, no dangerous fish or anything else of note except clear warm water and hundreds of multicolored flora and fauna.

After a couple of hours swimming we all climbed aboard our boat & headed back to port which would be another 2-hour trip. On the way back we watched the video that we starred in for this trip interplayed with shots of the current batch of adventurers and the seafloor that had been shot both this time as well as some beautiful underwater scenic shots from past trips. A Hawai’ian barbeque was served as promised and beer was available for a small cost. It was a great party with our many new acquaintances on a fantastically lovely day. As we came into the shelter of the considerable harbor we traveled with dozens and dozens of sea-turtles that swam along side as we slowly overtook them. The next day I would encounter one of these large reptiles during a swim offshore of our hotel. A half-dozen or so of us swam alongside, and in some cases, rode the wild turtle for around 20 minutes before it headed back out into deeper water.

Simply another perfect day…and the memory of another…

1960 - Young Love

I don’t remember ever going through a period of not liking girls. They have always been alluring, mysterious, good smelling and nice to hold. My very first attractant was my cousin Terri’s cousin on her mother’s side and so unrelated to me. At the age of 6 I fell in love with Judy and wrote her letters for a year until we grew apart or, in reality a couple of 6-year olds were attracted by something (at 6 – anything) else and she stopped writing. Last I heard and this was actually about 6-months ago, she was doing just fine without me.


1960 – Young Love

She was young and lovely. Long eyelashes on pretty blue eyes. Long Blonde hair, straight with bangs across the front. Thin and svelte and just like I liked ‘em…9-years old…just like me.

Elizabeth lived upstairs from my cousins and their parents with her sister and her parents. I think she had brothers but they were too young to be of any interest and Elizabeth took all of my attention…that was just fine with me. At the tender age of nine I was head-over-heels and no one else mattered! Her family had recently moved to Winthrop Harbor and the next school year would find her in my class. I was on clouds as I walked her home after school every day going the 3-blocks out of my way to carry her books and hang on her every word. Although our hands were intertwined every afternoon on our walk home she refused to pay any attention to me during the school day, frequently chasing me away or kicking me in the shins when I hung around too much with her and her girlfriends. Although a boy paying so much attention at this early age, when her girlfriends were not around, evidently embarrassed her, we were always together. This romance lasted several months during which we both had our first romantic kiss after which we confessed our love for each other and hugged for several minutes. We were sure we were unseen but, as it turned out, hiding in front of a basement window that opened up to the downstairs apartment kitchen wasn’t a very good hiding place. My cousin upon witnessing this act started asking me about it as soon as I entered the house. My cousin, Terri, was a whole year older and was in complete support of our romance.

Eventually Elizabeth and I grew apart and by 5th grade she was no longer acknowledging my existence. In high school we rode the same school bus but, by that point, she refused to even say hello in return of my, admittedly, infrequent greetings.

But then, there were so many more…in my imagination. Or as Emo Phillips said: “I’m a great lover…I’ll bet.”

Mostly I was too shy to let the girls to whom I was attracted know anything about my attraction and although I had no problem in a simple social situation, a hint of anything romantic was way beyond my self-motivational powers. Although I had a couple of innocent encounters in grade school I didn’t have anything close to success with girls until high school.

My freshman year mom arranged for me to take my dance exhibition partner, Terry, on my first actual date. This was arranged immediately after my turning 15…mom may have been pushing me…d’ya think? We went to the Z-B Homecoming Game. When I picked her up her dad had a dozen questions to ask me regarding my intentions and what & where we would be this evening. As it turned out the question session and the actual questions had been rehearsed and arranged by the 2-dads the previous Saturday as they sat together at the usual Saturday evening Moose Club Dance laughing heartily and long at my imagined discomfort. As this date was arranged between the two sets of parents neither of us actually considered it as a serious date which may be why she begged off going to the dance…it could also be because she thought I would ask her to dance. Terry was, and still is, more than capable of holding her own in conversation and remains a lovely lady and still easy on the eyes…there was simply no attraction there in either direction. As ballroom dance exhibitionists she may have felt we would be expected to dance in the manner we had been taught to dance together. In reality that may not have been very likely as mom put me in plenty of situations where people would watch me dance…I really didn’t relish this attention so I would have been fine with twisting or doing any of the other fad-dances of the time. Regardless, we didn’t attend the dance. To make this up to her I asked her to a movie: West Side Story. To this day any of that movie’s soundtrack brings back fond memories…although not of the date. Despite the second date there really was no attraction between us and we didn’t try this again.

During my sophomore year I met Marilyn and, again, I fell head over heels. She quickly became a good friend and was the girl my best friend, Robin, and I would argue over those rare times we had any disagreement at all. To this day she remains a close friend and may very well be my longest relationship outside my family. Marilyn was lovely with dark hair and absolutely dreamy eyes that one could fall into at a moments notice. She had a little sexy overbite and what my mom called a “bedroom” voice, which was low, deep (female deep) and breathless alto. She was shaped exactly the way a woman should be shaped and was affectionate and caring.

At 16 I dated Monique, another exhibition partner, for a short time but that didn’t work at all due to an age difference of 4-years – she my elder. She was 20 and had graduated from Waukegan High the previous year. She was obviously my elder but for some reason was attracted to me. Monique was, shall we say, very well endowed and used this trait to its best advantage dressing what could be called conservatively, except the tightness of her garments accentuated her attributes to the distraction of many a male eye. This relationship ultimately fell apart because she expected a bit more experience than a junior, particularly this junior classman, had undergone. Although I have always been interested in women I was a slow starter when it came to some adult relationships. I tell myself this is because I preferred to perfect appreciation of the appetizer before proceeding to the entrée but in reality I was simply scared of what I didn’t know. I admit the appetizer is still my favorite part of that particular banquet.

That year I met Debbie. Marilyn introduced us. Debbie and Marilyn were freshmen at school. Debbie was cute – I can’t think of another way to describe what I thought of her at the time although my emotional connection was much greater than “cute.” Debbie was the first girl I contemplated marrying. She was, as I said, cute but there was certainly more to her that just “cute.” Debbie, for our ages, was a loving and caring partner. She dressed well and acted impeccably. Although the word “impeccable” rarely brings to mind the word “fun” but Debbie was all of that as well. That year we attended the junior prom together. (See: 1966 – A Gay Old Time) In the summer she accompanied me to the beach to watch me surf or we dated at movies and dances for most of a year…again, I was head-over-heels…unfortunately she was also attractive to a good friend, fellow surfer and the guitarist in our band. The details will be left for your imagination. The outcome of this resulted in the loss of a girlfriend and the break-up of the band.

As a side note: several years later he and I were, again, close friends playing in a band together when we unexpectedly encountered Debbie. She seemed surprised at our friendship even though this was a good 5-6 years later. We decided that evening that a temporary relationship with a woman was never as rewarding as a good loyal and long-lasting friendship between guys. I haven’t made a pass at, and have even resisted more than a few passes thrown in my direction, any woman already in a relationship with a friend or acquaintance. I love to flirt but that is the extent of my wandering. No sampling! Last I heard Debbie was married to what she called a “horse farmer” and was happy being so. I’m very happy for her. Although it has been many years since I’ve heard anything about her I continue to wish her my very best as she was an important part of my past.

My senior year I was in Varsity Choir where I met Sue. She was a junior to my senior and we had already dated a couple of times when I received my class-ring. We were at a Varsity-Choir-Pool-Party at Dunes Lodge pool when she asked “Ooh! Can I see it?” It was all she said. That was quite enough. Getting it off of her finger was another thing entirely. The next weekend she asked me to go shopping with her. Next thing I knew I was paying for “steady shirts” which were the hot thing for couples at the time. Steady shirts were similarly cut shirts, one cut for the female figure and one for the male, and made from the same patterned material. Oh, we were “cute.” That day I figured out the obvious: We were “going steady.” We never actually discussed this but, if I ever wanted to see my ring again, we were going steady. Sue, being Sue, this was not a necessarily unpleasant turn of events and we went steady for several months thereafter. I understood at the time that Sue was the first girl in our school to take industrial arts: woodshop, printing, metal-shop & drafting. Initially she was restricted from these classes by school authorities until she told the councilor that 1) her dad owned the biggest heating and plumbing business in town, 2) she and her sister would be inheriting the business and 3) the school might reconsider allowing her in the class as her parents were talking about suing for discrimination – about the time this kind of thing was new – and a very real possibility. They gave in. I took Sue to Prom that year which was an event that surprised me in the amount of enjoyment I got from it.

Just a few days before Prom I told my mom I was thinking of not going. After all I had broken up with Sue a month or so before and were only going because I promised her we would still go so I was understandably indifferent to the Prom. Mom advised me that I should go and I should keep my promise. I remember she said, “If you try really hard to show Sue the best possible time you can, you, too, will thoroughly enjoy yourself.” As it turns out she was absolutely correct. Unbeknown to me, for the 2-months before the dance Sue had been taking dance lessons from my mom on the evenings I was a work. She turned out to be a great dancer and we had a wonderful time after all. By the end of the evening I regretted the break-up but this relationship never got back off the ground. I learned a good lesson that evening: acting in a certain manner, or “faking it”, helps you to actually get your mood to that place. After a short time “acting” happy, I found I actually was having a good time and thoroughly enjoying myself. I’ve tried finding an update on Sue with no success…I hope she is doing well.

Soon after leaving school I joined the Navy.

A lot of things changed that first year. A lot of things…

Some of those stories will have to wait.

1965 - Ups And Downs

I pride myself in being able to learn from listening to the experiences of others or to pick up new science and technology advances from various periodicals. Sometimes I just seem to insist on learning by doing. This little adventure starts with my summer retreat with many boyhood friends on a 4-day outing to a Church-Camp in central Wisconson.

1965 – Ups and Downs

I looked down. The ground was far below and I was clinging to the side of a sheer rock cliff having free-climbed ¾ of the way up the mountain face boarding the east side of Devils’ Lake, Wisconsin. We had climbed higher than the tree line and the view from here was lovely. The lake was a beautiful shade of deep blue with the sky reflected in its surface. Reflected clouds moved in silent unison with the sky above. The trees were bright green under the early afternoon sun except where clouds darkened the green to a deep olive-color. I glanced up to see Robin a few feet above me scooting sideways along a rocky knife-edge-shelf that led to another hand-hold that would give us access to a crack in the wall, up which we could climb. I looked back down wondering if I pushed off hard enough could I make the treetop of the tall spruce 30 feet below. I certainly looked close enough to reach but I remembered when we climbed past the tree was a good 15-20 feet from the wall of the cliff. I don’t think I had the strength to cover that much area but it would be my only out if I made a mistake at this point. Further down was the large boulder field that extended maybe 50 feet up the wall and extended a good 100 feet out. It was a rocky hill of debris resulting from hundreds of years of falling rock. Most of the rocks and boulders were small, only a few inches across but there was no shortage of large boulders that were several feet across. I hoped nothing big decided to go for a tumble today. At that moment a spray of dust and small stones rained down on my naked head. I hugged the wall and hoped there was nothing big enough to knock me off my perch. A rock the size of my fist flew by my head, missing by a mere foot and the light dusting of dust and stones stopped. I Yelled “Hey! Watch it!” in Robin’s direction, although he had gotten a similar dusting from some unseen citizen standing at the top of the rise. They obviously had taken the path up to the top. A longer path that took much less time and wasn’t nearly as dangerous – or as much fun.

I reached the ledge upon which Robin had shuffled to the crack, or his next pathway up, but decided to find my own way when what appeared to be a clear path offered itself to my eyes and hands. I pulled with my hands and pushed with the one foot that still had an outcropping upon which to push. Stuffing my right hand entirely into a crack in the wall I stretched out with my foot to an outcropping that was a bare inch further than I could reach…if I could just…I felt my foot slip & I reached out for another purchase with my left hand not finding anything immediately. As my right hand took on more and more of the weight of my body I realized my balled fist, securely stuck in the crack was the only firm hold I had upon the wall. I was tempted to open the fist to grab an obvious handhold just beyond my current handhold that, until swinging free, I was unable to reach. Unable to find anything close to that spot to put feet or my other hand I quickly discarded that idea. My arm began to ache with the full weight of my body hanging from it. I heard Robin shout something to me but in my distracted state I only had one thought on my mind so I heard only sound, which didn’t register as words. Stretching with my left foot I pushed against a rock that jutted out of the wall-face, causing me to swing away from the foothold but which I was counting on to secure my place when I swung back. I felt skin abrade from the back of my hand where it contacted something sharp in the crevasse into which it was so securely held. The abrasion hurt but was, in fact, comforting as the pain informed me I was securely held until I could find purchase. My swing back brought my foot easily within the range of the outcropping but was I was unable to put any weight on it before my momentum swung me back. At the last second, I pushed off with my toes to increase my swing. My wedged hand slipped. It was only a hair-width but it was enough to scare the hell out of me as my life, or the plummet that would end it, passed before my eyes. When I swung back my foot reached out and secured my place. My left hand found a secure spot and my other leg found a steady spot. I stopped my swing and held on to the face of the wall like I was trying to be absorbed by its solidity. I was flat against the wall, breathing fairly heavy from the fright and feeling as though I was on solid support. I uncurled my right fist and it came loose from the crack it had held so dear. I had lost a couple of inches of skin but it was a shallow wound that would soon heal with no evidence it had ever been so abused.

I shuffled back over to the ledge Robin had so successfully navigated and headed back upwards. With only about 15 feet to go it was a relatively short climb to the top. As I wrestled my arms over the top ledge Robin pulled on my belt loops in an effort to help. It did. I lay exhausted on my back staring at the lovely clouds listening to Rob excitedly relate all of the bad things that went through his mind when he saw me dangling. As I lay recovering from my climb a group of campers walked casually by – having taken the path up (wimps!) which leisurely wound back and forth around the back-side of the mountain. It was long and uphill all the way so, for some unremembered reason, Robin & I decided the path would be take too much time and energy…like climbing the face didn’t take any energy. The amount of time we took for the climb was approximately the same amount of time to deal with switchbacks and u-turns as one climbed the “recommended” trail so we felt our trip was justified.

Ah, the insanity of youth.

We took the easy way down via the well-worn path. It was a casual walk, that meandered back and forth offering beautiful views which we could enjoy with a great deal more leisure.

The Devils’ Lake community included, of course, a lake. It was relatively small and shallow with the shoreline keeping shallow for several hundred feet into the lake. 10’ Lifeguard Towers were set along the shoreline just offshore in about 3’ of water. Robin and I, taking pride in our diving ability practiced diving off these towers into the 3’ of water. Robin scrubbed skin off his nose during his first dive and I did the same thing to my chest, but we were both able to perfect the “shallow-dive” mom had shown me years before. Mom was not a good swimmer and was deathly afraid of deep water but, still, as a youngster had learned the basics of diving and swimming. She was the brunt of many a joke as her diving style appeared to be a “bounce” off the surface.

As a little girl she, too, had attended a church camp where there was a lake. Unfortunately a thick layer of mud bottomed her lake. She had somehow become tangled in weeds and mud at one point panicking her to the point she was thereafter deathly afraid of shallow lakes. It was this event that caused her to learn to “bounce” off the surface. This was in no way a “belly flop” but an extremely shallow dive that indeed did submerge our bodies maybe a couple of feet underwater but arching our backs it almost immediately popped us back to the surface.

The previous year I had an experience similar to moms’ and, although it didn’t increase my fear of water, it did warn me to be a bit safer when playing in this medium. I had gone on vacation with my best boyhood friend, Bobby. Our freshman year his family had moved to Long Lake, Wisconsin where they had purchased a small resort complete with cabins, boathouses and swimming and boating docks. The lake itself was around 20 miles long with our little cove being only around half-a-mile across. Bobby and I had taken to swimming this mile every morning before breakfast. The third day, as we got within 100’ or so from the dock on our return trip and still full of energy Bobby and I began diving deep and swimming as much as possible of the last hundred feet or so underwater. As the bottom got shallower I was able to swim in and out of the lake-weed growing up from the bottom. It was during one of these dives that my feet somehow became tangled in these lake-weeds as I struck for the surface. I was, of course, heading for the surface because my held breath was near the end of its capacity and my body was beginning to ask for fresh air. My hands broke the surface but my feet had somehow become entangled in the weed. My tangled feet held my head some 6” or so underwater. My hands thrashed at the surface trying to move enough water-mass to force my legs loose. Simultaneously my feet tried unsuccessfully to kick loose from the tight hold of the lake-weed. No such luck.

My lungs ached terribly and, as I was already low on air, I could feel my limbs weaken within a few seconds, a function of low oxygen and sustained energetic effort. I could see the surface bare inches above me as I looked up. My lungs hurt horribly. I took a breath. It felt so good to stop holding my breath. The water flowing into my lungs was a consideration somewhere in my head but in many ways only a distraction as the importance of relief from the pain eventually overcame every other consideration for survival and any concern I had about breathing water. As my struggles lessened, the surface became less turbulent and when I dropped my arms the dappled surface quickly turned crystal clear as my struggles stopped completely and I began to relax. The sun sparkling across the surface of the water was lovely. As I observed my actions from inside my head my vision began to narrow with black closing in from the edges. As my field of vision narrowed the still-lit part brightened and I got the sensation of rushing toward the light. I noticed, as the light grew brighter my head began to hurt like one long, extended throb as from a pulsating headache. I saw no relatives, no wise voices, no flashing of my past, and no warnings about the future. Just calm. Everlasting, quiet, and a feeling of acceptance I offered myself into the Hands of Fate. As I passed out my feet and legs relaxed. I drifted loose from my entanglement and traveled the few inches up where Bobby spotted me floating face-up on the surface.

Bobby dove off the dock and reached me in only a few strokes, as I wasn’t far from the dock. Neither had, at that point, attended any lifesaving courses so he did what came naturally: Grabbing my head by the hair he held my body up then, quickly submerging, and standing on the bottom only 6 ½ feet below, tossed me over his head toward the dock. He repeated this twice until I was in shallow enough water that he could stand on the bottom and hold me in place. He lifted me a few inches out of the water and smacked me hard on the back…and again! I coughed and my eyes fluttered open. I had an enormous headache! Bobby held onto me as we wadded to the dock and I hefted myself up. I lay on my back trying to get my breath but soon turned on my side when I couldn’t seem to get a full lung of air. Turning on my side I began to cough water…more water than I thought I could hold…onto the dock.

We lay there side by side talking about the experience until I had regained my strength. Bobby seemed to still be worried but I was pretty much recovered – what the hell – I survived didn’t I? So what’s the big deal? Of course at this point in my life I clearly understand the big deal but then my attitude was…whoopdee-do. By the time we finished breakfast the incident was forgotten and I believe unspoken until now. I’m not sure we ever told an adult about this incident, as we didn’t want to wind up restricted from our morning swim. We continued these early AM swims until the day I left for home. But as for this day, we jumped up…

…And headed to the house for breakfast.

1977 - A Thief In Our Midst

In 1977 is was unable to see what dad saw so clearly. After over 30-years controlling every aspect of inventory I can read an inventory report like a novel. Wish I had a copy of the report here that started this story. I love detective work but my detective work rarely, or never, involves a murder and rarely, but sometimes, a theft.

1977 – A Thief In Our Midst

“Look at this,” dad said. “This right here. You’ve got a thief working for you…and I believe they work Wednesday and…hmmm…Saturdays…at the drive in.” I looked at the figures he was indicating…it was all-Greek to me. “These numbers indicate that someone is making off with popcorn and Coke’s…no…hmmm…Coke…syrup. It’s almost doubling your Wednesday usage and increasing Saturday’s usage by around 15%. This is coming off your bottom-line costs.” …Now, that got my attention!

The bottom line costs here was directly tied to my operating budget out of which all supplies and employee paychecks came. Higher costs meant a smaller paycheck for me as I got what was left. Anything coming off my bottom-line costs were actually coming out of my pocket. Dad explained that after he took an inventory he would review the costs, receipts and on-hand inventory for each item in his head. In doing this he had noticed a glitch on a couple of items. Dad had not gotten past freshman high school in his formal education so didn’t realize he was charting ratio’s between usage, profit and on-hand in his head. This was something that I only suspected at the time but which years of experience have confirmed.

I was the new manager of an indoor and outdoor theatre operation in Effingham, Illinois. The Heart Theatre, the indoor house, operated 365 days a year and the outdoor location, the Rustic Drive-In, was opened after the snow melted for the last time and closed after the first snow. The Heart was named after the geographic “Heart of the Midwest” which was located under a heart-shaped manhole cover in the road immediately in front of the theatre. Each of my brothers spent some time as theatre managers for one of the many locations this medium-sized Midwestern theatre company that owned and operated around 30 theatres in the southern Illinois, Indiana, Iowa and parts of Missouri. Dad was a VP of Concessions, which, as it turns out, is where most theatre profits reside. Almost all box-office receipts go back to the movie company, the bookers, and the theatre company. The individual theatre location itself often operates solely on concession profits or, the sales of popcorn and soda. This day he had arrived to help me with the bi-weekly inventory.

Dad had enough influence to eventually get all of his sons’ theatre-manager jobs. Each of us lasted about a year. I took the position although I had gotten well used to San Diego weather by ’77. I didn’t see why anyone would want to willingly stay in such a miserable place where the world looked like it died every winter, and then sealed the situation with body-numbing wind and cold that freezes the very water out of the air. Then about the time you are resigned to your fate, little green shoots appear as though the world is now saying: “Never mind – hahahaha – it was all a joke.”

Yeah – very funny.

It was late in the afternoon when he told me I had a thief working at the drive-in. I still found this difficult to believe. I trusted every one of these people and was sure dad was mistaken…but I still had to check. As I was the only person with a key, whatever thievery was done had to be during open hours, most likely hours when I wasn’t on-site.

The Drive-In was about 3-miles from the downtown theatre in a rural area. The only businesses in the area that were not farms were the drive-in and the John Deere dealer directly across the street. After entering from behind the screen, which had its back to the only road, you found fallow fields on either side of a generous well-kept lawn. A small playground occupied the tiny little lawn immediately under the screen. The screen itself was huge with room to climb a ladder all the way to the top of the backside of the screen. The view at the top was wide but fairly unassuming as we were surrounded on all sides by farms, fields, woods and the little town 3-miles down the road. The property was backed against woods that came right up to the last row, which was 6 rows back from rear of the snack-bar. A tractor-path ran through the wood and emerged near the center of the last row. We kept this “secret” entrance blocked by a chain to which I had the only key. It was by this route I entered the drive-in on Wednesday night after leaving by the front exit and alerting my assistant manager to perform the necessary closing tasks. I set myself up in the back row awaiting the completion of the clean-up crew before they doused the interior snack-bar lights. After that only 2-people were required to stay for button-up and to await my arrival for final lock-up of the snack bar & front gate. Much to my surprise soon after the light went out the back door opened and a big garbage-bag full of something light, probably popped popcorn, and a 1-gallon carton of Coke-syrup, which made 5-gallons after adding water and CO2, walked out the door in the arms of one of my most trusted employees. Shocked, I watched them drive away.

As it was summer and the kids were all out of school, early in the AM I called each outdoor employee for a staff meeting, which I scheduled for late that morning. They arrived without any idea why I had called a meeting so I put the early-shows to work until the remaining employees showed up.

They had all arrived by 10:00 AM when we convened. I let them know I had witnessed the removal of the supplies the previous evening to which they quickly admitted without hesitation. I continued, not being very kind because I wanted them to understand, in no uncertain terms, that they had let me down. “The fact you waited until the snack-bar was closed, the fact you said nothing to me, and the fact that you pulled a car up to the door to hide the theft from other patrons’ points to your knowing your actions were suspect. By failing to respect the rules we all work under you also fail to respect yourself. This is beneath all or any one of you.”

“But you told us we could eat as much popcorn and drink as much soda as we wanted! We volunteered to bring refreshments to our YFC (Youth For Christ) meeting on Wednesday nights and 2-weeks ago we brought some to the weekend YFC-Getaway. We thought it would be ok! We would have asked but we forgot!”

“Come on,” I said, “Use your common sense. I don’t buy that. We can’t supply your clubs, friends or relatives with snacks or I’ll be broke and you’ll all be out of a job. You should know that. This stuff isn’t free. Someone has to pay for it – and it’s us!” I let them know that the free soda and popcorn was only valid while they were actually at work. I also let them know where their paychecks came from…my budget. The look on their collective faces told me they were, evidently, unaware of exactly from where their paycheck originated. Once they understood the money was coming out of MY pocket they began to apologize vociferously.

“We’re so sorry! We didn’t know! We thought the company paid for the supplies! We didn’t mean to get you in trouble!” They went on for a couple of minutes. Talking among themselves about how they didn’t know and how sorry they were. I let it die down on it’s own as all the words were those I wanted to hear. Eventually they all quieted and huddled together for a moment before splitting up into couples and individuals. Monique looked at her shoes and spoke quietly. “We can all quit if you need us to.” She looked up with tears in her eyes. I glanced at the other girls and the one guy that made up my staff. The girls all had tears rolling down their face. Greg choked back tears as he said, “We didn’t mean to let you down. We’re so sorry. We can all leave if you want us to. I might know someone that could take my job.” As he sobbed the last he lost his battle with his eyes and he turned away.

I realized this was an offer, not a threat. They really appeared to be as concerned about my welfare as their own. “No guys,” I replied, “If I didn’t trust you to learn your lesson and do the right thing we wouldn’t be talking and I would be looking for a new crew.” They all looked contrite but somewhat relieved. Elizabeth continued to weep as the others dried their eyes. She knew I counted on her to police the others as our many conversations revealed her to be mature and responsible – perhaps less so than I thought. She offered again to quit – I considered this but decided they had learned their lessons and additional punishment would be counter-productive. This was a group of youngsters that tested the system and found out the system was neither as dumb as thought nor was I as easy as they assumed.

We finished our ½ day by cleaning equipment and picking up the lot until they had all put in the 4 hours minimum I had to pay them if they showed up on my request. They promised to be back that evening early “In case there’s anything you need us to do.” It wasn’t necessary but I reinforced the idea telling them I appreciated the extra effort, which I would expect for a while. I told them I didn’t expect more hours but better dedication to the job at hand.
They didn’t quit until sometime after I had left the company and during the little get-together they had several months later, which served as my going away party, they gifted me a hooked-rug upon which they had collectively spent 2-months working. I didn’t have another minute of trouble with any of them for the remainder of our time together. In fact, they turned out to be one of the finest crews I’ve ever had the honor of managing.

I think of them often. I think of every one of them fondly.