Chapter Six- 1973: In Deep Shit

I am not blameless for what happened to me in the Fall of 1973. Over the years I had been a truly frustrating kid in the eyes of my parents, and that's just the stuff they knew about. I had committed acts of vandalism that would have shocked anyone who knew me. I would occasionally take my Dad's Marlin 30-30 and sit in my room, zeroing in on the kids who tormented me and picking them off in my mind. I dreamed of burning their houses down. I have only revealed these things to a trusted few. Here is something I discovered early on: I don't just see the bright line between madness and sanity. I feel its smooth surface and know I can never get through and over the edge. Numerous psychedelic experiences and emotional traumas have brought me smack up against it and I have stood back to marvel, but not enter. I could never explain to Mom and Dad how weird my world really was. Grades, misbehavior at home and my burgeoning rebelliousness began to overwhelm them and they could see that there was only one answer: military school.

Introduction to the System

I was given one last chance to get my act together in school, but my third quarter grades sucked just like the rest. Now it was a definite thing. Private school. Which one? My folks looked into a number of places, weighing the benefits offered by the brochures and talking to administrators. After that process we (meaning they) decided to visit the Staunton Military Academy in Staunton, Virginia. The fateful day came and we all bundled into the car for a trip to the hills. Upon our arrival we were greeted by a cadet who would be our guide. His name was Chris Reardon, and to me he seemed almost human, for a guy in a monkey suit. Then we met the venerable Colonel Moon, Superintendent of Students. I wondered why he kept pinching me, then I found out he did that to everyone. Well, stop it! My parents and I sat in his office, with the adults discussing my life like I wasn't even there. After a while Col. Moon asked my parents to leave us alone for a while. After they left the room he said:" So. What do you think of our school?"

"I don't like it."

"Why?"

"I don't belong here. My life is crap, school is crap and there's nothing anyone can do about it. If I go here I'm going to do everything I can to get out."

"Great! You're just the kind of young man we need!"

What? So self-absorbed was I that I couldn't even see what I'd done until it was too late. I had let this man know what category I fit into with just those few words. There weren't that many pigeon holes to put guys into in military school:

The Brains: They came for the fancy diploma. They have the best chance to be cadet officers. And they got away with murder. (Usually)

The Jocks: In my first year we had an incredible football team. Mostly because they were 19 and 20 year old "post graduates" who needed extra credit to get into a good college. Nobody messed with these guys. One of them, a guy named Sorianno, had to shave twice a day!

The Screwups: That was most of us, and any military school is geared to whip us into shape from the first step in the door.

I was toast.

Next: Last civilian summer for Ed