Chapter Twenty-Nine - On the Road

My time coming, any day, don't worry about me, no
Been so long I felt this way, I'm in no hurry, no
Rainbows and down that highway where ocean breezes blow
My time coming, voices saying they tell me where to go.
Don't worry about me, nah nah nah, don't worry about me, no
And I'm in no hurry, nah nah nah, I know where to go.
California, preaching on the burning shore
California, Ill be knocking on the golden door
Like an angel, standing in a shaft of light
Rising up to paradise, I know I'm gonna shine.

The Trip

Southbound on old 95 in the warm embrace of an early June night. Joe started off behind the wheel because he was the guy looking for the party in Norfolk when we just turned right and kept on going. Several hours down the road I double checked the map and it looked like we had missed our connection to I-40 West in Raleigh, NC. We got off the road and pulled into an all night grocery/gas station. There were three old coots sitting on the porch and we asked them how to get to where we needed to go. They took one look at we two long-hairs and cackled a bit to each other. Then one of the old farts said "Y'all gots to go North to git thar." Whew! And here we thought we were lost. We navigated through Raleigh in the wee hours and when we got on I-40 I got behind the wheel.

A few hours of driving along the unfamiliar highway took me into the dawn at the Tennessee border. I was approaching Douglas Lake, and the sight almost took my breath away. Patches of fog stuck to the hills, sunlight on the water and what looked like the whole country spread out and waiting for me. The image is still soft on my mind as a sign that I was doing the right thing. We were to find out that although Tennessee is only 30 miles wide, it is an incredible 451 miles long! It took all day to drive through. We wanted to get to California as quickly as we could, mostly so Joe could cuddle up to his girlfriend, Ginger. Reasonable, no? Along the way we passed within shouting distance of Pigeon Forge, a tiny burg that would become Dollywood in later years. And a place where at that very moment a young hula dancer was getting ready for her daily show.

Here we were, two guys rolling down the road without a care in the world and plenty of dope in the glove compartment. We drove and drove and drove, digging the scenery and goofing on each other. I had a foam 8-ball hanging from my rear view mirror and Joe liked to smack it now and then as a rim shot to his jokes. Once he took a swat while he was driving and yanked the wheel, causing us to fishtail a bit before getting back on the groove.

"Yeah, I can just see it now, bro'...'Well see, officer, my cousin thought his joke was pretty funny so he whacked the 8-ball and we lost control and that's why we're in this ditch. The dope? No, that's not ours. It must have been there already...'"

We cruised on, hitting the ball more cautiously.

Onward

Now we came to Mississippi, and across the mighty eponymous river. We rolled over a cantilever bridge and I saw the brown, churning water beneath, moving on to the sea. I was really doing this. The song kept coming back:

Goin' to California with an achin' in my heart...

What was I doing? Fucking crazy. Across Arkansas and into Oklahoma that same day, driving relentlessly and in a pot-induced fog. Finally that night we decided that stopping the car for a few hours of sleep was better than dying in a horrible wreck. We pulled into the lot of a Super 8 Motel in Oklahoma City with more gas in the tank than in ourselves. After a quick meal at the diner we checked out our room. What a true dive this place was. Both beds had several layers of thin comforters and sheets. We guessed that this saved the maids having to change them, as they could just strip off the old ones each day. The bathroom was an adventure in science, with mold on the walls, a huge hole in the ceiling and no glass in the window. But the real treat was the TV's. Plural. There was a big cabinet model on the bottom, then a mid-sized one on top of that, topped by a third, tiny set. The big one was just a stand, didn't work. The one in the middle had a halfway decent picture but no sound, and the one on top had sound but no picture. And none of them had tuning knobs. So we had to use the conveniently provided pair of pliers to change the picture set channels until we saw something interesting, then change the sound set until they matched. Since there were only four stations in town, that didn't take long. We ended up dozing off minutes after hitting the pillow.

Sunday morning broke and after freezing cold showers we were ready to roll. At the diner I had biscuits and gravy for the first time in my life. Oh my God! Where has this delicacy been all my life? Maybe it was just the constant hunger born of marijuana munchies but I was in love with this dish. As I sat sopping up every last drop of this ambrosia a scruffy looking fellow shambled into the place and sat next to me at the counter. The middle aged waitress came over and asked "What you want, hon?"

"Well, m'am, I'm passin' through on my way to my sister's place in Albequerque and I'm pretty low on cash. I just need a little somethin' to keep goin'"

She gave him a quick appraising look and said "I'll get you a short stack, darlin'. Want some juice with that?"

"Yes'm."

I thought about what I'd just seen. Was that guy going to be me in the next few months? I had about $500 in my pocket and no job and no place to stay for long. I resolved right there that I would not screw around like I had in Norfolk. Get a job and get on my feet pronto or end up begging for scraps. Never. Not ever.

What a Blowout!

Now I was the pilot, steering the big land boat across Oklahoma into Texas. We saw gas on sale there for 72 cents a gallon. Hell, milk cost more than that! Joe was dozing at one point as I was approaching a truck rest stop. I was flying along at 70 mph or so and a semi decided to pull onto the highway right in front of me. I locked up the brakes and we went into a full power skid. I held the wheel and got us straight again in time to get around the semi and avoid becoming roadkill. Joe woke up and said "Wuzzat? 'Tsappenin'?"

"It's cool, man. We didn't die and that's real good."

Not far down the road the effects of that skid came back to haunt us. One of my back tires blew out and I guided old Bessie to the shoulder. Joe and I got out and inspected the damage.

"You have a spare?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Never had to use it."

The air was hot and still, not a thing moving for miles around us in the desert wasteland.

"Pretty quiet out here."

"Yeah........too quiet."

The trunk was packed with all our junk so we had to pull it all out to find the tire. I fished it out of the trunk and bounced it on the road, checking it's inflation pressure. We were overjoyed to find that the spare was good and we had tire changing tools available, except for a lug wrench. Looking up the road we saw we had really lucked out. There was a rest stop not more than 100 yards ahead of us, so we could get the tool we needed and change the tire in safety in the parking lot. That's when Joe came up with the Brilliant Plan.

"OK. Let's put all the stuff back in the trunk. Then I'll drive the car to the rest stop and you bring the tire."

"Cool."

We packed it up, he took off and I started rolling the tire along the shoulder in the 150 degree heat. Cars were whipping by, nearly knocking me into the ditch. By the time I got to the rest stop I was dripping with sweat and covered in road grime. Joe had secured a lug wrench from a friendly fellow traveler and was waiting for me.

"Man, why the hell did I have to do that? It's a fucking oven out here and I'm rolling a goddamn tire by the side of the road! Why didn't we both go in the car?"

Joe shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time." True. Should I quit smoking pot? Why? What a stupid thing to think about.

Gettin' There

Our tire troubles behind us, we sailed on into the Southwest. Each mile we traveled brought sights and smells I had never experienced. The mesas of New Mexico and Arizona passed in the distance. Albuquerque had always just been a funny name in a geography book. Now we were speeding through town in an ever more desperate rush to get to California. Weird thing: We didn't see a single cop the whole trip. I know that would have made things more interesting but getting busted in such a remote place was not my idea of fun.

I saw the exit signs for towns I'd heard of in song. Tehachapi, Tucumcari, Tonapah, Winslow and so many others. This trip was turning into a blur of roadside attractions and gas station stops. World's Biggest Steak, Petrified Forest, Meteor Crater, The Friggin' Grand Canyon. But were we going to any of those places? Hell, no! It was California or Bust for these freak brothers. Finally, at about 3AM Pacific Standard Time on June 18, 1979, the old Ford rolled into a gas station in Needles, CA. That Grateful Dead tune was humming away in my head as I pumped the 99 cents per gallon gas, the most I'd ever paid for fuel. A warm desert breeze wafted over me and I had the sensation of being on another planet. I told Joe that I would take the wheel and we cruised into the Mojave.



Sunrise was beautiful in the desert. I watched as each passing minute revealed more of the alien landscape, from the soft blue light of early dawn all the way to full, scorching daylight. Cacti right by the side of the road! Little desert critters scuttling for shelter. A buzzard making lazy circles in the air. Heat shimmering off the road like a mirror from the sky. Little flashing lights and the inner redness of my eyelids.....oops! Time to pull over and let Joe drive. I was dead asleep in seconds. Joe piloted us the rest of the way into Ventura. I occasionally raised my head to see where we were but it all looked like a set from The Rockford Files. I noticed after a while that we were cruising much slower, but the lack of quality sleep on the trip was getting to me. The Ford had a horn ring on the steering wheel that was vibrating in a most annoying way. So annoying, in fact, that I wanted to yank the wheel out of Joe's grip and send us plummeting down a cliff. Sleep at last! Just as I was about to implement my plan, the car stopped. We were there.


Part 30: Livin' on the Wrong Side of the Tracks

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Time to Blow This Town

Spent my days with a woman unkind:
Smoked my stuff and drank all my wine.             
Made up my mind, make a new start,     
Goin' to California with an achin' in my heart.     
Someone told me there's a girl out there     
With love in her eyes and flowers in her hair.

This was turning out to be the most prophetic song of my life...

About May of 1979 my cousin Joe came to visit from California. My Uncle Bob was getting married and two of Joe's good friends were getting hitched as well. For a few years Joe had been after me to move out to California with him but I never felt the time was right. With nothing but dead ends in front of me, I had finally run out of reasons to say "No". Save one: no money. So we're driving around one day in my cool 1964 Ford Custom 500 and Joe says "Give me one reason not to come with me."

"How about 'I'm broke'?"

Cousin Bob has been snoozing in the back seat, but he springs up and says "I'll give you the money". Bob and Joe had come into a small inheritance recently and Bob had so far blown most of his on cocaine. It made him really popular with all kinds of new "friends". Bob gave me $1000, which settled my debts and gave me the working capital I needed to get on my feet. Now it was getting real. Man, I am going to California! This had been a dream of mine for years, ever since I read The Call of the Wild and Other Stories as a kid. I called my roommate and told her I was bugging out. She was cool about it and told me she was coming up to clear out her stuff.

The fateful day came, all my stuff was packed in the Ford. We stopped to fill the tank and buy some mean-ass mirrored sunglasses and hit the road.

Memories

I was really going to miss Virginia. The good friends I had made like Bill, Dave, Scott and Cliff. The wild, hedonistic times in Scott's basement, where we drank, smoked, had assorted (and sometimes interchangeable) girlfriends, and where Dave showed us how to light our farts. Never did try that one. I loved the soft Spring returning to the frozen land, and people going batshit on the roads on the first good day. I had gone to school from third grade through college, with mixed results. I flew kites out in the field by my house and we played ball there, too. My family was all here which was also a mixed blessing. I would miss my sisters most of all. Leslie was a great person to party with, having a vivacious love of life. Lori was my intellectual foil, so easy to talk to and my best audience when I played the guitar. Outside of Joe I knew nobody on the West Coast. Hell, I didn't know anyone west of the Mississippi! This was going to be a big leap.

The Trip Begins

Before we left the Greater Washington DC area, we had to do a couple of things. First we went to Uncle Bob's wedding. Three things stand out from that: 1) Just after Uncle Bob and Rita exchanged vows, they looked into each other's eyes and a tune swelled up from the boom box. It was "For All We Know" by The Carpenters. Did you know that that song is actually 97 minutes long? It sure seemed like it as we all sat or stood in a frozen tableau while the tune dragged on endlessly. 2) We finally got a shot of the "Three Cousins" in an older incarnation.


And lastly, the weird way the night ended. We went to Leslie's apartment to catch a post-wedding buzz and got back into Bob's car for the ride home. I insisted on driving, since I knew the road better. Maybe when I was sober, but that didn't apply here. About three miles from Leslie's place I took a turn too hot and the car leaped off the road, over a ditch and smack down on top of a large rock. I turned off the ignition and looked over at Joe.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah. Bob, you all right back there?"

"Hm? Oh. Yeah, I'm OK. Sure."

Joe got out, tumbling to the weeds because the car was about three feet off the ground due to the rock. "Maybe you can back it off. Try starting it up."

I turned the key and the engine made a noise like a chainsaw low on oil. Nope. That's not going to work. We got out of the car, dusted ourselves off and started down the road. I had left my shoes at Uncle Bob's place so I was barefoot. We had gone about 100 yards when Joe asked: "How far is it back to Alexandria?"

"About 10-12 miles."

"And how far back to Leslie's?"

As if we had choreographed it, the three of us turned on our heels and started back to the apartment. Along the way a small pickup truck pulled up next to us. Inside were two prison guards from nearby Lorton Reformatory. "Does that car back there in weeds belong to y'all?"

"Yeah, hey can you guys give us a ride to my sister's place? It's just a mile or two up this road."

The guards looked at each other, burst out laughing and drove off. Thanks. We spent the night at Leslie's and got the car towed the next day minutes before a cop drove by looking for the wreck. Close call!

Another Prophesy

One more wedding to go. Joe and I threw on our casual suits and had a great time. These two were our age, and most of the time was spent drinking. At one point we went out to the parking lot for a bit of ganja, staggering back into the hall in time for the tossing of the garter. I wandered around until Joe said "Hey, tall guys in back" and pushed me behind him. The groom leaned over the bride's leg, slipping the garter down, down. Suddenly his hand flicked over his shoulder and something flew right at my face. I put my hand up to block it and the garter hooked neatly on my thumb. Whoa! "Hey, that means you're going to be married next!" said Joe. Right.

Time to Go

We hung out at the reception for a while but both of us were ready to leave town. Knowing that we had a long drive ahead and were both pretty wasted from the wedding, we spent the night on the floor at somebody's house and took off next morning. It was a beautiful June day, with Joe at the wheel and the Ford flying down I-95 from DC to Norfolk, where our farewell tour would make its last stop. I felt very wistful as the breeze blew back my hair, me leaning my head against the passenger door. I wanted to feel the wind on my face, so I stuck my head out the window like a dog would. I turned around to look behind and my cool mirrored sunglasses whipped off my face and tumbled into the road. Before I could tell Joe to stop the car a following semi obliterated them with a tiny crunch, and they were gone. Crap. $7.95 wasted.

We got to Norfolk later that day and spent the next few days seeing old friends and frat brothers and going over to Virginia Beach. We saw the Blue Angels doing some amazing feats, including wrapping up a cloud with colored streamers! As I swam in the warm surf I couldn't help but think that in just a short time I would be splashing in the Pacific Ocean for the first time in my life. The day we left I tried to call Mary, why I just don't know. I called the "Mary Jones" in the phone book and a guy answered the phone.

"Uh, is this Jones Construction?"

"No. Who the fuck is this?"

Click.

OK, it was a stupid idea. Maybe I just wanted to tell her that I was going to be OK despite her crappy treatment of me. But that story was over and we had to go. A party was planned that night and Joe and I drove around town, trying to remember the directions. At about 9PM we were having no luck and without the benefit of cell phones or MapQuest or TomTom we were shit out of luck. As we swung onto the main road again, there in front of us was a big sign that said "I-95 South, Right Lane." Yes, it was a sign that was a sign. One look between us and my bro' and I were southbound.

Chapter 29: Joe and Ed's Stoner Adventures on the Road

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Workin' for the Man

It was like a letter to Penthouse. "Dear Penthouse Forum, You'll never believe this, but this nymphomaniac with a killer body just totally rocked my world last night. And we just met! How could something so cool and so profoundly physical happen to a loser like me?" Careful what you wish for...

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I got back to the folks' house the next day feeling...better...than I'd felt in a long time. Lynn was a total hottie and she made me promise to come back soon. It wasn't hard to do that. I was sitting around watching TV and Mom asked me to come up to their room so they could talk to me. Hmm. Seems they were pretty concerned about my health. Since eating had become a part-time occupation I guess I had lost a bit of weight. Not that I could spare any. I was about 6'1" and weighed 145 pounds. My cheeks were sunken and my ribs were starting to show through. Mom and Dad figured the only way to get me healthy again would be to make a deal to get me to move back in with them. They promised to stay off my back if I would come home, get a job and go back to school at Northern Virginia Community College in the Fall. Now that I knew I had something nice waiting for me over in Vienna, it wasn't hard to accept.

I went back to Norfolk with a lot of confidence. I'd served my time in the vampire brigade as a graveyard shift worker and I was ready to go back into the sunlight. Mary tried to guilt me into apologizing, feeling bad, whatever. All I could picture while she talked was Lynn lying naked on a bed and beckoning to me. "Hm? What? Oh, yeah, I'm really sorry." Mary had been sleeping with one of my co-workers for a couple of weeks and I knew there had been other guys even while we "dated". So it was a less than heartbreaking departure for both of us. It had been about control for her and now I was moving on. It was the coldest relationship I've ever known.

Home,Redux

So started a two year period where I worked a lot of interesting, though not career-making jobs and went to school. I finally studied my passion: music. I took lots of great classes and got on the Dean's List. Dad looked over my report card.

"Let's see, Music Appreciation, Piano, Vocal 101, Guitar, History..."B". Good, you did well in a real class, too."

Love ya, Pops.

After just a few months of this I was going nuts again. Then I got a call from an old friend from Norfolk who was moving to the area and needed a roommate to share expenses. I jumped at the chance and moved out for good. It wasn't long before she developed health problems and had to move back, though she paid her half of the rent until summer.

Lynn and I were going at it like ferrets. Any time and anywhere. That was great while it lasted but we soon found out we had almost nothing in common except sex. Hard to believe, but we actually just burned out. The parting was amicable, though it didn't take long for me to start missing my regular nookie. But that ship had sailed...

My jobs were all fun, too, though I was somewhat capricious about my schedule. I was always drawn to hanging out with friends instead of working when the spirit moved me. When I was at work I did the job well, so I got away with this crap a lot. Jobs summary:

Shakey's Pizza

I was a pie maker, then bartender, then House Musician. Making the pies was easy work, though I had to remember not to knosh on the ingredients, as people watched us make the pies through big picture windows. Bartending was a lot more fun. We only served beer and soft drinks but we were more in touch with the customers, and that's what I liked best. We had a cool piano player named Jay who could not only play any song ever written, he could transpose tunes we brought in for "amateur night". Think a 70's version of American Idol. I sang "Joy to the World" by Three Dog Night and "Feelings" by Morris Albert. I cringe a little every time I think about that song, but it got me performing up in front of people. When Jay moved on I was a natural fit for House Musician. I sang for four hours every Friday and Saturday night, taking a ten minute break each hour. I sang every song I could get my hands on, from Led Zepp's "The Battle of Evermore" to "You Don't Mess Around with Jim", sprinkling in my own songs from time to time. Then there was my sign off, "Margarittaville". Sounds a little sad, but maybe it had been a long night. It was a popular meeting place for all sorts of acquaintances, and I met some honest-to-goodness groupies! A good time had by all.

Handleman Company

Once upon a time there were these things called "records and tapes". That's how music was recorded and brought to the masses. I worked in a vast warehouse that distributed the big, clunky things to stores and then took back the ones that didn't sell. Round and around they went. My work day:

Get there - get stoned
Work
Break - get stoned
Work
Lunch - Eat - get stoned
Work
Break - catch a buzz
Go Home get stoned

I counted the getting stoned part as one benefit. The other was all the "free" music we got. I once walked out the door with no less than 12 cassette tapes hidden in my clothes. One day my buddy (Name deleted by Request) and I decided to get a really great gift for our friend (also deleted). We asked him to write down every LP he wished he had in his collection. Then we filled up a box with those plus a dozen or so extra for a total of 75 records. Blew his mind!


Woolworth's

I started in the Sporting Goods Department which was a total bore. It was so slow that some nights I set up a small range behind the counter and shot target practice with the .177 caliber air pistols. When the old lady in the Music Department retired I begged for the job. It was just as slow but I got to listen to all the albums I wanted to hour after hour. Cool thing about Woolworth's: They paid us in cash! On payday we lined up at a pay window and they handed each employee a manila envelope with all our deductions handwritten on the outside and our pay in cash inside. Who needs a bank account?

Variety Records

I got to work in a real record store! With snotty music know-it-alls who thought my admiration for Todd Rundgren and Neil Young was quaint, to say the least. I fell in love with a girl that worked there but she was involved with another guy and he caught us holding hands as we walked around the Tysons Corners Mall. So that was over right quick. Coolest moments: 1) I met Walter Mondale's wife and daughter and 2) Met Liberace. Hey, a celebrity is a celebrity...Everyone thought the General Manager was a complete dickhead, and when I met him I shook his hand and then dramatically wiped my hand off on my shirt. I was fired three days later. Go figure.

First Foto

Back to the photofinishing darkroom. I operated film processing machines and drove deliveries into Washington, DC. The business did one thing: Within mere minutes of their birth, babies in our contracted hospitals were wheeled under an overhead camera and had their portraits snapped. Anyone who's seen a newborn knows the expression "a face only a mother could love". Then we would sell package deals like the ones you get in school. The whole staff of package assemblers were black girls from the 'hood who sold me dope when I needed it. Thanks!

Budget Rent-a-Car

Way out by Dulles Airport, but not in the airport. Pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Same thing day in and day out: Customers get cars, customers turn in cars. But a few things made for an interesting time there.

One day during the big OPEC "gas crisis" we got a visitor, one Joe Theisman of the Washington Redskins. Redskin Park was just down the road and we were the only gas station open. You'd think a guy like that wouldn't have time for a bunch of starry-eyes football fans, but when one of the service guys asked him a question about last week's game he thought a bit and then sat down and talked about it. He stayed for nearly an hour, gabbing with us and treating us like "real folks". We all became fans for life.

One Sunday night we were getting ready to close up shop, a little before midnight. I was in the back room making copies of our daily car inventory report when I heard the front door burst open and a loud voice shout: "This is a stickup, man! Give us your money!" Hilarious! It sounded just like one of the guys that worked in the garage. "What are you guys doing here so late?" I said from the back room. Immediately, a short black man with a nylon stocking over his head walked into the room carrying a large kitchen knife. "Get out here!" he yelled. Yikes! I put my hands up and went into the front room. As I turned the corner I saw the other guy, also a black man with a stocking on his head, pointing a gun at my face. I took one look at the gun and my brain knew two things: 1) It was a replica, not a real gun and 2) Shut the fuck up. I had sold pistols just like it at Woolworth's. It was an 1850 Colt revolver made of aluminum and had a bead front sight. Problem was, if this guy had drilled it out to fit real bullets it would have fired, maybe, blowing off his hand and perhaps putting a hole in my head. And the kitchen knife that was pressed into my back was real. I was pressed up against the wall just under the Budget Rent-a-Car sign. I was thinking to myself "This wouldn't be a good recruitment poster for the company." The other rental clerk shoveled everything out of the safe into a bag and the guys took off. They had smashed the front phone but the back one still worked. I called the cops and they were there in 5 minutes, roaring into the lot and jumping out with guns drawn, too late. We found out later that the robbers had been stopped for a traffic violation and released when they saw there were three people, not two, in the car. I carried a small scar on my back where the knife cut me, but it's faded with time.

Travellin' Jones

My life was becoming routine and I didn't feel like there was any future in what I was doing. Jobs were always fun to start and then got boring. I wasn't making any progress musically and I never did the dating scene because I was so intensely shy. Friends weren't always there because they were getting on with their lives while I sat in my apartment alone, listening to the jerks upstairs screwing every girl they brought home and partying until dawn. I went a little stir crazy, especially when the weather got so bad that winter that my damn car door wouldn't even latch shut. I needed a change. And then that Spring, along came cousins Joe and Bob to offer a solution. One that would change my life forever.

Saturn Returns at 28: Goin' to California

Chapter Twenty-Six - Norfolk Exile Pt. II

Into the Darkness

I had a fairly long interview with Frank. He asked me about my likes and dislikes, my plans for the future, my time in military school. Since I had no real job history to speak of, he wanted to get to know me to see if I could hang around long enough to be worth the trouble to train. I found out later that the moment he saw my birth date he knew he should hire me. Frank was a Rosicrucian, a believer in mystic connections."Something" told him that hiring me to this job would be a very beneficial thing to do. He assumed it was to his benefit, but things didn't turn out that way.

I was shown around and finally found out what a "platform operator" was. They needed somebody to run an automated film processing machine. The "platform" part was the front end of the machine, which was slightly elevated, so I would have to take a couple of steps up to get to it. Frank showed me the inner room, where spiced reels of undeveloped film were passed through the wall into a dark chamber. From there the operator would clip the roll onto a long strand of plastic film called "leader" and it would be pulled through the chemistry on rollers until coming out on the end and passing along to the printers.

"By the way, you load the film onto the machine in total darkness." Frank said.

"I thought you used red lights in the darkroom."

Turns out that doesn't work on color film. So I had to learn to work blind. Great.

Not a Good Start

After a couple of weeks I got pretty good at running the film processing machine. When a reel ran out, the tension on the strand would cause a platform to rise until it tripped an alarm. I then had 30 seconds to clip a fresh reel to the end or run some more leader film. While it was boringly routine, it was also nerve-wracking. The stupid alarm bell was like the kind at school, and it would ring continuously until I clipped on the new film and let the tension out slowly. Too slowly, the platform would continue to rise and hit the shutoff switch, stranding film in the developer. Too fast, and the platform would crash to the floor, twisting the film and getting it all tangled up. One night I was putting a new reel on when it slipped out of my hand and rolled across the floor. I felt around in the darkness, going from corner to corner with no luck. I knew I couldn't turn on the light, as that would expose the undeveloped film. So I hit on a new plan: Light a match. I figured the light would be too dim to cause any problem. Tiny flame in hand, I looked around the darkroom. There was the reel, tucked between a box and the wall. I took a second to observe the film strand winding its way around the rollers and into the chemistry before loading up the prodigal reel.

Not long after that it became apparent there was a problem. The film strand winding its way into the lighted drying cabinet looked...funny. Instead of its usual brownish tint, it was all green! Uh-oh. Many questions were asked. I knew nothing...nothing! I sure as hell was not going to tell them I had lit a match in the darkroom and for sure lose my job. Frank tried everything to duplicate the result but never came close. In the end I was written up for "operator error" and kept my job. It reinforced that idea that in a pinch I could still lie my way out of trouble. Great.

The only other notable experience I had was with a woman who worked with me. Her name was Mary Jones, and she was about five years older than me, though her past heroin addiction made her look like a slightly strung-out Bonnie Raitt. Now. In 2008. In the long run our relationship was a matter of how long she could control me and still screw around with other guys. That came to an end not long after my birthday in February of 1977.

Surprise

I came back to Northern Virginia for my birthday to see the folks and visit friends. The photo lab had cut our hours back and I was living on about $50 a week. There were times when I would wait until nobody was home at the frat house and go into the kitchen to raid other guys' food. Always just a bit from this one and a bit from that. A spoonful of peanut butter. A handful of raisins. A packet of oatmeal. I was deeply ashamed that I had to resort to that kind of behavior. One day I was truly starving and had 60 cents to my name and no cigarettes. Food or smokes? To screw up a Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers phrase: "Food will get you through times of no smokes better than smokes will get you through times of no food." I bought two bags of popcorn and that was my three squares that day. I actually know what it's like to wake up in the morning and wonder if I will eat that day. It sucked, and something had to change.

After the formalities of dinner with the family I went over to Vienna to see my good buddies. I had been given directions to an apartment rented by a girl I knew at Madison, Pam Drennan. I had had a crush on her in my sophomore year but she never really suspected anything. When the door opened everyone yelled "surprise!" as I stood there, shocked. I really hadn't expected it to be a party for me, but hey, let's do it!

This was the first time I had Tequila Sunrises, and I drank them down like water. Before long I found myself on the couch talking to a very attractive girl named Lynn who thought I was the most interesting and funny guy. As it got later, people started trailing away or going into other rooms. Lynn and I were there alone. And in the deep, dark hours of the night I got my last, best birthday present of the day. Oh, yeah. Mary who?

27:'77

Chapter Twenty-Five - Home and Gone Again

Welcome to the Workin' Week

No sooner was I home than I got a pretty good-paying job driving a lunch truck for a local deli. I got to the store at about 5AM to load up and spent the next 8 hours driving from construction sites to the DMV to office buildings, lather, rinse, repeat. The worst part of the job was the constuction guys. They were constantly trying to rip me off. I finally started wearing mirrored sunglasses and making change without looking down just so they wouldn't know where I was looking. But the pay was great for the day ($125 per week), and the best parts of the job were: 1) Listening to music all day on the radio and 2) Ruane. She drove the other truck but had the plum route. She only had to park at a Farmer's Market all day and rake in the dough. Man, Ruane was a stone cold fox. She was funny, bright and wholesome as an apple pie. Really wholesome. She wanted me to be the one to take care of that. Yowzah! And yet we never got to that last base. Always some complication or another. And me squealing tires as I drove off in frustration yet again. Looking back I wonder sometimes whether it was part of her act, but I believed it at the time, and that's what gave an extra kick to the insanity.

It only took me a few weeks back under my parents' roof to realize that I couldn't hack being with them again. I had spent too much time out on my own, more or less, and their constant nagging and button-pushing drove me up the wall. Between that and my sexual frustration I was ready to bolt. I spent as little time as possible at the house, preferring to see friends over in Vienna or hanging out with some new buddies in or new neighborhood, Hayfield Farms. Nice name, no? We would meet down at a dead end street and catch a buzz, play music and dream of other places. But it always ended the same way: back to the folks' place. So I started squirreling away cash in a savings account with the aim to move out the minute I had $800 or so. Week after week went by and I watched the balance grow with anticipation, each perceived slight by my Mom and Dad growing in my mind to the level of insult. One day I came back from work to discover that my nice queen sized bed had been replaced by a single. My feet stuck out the end like some Lil' Abner cartoon.

"Why did you do that?" I asked Mom.

"You aren't going to be living here forever", she said.

I couldn't wait to see how they reacted to the dramatic announcement I had planned.

Finally the time had come: I withdrew all my "mad money" and packed up a suitcase. Mom and Dad had gone to their room for the evening. I knocked softly on the door.

"Come in."

"Um, Mom, Dad, I have to tell you something. I really can't stay here anymore and I, uh, I'm moving back to Norfolk. I've already called and they have a room for me at the frat house. So, I guess I just wanted to come in and say goodbye."

They looked at me in stunned silence for a moment.

"Well, if this is something you have to do, then we won't try to stop you. What are you going to do there?" said Dad.

"I'll get a job. Maybe go back to school."

"Will you let me drive you to the bus station?" said Mom.

"Sure."

We said good night and I went to my room with a feeling of excitement and liberation. Out in the big world on my own at last! This is gonna be so cool.

Exit Stage Left

Morning came and Mom drove me to the Greyhound station that had become such an icon to me during the years at SMA. Many trips through there to and from the old place over those two years. Now it was my way station to another big chapter. I got on the bus and my Mom and sisters watched from the car as we pulled out of the station. Years later they told me that she wept on the way back to the house. I knew Mom was sentimental, but I was so full of myself and my own grand adventure that it meant little to me at the time how anyone else felt. I was in charge now, thank you very much.

I got to Norfolk and moved into my new room, a place over the garage the Brothers called the Crow's Nest. It was fantastic. My roommate was a kid named Xavier Cineseros, and he was a real partyin' dude. He had local buddies who we hung out with and some of the cooler Brothers came up for evenings of illegal imbibing as well. I adopted some rats from the ODU Psych Department that had been used as test subjects and we had a lot of fun watching them run around, begging for our munchies and then scurrying off to their cage. Or so I thought. One day I needed my sport coat, and when I took it out of the closet the pockets were filled with rotting food! The rats had been climbing up into the closet and hoarding the crackers, nuts and other junk food in my clothes. Thanks, guys!

With the waning of summer came also the waning of my cash. I hadn't worried much about getting a job as long as there was a party going on. But now it was time to get moving or move on out. I was pretty desperate, going so far as to apply at the Coast Guard office to take the entrance exam. I went to the Virginia Employment Office and sat down with a jobs councellor. After seeing that my job history consisted of a burger joint and a deli truck driver, the man told me to take whatever I could get.

"Here's one," he said "It says 'Platform Operator'. Do you know what that is?"

"Maybe it's like a loading dock type thing?"

"Good. Sounds like something you could do. I'll call and set up your interview this week."

A couple of days later I went for my interview at Colorcraft, INC. It was a big, nondescript building about a half mile from the frat house. I came in through the front door, and that was the last time I would enjoy that view. I was shown into an office where a tall, gray-haired man rose and shook my hand.

"Hi. I'm Frank Pyle, good to meet you."

"So this is the guy who is going to start my long and distinguished career in the exciting world of professional photofinishing", I didn't think to myself.

26 it goes like this: A boom shackalacka boom shackalacka lacka.....

Chapter Twenty-Four- The College Try

Off to College

My days of virginal solitude behind me, I set out with Dad to my new digs down in Norfolk, VA at Old Dominion University. I thought it was really hilarious when the first sign I saw coming off the freeway directed us to "O.D. University". Now that's a party school!

To save some money on housing expenses, Dad had arranged for me to rent a room in an old townhouse about a mile from campus from a friend of my step-grandmother. The first time I set foot in the place I knew I was in trouble. It smelled like Old Lady and not one stick of furniture was younger than she was. There was no shower in the only bathroom, just a tub. I have never been a bath kind of guy. And we were far enough away from campus that I might as well have been on the moon. Then I met her son, a beer truck driver. His idea of a good time was to invite his redneck buddies over and get drunk in the kitchen on Southern Comfort. That stuff tasted like fermented cough syrup, and it still kills me how the only way they seem to be able to promote in nowadays is "SoCo and lime." That's it, no other way you can drink it. Just shut up and pour it in.

I was bored to tears.

Old Dominion had about 14,000 students when I went there in 1975-76. I was overwhelmed by the activity of it all and how really impersonal the whole experience was. The teachers never knew my name and I was lucky to talk to them for more than 15 minutes the whole time I was in their class. I knew nobody at all and was a bit shy about introducing myself outside of casual conversation in class. It sucked. And I certainly wasn't going to be inviting any female types to my de-luxe apartment at the geriatric ward. It looked pretty bleak until I got to talking with a guy named George Scott in the cafeteria. He belonged to a fraternity, and I saw that as a great way to meet new people. Not only that, but there was an opening at the frat house to rent a room and the rent was cheaper than I'd been paying Grandma Moses. I was out of there so fast the dust was still settling when I moved into the new place.

I Become a Frat Boy

George lived at the house and I became his roommate. The night I accepted my Associate Membership the guys all had this solemn little candlelit ceremony and put my pledge pin on me. I was now a pledge to Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity. Then we all got drunk. Hmm. I'm noticing that that's the way a lot of these early experiences are marked. The room George and I shared became the "party room" for stoners in the Brotherhood. We would sit around listening to Pink Floyd, Robin Trower, Seventh Wave, Jethro Tull and other trippy music while infusing the room with cannabis incense. Our discussions ranged from the ridiculous to the sublimely ridiculous.

Being such an old house, our domicile had its share of other life forms creeping about the place. Chief among these were the roaches. But instead of being disgusted by sharing our space with them, we learned to incorporate them into our own heathen rituals. Using wooden skewers and toothpicks, we built altars and scaffolding on which we fastened the unwary Blattellidae to burn them alive. Suckers can really POP when they get heated up just right.

One night as we blathered on in our opium den a knock came on the door. I opened it to find a Norfolk City police officer standing there. I quickly stepped out and slammed the door, much to his amusement.

"Relax, pledge, I'm a Brother."

"Oh. Ah, yeah, cool. What's up?"

"I'm on night duty in an hour or so and I need to take a nap down in the living room, so nobody comes downstairs until I leave, OK?"

Seemed a little strange, but I went back in and told the guys. They gave each other sidelong glances and grinned at me.

"That means he's got a lady friend down there and wants some privacy" said George.

Oh. Well, as soon as my knees stop shaking and I get my breath back everything will be just fine. Seeing a cop again in that situation so soon after my last bust had freaked me right out.

Not long after I moved in I was exposed to the first of the Mysteries. Pledges in just about all fraternities have to go through classroom instruction and participate in what can only be described as "morality plays." Each of us was awakened late at night to bear witness to or participate in some small way with these plays. They were designed to awaken the mind to other possibilities and to teach enduring lessons. I thought it was way cool.

The Year in Review

My entire first year of college was an exercise in hedonism. While I did go to class fairly often, the freedom I had after two years of structure at SMA was more than I could control. It was so much easier to smoke another joint and walk around campus looking disaffected and tragic. For some reason this didn't get me laid much. It's often been said that the definition of stupidity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. My grades suffered once again but I just didn't care. This was a vacation. One my folks were getting tired of funding. I hung out with my cousins Joe and Bob, their friends becoming my friends. I remember watching the first episode of Saturday Night Live in a buddy's basement and declaring it to be the funniest show ever. That was also the first time I ever saw Monty Python's Flying Circus. There were just so many better things to do than study.

In late Fall of '75 some frat brothers decided to go on a road trip out to Charlottesville. I tagged along with the idea that I'd visit Staunton while I was out there. It was cool to see the guys again, but it felt strange, like revisiting a dream. Boots was the new 'A' Company commander, the last one ever as it turned out. That's when I found out about my old nemesis, Captain Davis. During Alumni Weekend one of the younger alums was walking into South Barracks and Davis had asked him what he was doing there. The other man said it was none of his business and Davis had clocked him with a rifle. In short order the Senior Army Instructor was transferred out to parts unknown. I can only imagine him hunkered down in Fort Greely, Alaska, waiting for the Russkies to come storming across the Bering Strait.
Drinking, smoking, meeting the occasional young woman of loose morals who saw me as an acceptable last resort. And going to just enough classes to pull a low 'D' average. Those heady days. Toward the end of the year the only reason my fellow brothers voted to let me be initiated into full membership was due to low recruitment numbers. But it was a transcendent experience for me. Initiation in Lambda Chi Alpha is called The Ritual, and it was an all-night ceremony that left me shaken and believing a little more in the value of brotherhood.

So I went back to Alexandria with my tail between my legs, but in the long run it was an expensive lesson for Dad in listening to what I really needed. Maybe a little time with Mommy and Daddy wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Roach Coach Days

Chapter Twenty-Three - Losin' It

Early Reunion

Pete came down from New York a couple of weeks after graduation. He stayed at the house and we went to a concert. Beach Boys and Chicago. This was back when Terry Cath was still alive and the Beach Boys hadn't turned into geriatric parodies of themselves. We sat in our seats there at the Capitol Center in Largo, Maryland, digging the rock n' roll and smoking some really fine weed Pete had brought. Suddenly I felt a vigorous tapping on my shoulder. I turned around to see a woman with a hairstyle right out of the 50's glaring at me angrily.

"Put that shit out or I'm going to call a cop!"

Yeesh! OK, OK, don't bust a blood vessel. We're buzzed enough as it is, don't harsh it now. Pete went back home and we promised to stay in touch. Didn't quite work out that way but I did have a surprise for him just a few years down the line.

The 18 Year Old Virgin

While working another boring shift at High's one day, a couple of young ladies came in to pick up some things. I recognized one as Debbie R., who had been one year ahead of me at Madison. She recognized me as well and we spent some time chatting about what we'd been doing since I left for military school. She gave me her number and told me she'd like to go out with me some time. Wow! I was never the ladies man type, so being hit on like that was very....encouraging.

I called Debbie a few days later and we went out to dinner. We talked about this and that. She asked me about my time at SMA and I told her a couple of stories. She asked if we dated town girls. I told her about Stuart Hall. She said:

"It must have been hard to sneak away for a little fun."

"Well, uh, yeah. I dated a couple of girls but nothing serious."

"So you never....."

"No."

"With anyone?"

Geez, what do you think I mean?

"Um, no."

"Hm."

We had a few more dates, sometimes ending up at her place, but nothing...serious...ever happened. It seemed like she was waiting for just the right moment. Yeah, sure, I've got all the patience in the world. Shoot, I'm not going to college for another, let's see, six weeks. Take your time. No problem. I'll just - when are we going to do it!!!

Camping. We're going camping. I told Mom and Dad what was up and they sat me down for an earnest talk.

"Son, I hope while you're on this little outing you know enough to use some...protection."

"Dad, she's on the Pill."

"Oh."

So much for that. I look back now and it seems so nostalgic that all we really had to worry about was pregnancy. Sure, there were STD's, but a course of penicillin and it was all better. Those were the days.

Debbie and I borrowed a camper trailer from her parents and we were off. We ended up at a shoreline campground in Eastern Virginia and set things up. I was feeling really diligent about getting camp set up. Firewood, sweep out the camper, food wherever it's supposed to be. Yeah. What else? Don't be nervous! Ah, man, why did I even think that? Dinner is done. We walk around the campground, look at the water, go back and sit around the fire. And then she said, it's time for bed.

To say that things didn't go as planned would be an understatement worthy of "Houston, we have a problem." In more ways than one. Oh, Debbie was so very understanding, as women through the ages have felt it their duty to be. She left to go to the restroom and I cursed my fate. To have it all right in front of me and be denied left me frustrated and angry. I lost my faith in the Deity and let him know it. Which is pretty ironic, no? I spent a restless night wondering what was wrong with me.

The next day we did all the little touristy things couples do at the shore: Walking on the beach, checking out tacky shops, making a nervous lover feel better about himself. All that stuff. Then it was dinner at a seafood house. Debbie made sure we had just enough wine to get me feeling sexy without going too far, and we topped it off with a plate of fresh oysters on the half shell. She told me it was a great aphrodisiac, and you know something...it was.

Next morning I decided that I wanted to try out this new "hands-free" form of pleasure again and Debbie was happy to oblige. It was great fun, though I noticed a clanking noise that seemed to be matching our rhythm. Didn't bother me and we proceeded on. Afterward I hopped out of the camper and noticed the clanking again. It was the Coleman lantern that was hanging from the awning attached to the camper. Apparently it was swinging back and forth while all the action was going on, acting like a clapper on a bell. I stood there for a moment while the notion of that sank in. I heard some people talking in the campsite next door and looked over. It was a couple and their kids getting ready to head out for the day. I looked at the Dad and gave him a wave. He shook his head, winked and wagged his finger at me. Oh, man.

Next, on "24": Tales of the Old Dominion

Part II, Chapter Twenty-Two - The Summer After SMA

Schooooool's out - for - summer...

Into the World

First weekend after I got home I went to my buddies' graduation from public school. I drove over to my buddy Scott's house with a heavy heart, sad that Dave wouldn't be with us. When I got to the house I was met by Scott's mother. She was a kindly woman who all the guys called "Mom". The type who always has fresh baked cookies just coming out of the oven when you got there. One other great thing about Scott's house: The Basement. More later.

We walked into the kitchen and she set me up with cookies and milk. Heaven. I asked where Scott was and she told me he had gone to the airport to pick up Dave.

"Pick up Dave? His casket?"

"What, dear?"

"Well, you know, are they burying him here?"

"Ed, what are you talking about? David isn't dead. It was his father who just passed away."

I was stunned. For the last week I had been dreading the somber mood Dave's passing would put on graduation weekend. And now he was alive! Mrs. Faugust and I chatted and tried to figure out how Diane had gotten the impression that Dave was the one who had died. Not long after, Scott walked in with Dave and I gave him the biggest hug any man could without requiring California voters to democratically deny him the right to do it. He was a little taken aback, until I explained the circumstances. Relief and sympathy followed and we all trooped down to The Basement to get drunk.


Madison High School's graduation ceremony was quite a bit different from the low key affair I'd just attended. I knew a lot of people from Madison and it was a little disorienting to be back in the real world again. The valedictorian that year was David Skibiak, a guy I had known since elementary school. He was absolutely hilarious. His best line came when he was encouraging us to go out and make our place in the world:

"Who knows, if you get into college, work hard and get your bachelor's in phys ed, you might some day be a high school principal!"

Classic. When the ceremony was over we started party-hopping. A field party of hundreds until the cops showed up, a quiet few beers with friends on a country road and then back to Scott's for several more. At some point I passed out, waking up bleary and far too early with Scott shaking me.

"Hey, Ed, we're going to Ocean City. C'mon, get up."

I hoisted my still-drunk corpse off the floor and dragged myself into the car. We picked up Scott's girlfriend, and as we passed the Post Office in Vienna I requested a quick stop so I could drop something off. I opened the door and rolfed prodigiously into the storm drain.

"OK. Let's go."

It took us the better part of four hours to get to the beach, during which I found the strength to sober up and get to the sand. After lying about for a bit I slouched down to the water to get refreshed. Another guy was just coming in and it took me a quick second before I recognized him. It was Jim Hisey, my ex-roomie from SMA. The weirdest thing: He had signed my yearbook just ten days before:

"Maybe I'll see you at Ocean City."

What were the odds? Seemed a little creepy that he just happened to be there on the same stretch of beach I was on the same day. I look over my shoulder from time to time and I swear he's still following me.

Get a Job

Through some obscure family connection I got a job working at a convenience store over in Vienna. It was called High's Market, sort of a precursor to 7-11. Which was funny because there was a 7-11 right across the street. We sold all the same stuff, only cheaper, but most of our customers were old folks.

I never understood how to properly price the canned goods based on the big inventory list they tossed at me. So I opened the box of, let's say, creamed corn, and think about what would be a fair price. Hmmm. How about 17 cents? Sounds good. So that's what I did. Everything was going just fine until this old coot came up to the cash register with a can of peas.

"You sure the price on this is right?"

"What does it say?"

"It says 9 cents."

"Then that's what it is."

"Son, I haven't paid 9 cents for a can of peas since I was your age!"

"Look, you want the peas or not? If it says 9 cents then it's 9 cents." Sheesh.

The best parts of working at High's:

1. Whenever I closed the store I would put a bottle of Thunderbird in the cooler about an hour before I left. Made for some smooth drinkin' on the ride back to Alexandria.

2. Stopping at Jack in the Box for a Breakfast Jack. They made those things so incredibly greasy back in the day. They used a regular hamburger bun and just tossed that Canadian bacon and egg with some gloppy cheese for a taste sensation fit for a king!

3. Mystery Theater Radio with E.G. Marshall. I would listen to the show on the way home, wiping the grease off my chin and sucking on a T-Bird. That was livin'.


Moving On: The Flower is Plucked

This is not the End Again

Strike the Set - New Production in 3, 2, 1 ......

I want to thank all the nice people who have sent me emails and helped kick-start some of the memories. I have had a great time relating the stories of my life up to high school and it doesn't stop there. Many more experiences are knocking on my cranium and won't shut up until I drag them into the light of day.

A note about some of the brothers I knew back then and try to stay in touch with now:

Pete Bantz: Currently a chef at Pete's Saloon in Elmsford, NY

Boots Shelton: Cameraman, Father, Producer

Jim Lange: West Virginia Public Radio Host

Andrew A. Blythe: Whereabouts Unknown. Somewhere in Wichita?

I hope to see a lot of familiar faces (though we are all just a bit...thicker than we used to be) when I go to the 2010 Reunion. My 35th year away and still the memories are so clear. May the blessings of the Buddha be with you all.

Chapter Twenty-One - SMA: Race to the Finish

Work to Do

Instead of feeling sorry for myself I was determined to be the straightest, most disciplined cadet on God's green Earth. Confinement meant that during all leave times I had to sign in at the guard hut every 30 minutes. I guess they figured you couldn't get into any trouble in a half hour. I spent a lot of time studying for finals and reading, just to keep my mind busy. Every night after Taps I served the last part of my punishment. The three freshmen and I had to change into our fatigue pants and t-shirts and go down to the track. We spent the better part of an hour running the cross-country route and doing calisthenics. Truth to tell, I welcomed the activity. Running through the sultry Southern night was a meditation of sorts and kept me focused on getting through to graduation day. And the push ups, sit ups and all that put me in the best physical shape of my life. Who knew screwing up could be so good for your health?

Each one of the guys in my group were right there to keep my spirits up. I felt it was my duty to them and to my folks to pull through.

Pete came to me one day and told me that he was worried about his grades. He had been struggling with a couple of classes and was afraid he might not graduate with the rest of us. He needed my help. Over the next several days we worked together on our mutual classes and I got a chance to turn the tables on him. Back in my junior year he had been the taskmaster and now I got to kick his ass. That's what friends are for. We were both fretting about our separate issues and keeping the other propped up. It was great.

When finals were over the grades were posted on each teacher's door. Pete and I went together to see how we did. When we got to his problem classes he had passed by the skin of his teeth. I had also passed all my classes and it was now just a matter of days before we were out. He had been at SMA longer than I had and this was quite a cathartic moment for him. Made me happy to be a part of it. Sadly, his roommate and our erstwhile party buddy Rick Kessler had gone off the deep end just a short time before graduation. Rick was Pete's fellow platoon leader and was a "lifer", having spent six years at SMA. WIth just weeks to go he had started acting out, disrespecting teachers and skipping classes. In short order he was demoted and finally dismissed. We were all in shock and never really knew what had driven him to that behavior. I hope everything worked out for him.

One day I was walking along the galleries during leave time, just enjoying the sunny day and thinking my own thoughts, when I heard someone call my name.

"Newb, hey, come here, man."

It was Pete, hanging out in another cadet's room.

"What's going on, Pete?"

"Hey man, feel like catching a buzz?"

"Are you shitting me? Do you know how much trouble I could get into?"

Pete went out onto the gallery and shouted at the guard hut: "Hey, who's on duty in there?"

The guard came out and it was somebody Pete knew well.

"Make sure Newbegin is signed in for the next hour. OK?"

The guard signalled that he'd do that and went back in.

"That do it for you, Newbs?"

We spent the afternoon getting pretty damn stoned and it never felt better. I think about that day now and I thank the Buddha we didn't have to take drug tests back in the day.

Grad Weekend



The last three days of school saw a flurry of activity.


Just after Rifle Exercises



Me on the left, Sgt. Boots on the right



Grams adjusting my hat at the Baccalaureate



Mom and Dad came out with Leslie and Lori and our neighbor, Jenny. My old girlfriend Diane came out from New Jersey and Grams came, too. Everybody stayed at the Holiday Inn and one day we were hanging out at the pool when Diane told me she had some bad news for me. She said she heard from Scott Faugust, a friend of ours, that a mutual friend named Dave Wise had died.

"How did it happen?"

"It was a heart attack"' she said.

"He was 18 years old! How does a guy that young die of a heart attack?"

She had no answer, and I was really bummed about it. In my sophomore year at Madison High School another friend, Beth Morse, had died tragically by electrocution along with her boyfriend when a tree branch had knocked a power line down on them. I wasn't feeling so young and indestructible at that point.

Now all we had to do was a bunch of marching and listening to speeches and looking spiffy in our nice clean uniforms. I gave away all my gray shirts and most of my other stuff, keeping only my dress jacket and overcoat. Saying goodbye to my underclass buddies who left on Saturday was tough, but we knew we'd see each other again some time. Yearbooks were exchanged and signed. Too many guys had to write things about my last weeks there:

"Don't get lost on any Hills or in any Caves."

"Be cool and don't try your luck so much next time."

"What a nice guy to get busted with!" That's right, the last guy was Marc Caplan...

"Newb, to a sinful me sma was a drag but to a sinful you sma was only a joke. Keep cool. Tony Miao"

"Stay out of caves"

...and so on.

The graduation dance out at the Ingleside Inn was a real hoot. Pete danced with Jenny and I hung out with Diane like we were still dating. It was a blast! We went back to the barracks later and shared a pleasant kiss at my door. She looked at me and smiled, then walked back to her car and drove out of my life forever. I occasionally do an Internet search for her, just to be sure she's all right in the world, but nothing has turned up. C'est la vie.

The Big Day

Graduation day started at Trinity Church with the Baccalaureate. We sat through the Mass on a sweltering day but I hardly noticed the heat. Every minute was bringing me closer to my goal and everything seemed like a dream. Look at the expression on my face here as I am walking into the church.


That's Pete on the right, and both of us are feeling the same way. Triumphant. After all we'd both been through it was right in front of us. I know that every guy who shared that day with us had their own sense of accomplishment and pride in what they had done. So now the Mass is over and we're heading out of the church. Just as I pass the last pew another person falls in step next to me and my old neighbor Mr. Cunningham snaps this picture:

Yeah, none other than Captain Howdy himself. What the heck, is this Moby Dick or something? Get out of my life, you moron! I wonder what back alley he's sleeping in tonight? Bitter? Not as much as you'd think...

And finally the ceremony itself. Pomp and Circumstance, the march into the gym, speeches, awards, and a keynote address by the esteemed General Robert E. Lee. Not the ghost, but the great man's great grandson. I always wondered how tough it must have been to have a name like that and go into the army. I mean, Private Robert E. Lee?

All the blather done with, it was time to start calling names. There were 37 of us in my graduating class, so this wasn't going to take long. I stood up and moved out into the aisle and Bob Parrino, my previous company commander, put a hand on my shoulder. "Congratulations, Ed. Now stay out of trouble." "Yeah, thanks. You too."


"Edward Ashton Newbegin...."

Oh, me.

...and then it was done. I clutched at that holder like it was made of gold. I carefully opened it and inside....was nothing. The diplomas had not gotten printed in time and were going to be mailed to us. No big deal. What mattered was that we were out. The ceremony ended and we boiled out of the gym and into the warm June day. I got to the top of the steps and met Mom and Dad.

Mom (Kitty), Me (Eric), Dad (Red)*

I caught sight of Pete coming up the stairs and we exchanged a manly hug. We walked together back to South Barracks to change and put our stuff into the cars. As we walked along in a daze, Pete said:

"I'm never gonna forget this, man. I am so fucking happy to be out of here!"

"You know what I'm going to do, Pete? I'm going to name my first born son after you." **

"Sure."


So long and thanks for all the fried chicken!


Got into my too-cool civvies, put the stuff in the car and we hit the road. Dad thought it might be nice for me to drive. I thought so too, until we got out onto the open highway. We were so weighed down by all the people and luggage that the damn car was trying to fishtail. I pulled over and told Dad that he should drive before I killed us all. Good move.


*Gratuitous That 70's Show Reference

**And I did!

Next: It's a Wrap! ...for now.

Chapter Twenty- SMA: Bad Moon Risin'

Well the first days are the hardest days,
Don't you worry any more,
'Cause when life looks like easy Street,
there is danger at your door.
Think this through with me,
let me know your mind.
Woh - oh, what I want to know,
is are you kind?

The Old College Try

Just before Christmas break we started filling out prepaid postcards to send to colleges for admission info. I had been thinking about college since starting my senior year but I really didn't have a handle on what I wanted to study. Dad took me to Johns Hopkins University, where some distant uncle was on staff of the Speech Pathology Department. He was an irascible old coot who called all the women "darling" and "sweetheart". After talking with him that afternoon I decided to major in his field. No way could my grades or even my familial connection get me into his school, so I cast a wider net. I sent out 20 or 30 cards and most of the replies were: "No, thanks". I did get offers from every branch of the Armed Forces, but in my mind I'd had enough of the "yes sir, no sir" to last me a while. I finally got accepted at Old Dominion University in Norfolk on the condition that I take two remedial, non-credit classes in the first semester. And thank you very much. My uncle Bob lived there, so I would be able to pal around with my cousins Joe and Bob. Looked like a good fit. I wasn't really sure I wanted to go away to college, though. Mom and I both thought it would be better to stay at home and go to community college for a couple of years and then transfer. It would be cheaper and I could work locally. Dad was dead set against it. One day we were out driving and he put it to me directly:

"You are not going to live at home with Mommy and Daddy when you should be out living your own life. When I was 18 I....." the rest is just blah. blah, blah. He said the words "Mommy and Daddy" as if I was a two year old. Just another button pushed on the console of my psyche.

The Shit Comes Down

Weeks before graduation I had started writing the date "6/1/75" on my notebooks and scrap paper. I think I was trying to put firmly in my mind that this was going to happen. It wasn't a dream. The effort I put in and the crap I had gone through had led me to this place and time, and writing that magical number was a way of making it real.

One Friday evening, two weeks before graduation and just after inspection, I tried to get some buddies together for another jaunt to the Trippin' Tree. Everyone else had something to do, so I decided to go alone and do some quiet meditation. With the proper mood enhancing substance, of course. I had picked up an ounce for myself with the money that had come in from relatives and friends for graduation. The cadet who sold me the weed was a cool guy that never cheated his brothers. His name won't ever be revealed unless he calls me and lets me off the hook.

It was warm and pleasant in the outer environs that day, and I wandered over to the driveway that led to our party spot. I don't know why, but I decided to veer off and go down a small trail to another spot, one with a nice view of the hillside. I pulled out a joint and took a few hits, then sat back to enjoy the sunset. I heard some voices up the driveway, and soon saw three other cadets walking down toward me with a case of beer in tow. All right! The kids saw me and came down to my spot. I say "kids" because they were all freshman. Two were from my Company, Richard Heck and Keith Foreman. The third guy is not in my memory right now. We sat drinking for a while, but I didn't offer them any smoke. Just too weird.

As we sat laughing and talking, it became clear that something was happening around us. There was some crashing in the bushes and people talking. I got up and started to walk back up the path toward the road - straight into the drawn gun of a Staunton police officer.

"You all just stay right there, hear?"

My skin was galvanized. I felt my balls clutch up into my gut and my eyesight blurred as I looked back at the other three standing in shock. The crashing sound continued and the bushes finally parted, allowing another couple of men to walk into the clearing. One was a uniformed officer and the other looked like a used car salesman.

"Damn it, y'alls parents are gonna be buyin' me a new suit with all the shit I had to walk through to git you!"

We goggled at him like fish on a line.

"Now what we got here? Buncha rich boys out trespassin' on private land. You know this is private property, dontcha?"

"Eh, mmm, uh, no."

Mr. Used Car smiled. "Boy, I'm Detective Sergeant Koons of the Staunton Police. Y'all are trespassin' whether you know it or not and we gonna have to take that beer and have a talk with the folks back at your school. Might be you could get kicked out for this." He pointed at me. "How old are you?"

"18"

"That's contributin' to the delinquency of minors. Wouldn't want to be in your shoes, boy. Let's go."

We started up the path and were almost at the top when I heard a voice behind me:

"Whose is this?"

I looked back and saw Detective Sergeant Koons holding up my fatigue shirt. The one with the dope in it. Yeah, this could get worse.

"It's mine."

Koons went through the pockets and pulled out the baggie.

"Well, look at this! A dope fiend, too!" He laughed and walked up to join us at the road. The crashing sounds were still happening. Happening in my head. A roaring sound like semi's going by in the rain. My knees could barely hold me and it felt like my blood had been refrigerated.

"Y'all just walk on back to the school and we'll meet you there. Don't get lost!"

He chuckled and watched as we shuffled away. I was dead. Stone cold fucking dead.

Tough Night

We got back to school and I went immediately to my room. I flopped down on my bed and began crying for all I was worth. God damn it! All that work, all that crap, everything I'd endured and struggled with were blown away. What a loser I was! Dad was right. I was just plain stupid. Stupid to believe that I could be anything more than a screwup my whole stupid life. I was drowning, not in pity but in capitulation. Fine, man, just let it all come down. Hell with it.

I don't know when my buddies started filtering into my room, but at some point Jim, Boots, Pete and others visited me and tried to calm me down. How easy could that have been? The situation was bad enough without all the drama that teenage hormones produces. But they tried, and that was the true measure of their friendship.

At one point a guard came to my door to tell me I had a phone call from my parents. Oh, great. I dragged myself to the phone in the guard hut.

"Hello?"

"Honey, it's Mom."

I couldn't hold back. I was weeping again uncontrollably.

"I'm so sorry, Mom. So sorry."

"That's not important now, Eddie. We know you're sorry but we have to see what we can do to keep you in school. Your father is going to make some calls to friends in Washington. Just be strong. You know what you did was wrong and you might have to pay for it. We'll do whatever we can to help."

"OK"

I went back to my room and lay there exhausted. The guys came and went. We talked or just sat not talking. My company commander, Tom Winford, came in and told me that there would be a disciplinary hearing on Saturday in the Superintendent's office. They would be questioning me about the incident. The panel would be composed of two cadets: Tom himself and Eddie Edwards, a member of Battalion Staff; the Commandant, James Love; the Superintendent, Colonel Noffsinger and the Senior Army Instructor, one Captain William S. Davis. Things just kept getting better.

Trial

Spent a hard night looking into my immediate future. I had to figure a way to mitigate my responsibility for holding a bag of weed. Possession is 9/10ths of the law. So why did I have it with me? Word got to me that Detective Sergeant Koons had stated that I was not under the influence of dope when they busted me. I was stunned. Why did he even bother to say that? The cops were no friends of the little rich boys at SMA and yet here he was handing me a razor-thin way out. I had spent a large part of my youth practicing my skills at lying to get out of trouble and I decided to focus all of them on The Story.

I was called into the office that morning and faced the panel with as much calm as I could muster. Then I began:

"I was walking through downtown last Tuesday. I was behind one of the stores and this black guy (sorry) approached me and asked if I wanted to buy some pot. I said 'No' and tried to walk away. He stepped in front of me and said 'I think you do, white boy.' I looked at him and he had his hand in his pocket. I thought he might have a weapon so I agreed to give him some money. He stuffed the baggie in my pocket and walked away."

Colonel Love spoke: "Did you ever see a weapon?"

"No, but he looked like he was going to do something and I didn't want any trouble."

They questioned me about why I hadn't reported the incident. Why I didn't just dispose of the dope. "I was scared." "That's what I was going to do out in the field."

I met each question with an answer. I kept the story straight. They told me to wait outside. I sat in the outer office, sweating bullets, thinking of all the possibilities. Time crawled by on hands and knees through broken glass. The kid who was "guarding" me was named Robert Speaker. He tried to make small talk but I had nothing to say. Finally, after about two hours, Tom Winford came out alone.

"You're still in, Ed. It took two votes. The first one was three to two against you, but Eddie and I told them about how you had started off as such a fuckup but that you became a model cadet who kept his nose clean. We told them you didn't deserve to be kicked out. That story sounded like total bullshit, but they couldn't prove it was. We voted again and it went four to one to keep you in school. Howdy still voted to dismiss you."

I couldn't believe it. "Thanks, Tom" was all I could choke out.

"Here's what's going to happen: You are demoted to private. You lose all senior privileges. You're confined to barracks for the last two weeks and you're on dismissal probation. That means that even if you sneeze the wrong way you'll be kicked out on the spot. There's some other stuff too, but we'll talk about that later. How does that sound?"

"But I'm still here?"

"Yes"

"I feel OK about it."

I left the office with Speaker. As we walked toward South Barracks he said: "Can I rip your stripes off? I've seen it on TV and always wanted to do that."

"Sure. Hey man, I'm just happy to be here."

So Sergeant Newbegin was now Private Newbegin, but at least he wasn't just another loser walking out the gate in civvies. Two weeks to go. Get to work.


Tom, Eddie. I don't know if you'll ever read this, but even now I consider that a true turning point in my life and the two of you saved my ass. I can never thank you enough for standing up for me like that. I learned yet another lesson about the bonds of brotherhood at the Old School.

Twenty-One: The Last Days are the Hardest Days