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.