My biography – the 10′s

The 20’s.
The 30’s.
The 40’s.

This is the first installment of my unrequested auto-biography; it’s being written on account of three reasons:

1. I just finished reading the excellent auto-biography of Bruce Springsteen; it got me to thinking…

2. Many years ago, around 1997, I created a web page to document the lives of my paternal grandparents. I was keenly interested in their story at that time – I knew so little – which came much too late in my life. Similarly, since I married late (34 years old), and didn’t have Annika until I was two months shy of my 40th, I already had a lot of mileage under the wheels. I figure it’s better to document those miles while I’m alive and can still see in the rearview mirror, rather than waiting for a grandkid to take interest.

3. Let’s be honest; as one grows older, with less road up ahead, taking a long look at our journey has its own rewards.

For organizational purposes I’ve arbitrarily decided to order this by decades; I’m starting with 10’s, since I don’t really recall anything during the aught’s. Here we go…

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I turned 10 on April 30, 1973; I was at the end of my 4th grade in St. John’s Lutheran School in Napa, with the amazing Mr. Turner as my teacher. I turned 20 on April 30, 1983, living on-campus in a dorm, nearing the end of my freshman year at the University of Arizona in Tucson. A decade of formative schooling. I ended my 10’s with a small set of friends who would remain a fixture of positive influence in my life; in that regard, this chunk of time is both important and unique.

May 1973 – Aug 1977. I was in the middle of a long and prestigious 9 years at St. John’s Lutheran School.

Backdrop: After moving to Napa from Vallejo around 1966, Arlene, Diana and myself would all go to St. John’s; this is also where we went to Church – a Church that my Grama had been going to for quite a few years.

1st and 2nd grade – Ms. Lebahn, an old maid, who was intolerant, unfriendly to young kids, and entirely impatient for the job at had. My primary recollection is of her tying me to my desk if I was walking around too much, using scarfs that she would be wearing; or, her wrapping masking tape around and around my head, numerous times, to prevent me from talking in class. Of course, slowly wiggling my tongue through the tape was great fun. She would shake uncontrollably when she was exceptionally angry. Oh, there was also the time I wet my pants, in class, since she wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom. Yup; no scars here. 🙂

It didn’t end with Ms. Lebahn. One day after morning recess, I cupped my hand under the faucet in the boys bathroom, spraying my friends. Of course, water was everywhere. Someone told on me, and the principle Mr. Ashbrenner got involved. He took me out of class, brought me back to the bathroom, spanked me after a tortured confession, and had me clean up the mess. Corporal punishment was mainstream at St. John’s.

3rd grade – Mr. Losey. His sons Eric and Kyle were also in school. He was an absurdly strict man; he did not need tape or scarfs to get his point across. Unlike Ms. Lebahn, we were all truly fearful of him. Primary recollection: he saw kids (not from his class) playing outside near an old incinerator, which was a verboten place to play. He told us to be quiet, and went out the back door with a 3 foot wooden ruler. He returned with the ruler, which had been broken into 3 pieces. Yup; no scars here, either. 🙂

In 3rd grade I was in the German and Christian choir group. The German group required that I wear lederhosen (the girls wore dirndl’s) whilst singing German folk songs, and the Christian group required that we wear robes. We were supposed to stand entirely still while singing; on at least 3 occasions, I became so hot that I fainted, usually in a church (which typically meant head first onto stone floors). After the school year we traveled for 2 weeks, to Southern California and then across to Las Vegas with a side trip to the Grand Canyon. Each night we would pair up and sleep with a local family who had volunteered to accommodate us. Two memory’s (besides fainting): standing on a red ant hill somewhere in Arizona, at my host family’s house. Fun. #2 – visiting Circus Circus in Las Vegas, with strict instructions to be back at the bus at some anointed time. We all returned except Lane Dyke (he had taken a detour to the bathroom). The director, Mr. Ashbrenner (him again!), was furious that Lane had disrespected his orders, and so ordered the bus driver to leave! A few Mom’s (there as chaperone’s, to include my Mom) revolted and left the bus to go find Lane. The Mom’s, with Lane in tow, met us later at a local Church, our intended destination for the night.

I quit Choir after 3rd grade; it wasn’t cool for boys to sing, and especially uncool for boys to faint all the time. BUT – my retirement was only after we cut an album, with my claim to fame being a solo vocal of the second verse from “This Land is your land”. Time to move on.

/Backdrop

Classes at St. John’s were combined, with just one teacher (no parents helping out in those days); so, 1-2, 3-4, 5-6, and 7-8. Mr. Losey and his family moved away after 3rd grade, so our new 4th grade teacher was a young charismatic, Mr. Turner. He was revolutionary, in that he was extremely funny, friendly, engaging, and non-traditional. We loved him, and he only lasted a year for it. St. John’s was too conservative of a bastion to tolerate such insubordination to tradition. One highlight: he took me and some friends (Lane Dyke, Eddie Russell) bowling one time after school. Impossible to imagine Ms. Lebahn or Mr. Losey doing such a thing.

5th and 6th grade; huge crush on Mrs. Klein, who was young, attractive, very nice, and a great teacher. The 6th grade highlight: winning Athlete of the Year. It was undeserving, so here is some context. The school was very small; my 8th grade graduating class was 13 kids. It was disproportionally female; again, my 8th grade class had just 3 boys, including me. (I don’t recall the 6th grade numbers, but I suspect they were similar, if not identical). The Athlete of the Year award should have gone to Kevin Hall, who was older than me and a superior athlete. However, earlier in the school year, Kevin thought it would be funny to bring a dried herb to school, and tell everyone it was marijuana. A move like this will get one in trouble in a small Lutheran school, and the consequences will obviously linger, to include end of year Athlete of the Year voting by the school administrators. At best I should have gotten second place.

7th and 8th grade; Mr. Aschbrenner (remember him?), was the teacher. At this point shades of my personality were beginning to emerge. I am (mostly) not competitive. Before softball practice we would run around the entire softball field. John Miller (one year younger than me) would want to race; I would comply, until the very end when I would, in the lead, pull up and let John pass. Passive aggressive? Dunno. Then there were girls; my introversion and indifference were showing. I had been to school with most of these girls since kindergarten; I recall a conversation with a few of them (Sherri Lahei in particular) where I presented my case that it was a silly waste of time for us to date, since we weren’t going to get married. How pragmatic is that? Still, I did have a brief girlfriend (Gina, a new girl and therefore interesting who was younger than me). And, of course, there was Halloween.

7th grade I once again won Athlete of the Year; 8th grade I didn’t, due to a broken right arm that kept me out of the basketball season. My best friend Scott Young won it, and the administration must have felt bad since they gave me some other, new, one-time award (Sportsman of the Year or some such).

Friendships during this entire period were interesting. St. John’s was 1.1 miles from home; starting around 3rd grade I rode my bike to school everyday, unless it rained (huge dose of independence there). All my friends who lived on my street went to another school; St. Appolinaris (a Catholic school). Thus the demarc: school friends and neighborhood friends, and neither knew each other and never would the two meet. At the end of the school year, I would say goodbye to my best friend Lane Dyke, knowing full well that I would not see him for ~3 months. Bizarre…

Lane ended up leaving St. John’s before 7th grade, after having gone to school there since Kindergarten. I don’t actually recall who my best friend was in 7th grade; odd. Starting 8th grade I had a new buddy – Scott Young. His Mom had gone to High School with my Mom at Napa High, and the Young family had recently returned from the big island of Hawaii after living there for a number of years. In that way Scott broke the mold that had been established by Lane – we saw a lot of each other in the summer, since our families were good friends. In the summer, with both of our families having a water ski boat, we would vacation together, at Lake Berryessa, or Buck’s Lake, or Whiskeytown Lake – these were some really fun times together with Scott.

In hindsight, despite the outrageous behavior of some of the adults at St. John’s, I still equate my childhood with the old 50’s show “Leave it to Beaver”. It was innocent, free of conflict in the house (my parents never drank, never fought, held hands and kissed regularly, we always ate dinner together, and took a number of fun family trips every summer), idyllic.

Summers were spent hanging out with my neighborhood friends: Mick Gagetta, Doug Davis, Mike Velastalin, Jerry Harris. We did everything on bike; explored the creek next to the frontage road leading to Yountville, rode to Conn Damn via Silverado Trail, poked around that huge undeveloped area that would later become Vintage High School.

There were 3 High Schools in Napa; Vintage (which was new and close to our house), Napa, and the private Catholic school Justin-Siena. For reasons unknown to me – but I assume it was the assumption of a higher quality education – I was to attend Justin, where I would reunite with Lane. After 9 years at St. John’s, I was ready to move on, without hesitation.

Aug 1977 – Aug 1981. Freshman year was a bore; my introversion, and the fact that I really knew no one besides Lane, helped.

Well, that’s not exactly true. There were 155 students in our Freshman class, and 8 were from St. John’s: Natalie Anderson; Lane Dyke; Sue Geear; and Sean Scott, all of whom would attend all 4 years at Justin and graduate with me. There was also Julie Greenwalt, Barbara Rose, and Mark Zeller, who all left after Freshman year. Finally there was Becky Hall, who left after Junior year.

Most (~90%) of the kids came from two Catholic grammar schools: St. Appolinaris and St. John’s Catholic. They all knew each other, had played sports together, gone to church together. Being from a Lutheran school left me at a disadvantage; it’s not that this made Freshman year bad; just uneventful.

I did play on the football team (all 4 years), which is odd since I was such a poor player (too intimiated). I had also played Pop Warner football for a few years while at St. John’s, and I was a poor player there too. Other than playing on the golf team senior year, football was my only sport – and I sucked at it. Not sure why I stuck it out; I assume that, with the exception of choir in third grade, I didn’t want to be a quitter.

Still, my social circle expanded with each grade. I was more of a follower than a leader, which is not a proud characteristic, but the school was small (~500 students), my class was typically small (125-155 kids), so befriending kids wasn’t a problem. Clique’s didn’t really exist; it was too small for that. Being a private Catholic school, there were kids from all over: Calistoga, St. Helena, Napa, and Sonoma.

One inadvertent journey which started at Justin was my move away from Christianity. By 9th grade I had 9 years of religious education; 9 years of Sunday School, Church, and vacation bible school; confirmation studies and the subsequent communion. I knew much about the bible, but what I didn’t know – I was never taught it, or it never registered – is that the whole of human kind is not Christian. What’s more: while Christianity is a religion, it’s really an umbrella term, under which falls a number of denominations that don’t necessarily get along, play nice, or believe the same things. This is what Justin first taught me.

For example, a handful of times each school year there would be mass; I was not allowed to participate in communion (even though I was a baptized and confirmed Christian) because I was not Catholic (this didn’t bother me; just piqued my curiosity). Another example: the difference in the Apostles Creed. Lutheran version I grew up with (“I believe in the holy Christian church”), but at Justin it was different (“I believe in the holy Catholic church”). Sophomore year all Catholics took religion class together, while all non-Catholics (about 10% of the class) were lumped together in another “world religions” class. I recall wondering if I was being discriminated against…

Again, this move from Christianity was the start of a journey; it would continue through college and beyond.

Sophomore year was a big deal: the year ends with me turning 16, buying my own car, and getting my first “real” job. Just as I turned 16, I bought a 1974 Chevy Vega for $800. I had saved this money after years (and years) of mowing lawns in the neighborhood. It had an 8-track player, and I thought I was the shit. The car allowed me to get my first job; as a cook at Kentucky Fried Chicken on Jefferson. I worked 5 days each week; 3-10 during the week, or 8-4 on weekends. Cooking regular and extra crispy KFC chicken. I loved working, I loved being more independent with a pay check, I liked the camaraderie at work, and I was an ambitious 16 year old without realizing it.

On Tuesday May 4th 1980, having worked at KFC for just over a year, I had a freak accident. The cooking oil would come as a solid in large 12″x12″ boxes. I was opening one up and asked the assistant manager Alex (a really fun guy) for a knife; he slammed it into the side of the box. I went to grab the serrated edge (dumb), thinking Alex had let go. In fact he was pulling the knife back out of the box, slicing my thumb open to the bone. That was the first mistake. The second mistake was to sit up on the counter, holding my thumb with my large white apron to control the bleeding. Alex asked to look at the cut; I took a peek as well. After doing this I told Alex I was going to faint, which he thought was a joke (we joked around constantly) and I fell face first off the counter onto the floor, without putting my hands out to break my fall. They called an ambulance, and I went to the hospital for stitches (I don’t remember any of this) with a good concussion and two black eyes. Mom came to pick me up; an orderly took my thumb, soaking in a solution, and showed my Mom the cut in the thumb; she fainted, dropping like a rock. Dad was called to come collect his family, if he could promise not to faint.

I know the day was Tuesday May 4th, because for the next few days I kept asking the same questions (a side effect of a concussion): What day is it? What did I do for my birthday? Did I invite anyone to the Prom? What day is it? (etc). Diana and Arlene were tasked to follow me around, patiently answering my repeated questions.

Spring of my Senior year a friend Suzy Frommelt offered me a job at her family’s pharmacy, delivering prescription drugs around town. I gave my manager at KFC 2 weeks notice; by that time I knew every job, to include cashier, and had more than demonstrated my work ethic to him. I think I was making $3.25 per hour; on my last day, my manager kept offering me raises to try and get me to stay; $3.50; $3.75; $4.00! Instead of tempting me to stay, it was pissing me off. I realized he valued my work for more than he was paying me, but wasn’t going to volunteer that pay unless I asked for it (or quit). This was an exceptional lesson in life: in the professional world, no matter how good your boss is or how exemplary of a worker you are or how great the company is, you have to protect your own interests. Always. Otherwise, there is a great chance you will be taken advantage of.

TAKE THAT TO HEART GIRLS!

I delivered prescription drugs for Rexall pharmacy for less than a year. It was a great job, driving around all afternoon, without having to deal with grease and chicken. And it humored many that I got the job, since my nickname was “Crash”.

Crash? Remember that Vega I bought when I was 16? I totaled it (Aug ’79) after owning it for just 4 months, by driving much too fast while taking a right hand turn outside of Justin, trying to impress Pooch Dybadal; I hit a large truck head on, with my Vega ruined, the truck barely had a scratch. The next day at school I’m at my locker when I hear a loud tire screeching sound “eeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…….CRASH”. It’s Tim Healy, whose locker was next to mine; he thought he was hilarious; I was still bummed about my car and so not laughing. The name stuck.

But wait! Next I wrecked the family Ford Pinto (Oct ’79) at Dillon’s beach during the end of season overnight football party. We were too loud and rowdy at the beach, with a picnic table serving as our bon fire. The Police came and asked the large, drunk group of 17 year olds to leave. Smart move on their part (of course, driving was not a smart move on my part, too). Less than a mile later I rear ended my teammate Mike Abate (later he brought me home, and I threw up in his car for good measure).

Soon after I bought an Oldsmobile Cutlass; I wrecked that in the Spring of ’80 when I hit a parked car while driving and bending down to find a cassette (smart again!).

In the Fall of ’80 my Cutlass was wrecked by a girl who took it for a drive without telling me; hit and run, luckily she only ran over a small tree in someone’s yard.

Still in the Fall, I was with another friend (Bernie; see the 20’s biography and LA) driving to that years end of season overnight football party at Dillon’s beach when we were rear ended by Rich (and Kellan), who were following us. I was bad luck; which continued!

In the early (early) morning hours of December 24th ’80, riding with Rich, slightly drunk, he took a turn too fast on the wet Partrick’s road, started fish tailing it, and ended up rolling his truck (that he had just gotten back from the auto body shop to fix the front end from the previous accident). We were both unharmed, luckily; not so for the Chevy Luv truck.

So, yeah, people were amused that I got a job delivering prescription drugs. And, sure enough, I wrecked that truck too. Rear ended (sorta) a car that had pulled to the right off the road, only to then swerve left to go into a driveway. When I told Suzy her reply was simply “Not surprised!”.

Throughout High School music became more important to me (this was preceded by my Mom’s music: Barry Manilow, Eagles, Carpenters, Simon & Garfunkle). My first album was a gift from my Grama; An evening with John Denver. Next came a lot of Beatle albums, which I loved. As a surprise 16th birthday party, my parents took us to SF for the off-Broadway show “The Beatles”. It amazed me that they were responsible for all these songs I knew, but did not know was theirs.

My first 8-track was Wings over America (Paul McCartney); many more followed. Then came cassette’s; Bob Segar, Tom Petty, AC/DC, Foreigner, Ted Nugent, Journey, Elton John. Then the concerts (Ted Nugent was the first; Journey; Day on the Green [Foreigner, Loverboy, Scorpions]; AC/DC).

But the biggest event in my young life was the murder of John Lennon on Monday, December 8th, 1980; it was during Monday Night football. I was stunned; my parents, not so much. I went to my bedroom and stayed up until well past midnight, turning the dial on my clock FM radio. Every station – pop, rock, classic, jazz, news – was playing Lennon and Beatles music. The scope of his influence was just now dawning on me; and it would reverberate more that next Saturday. John’s wife Yoko Ono had asked for 10 minutes of silence that Saturday, starting at 10AM. I always brought a radio to work at KFC; it was turned on when the clock struck 10. As expected, the DJ said there would be a moment of silence in remembrance of John Lennon. I flipped the dial; there was nothing: no songs, no talking, no music, no news. Every station, across the entire AM and FM range, was silent. Just amazing. After 10 minutes, the first song played on many of the stations was Lennon’s Imagine. I wanted to cry, but I had chicken to cook.

[Fast forward to today. It’s my one, possibly only, regret: that I never put the time in to learn how to play music (guitar, piano, whatever). I wonder if maybe my ideal role would have been as a producer.]

Finally, let me talk about love. Or dating. Or both. My first girlfriend was Sheri Jennum, sophomore year; she was the stud female athlete in our class. She had braces, acne, and I really had no attraction to her. But she liked me, so we went to a movie at the Uptown theater, and afterwords on the sidewalk, totally in public, we mashed faces like mad. This was the first time I was kissing a girl since Halloween, 8th grade. The first time tongue was being exchanged. And all I could think was that I wanted to go home (I assume we were waiting for our parents to come pick us up). This relationship was over fast.

Junior year I dated Sandie Bianco, a Senior; her parents owned vineyards, and she lived in St. Helena. I don’t recall how we started dating; I’m sure it was her initiative. She was slightly overweight, cute and nice, but to be honest I was much more attracted to her younger sister Shelli. We dated for most of my Junior year; I had a car by then so we had more opportunities to go out. We broke up (I don’t recall the details) after she graduated (college? I dunno).

Senior year I started dating Susan Sheela; this was my initiative. Susan was a year below me, and she was beautiful. I fell hard for her, fast. Her parents owned Kenwood winery, and she lived in Sonoma. This meant ~30 minute drives one way to go out on a data (sometimes we’d drive back to Napa, too). Her family was wealthy and sophisticated and white collar and physically beautiful (parents included; Susan’s two sisters Sally and Nancy were gorgeous!). Despite – or I suspect because of – my strong feelings for Susan, we broke up a few times (maturity or lack thereof plays a role, too), always my initiative. Once, at the Valentine’s dance (we went together, I brought her flowers, then I broke up with her); again just after I graduated. Each time the breakup only lasted a week; I missed her too much, right away. Susan was always the mature one about it; she was willing to wait for me to catch up.

The period immediately after graduation was very strange; most of my classmates had been accepted to college (Justin was considered a college-prep school), but I hadn’t made any plans. Therefore, I was going to go to the Napa JC, if for no reason other than I had no clue what to do next. What was odd is that there was this immediate lapse; I didn’t see or talk with anyone for a few weeks (I was still delivering drugs at this time). One day I accidentally run into John Bussell at the car wash; since then I’ve wondered how things would have played out had I not run into him. We talked, I realized I missed my friends, and we decided to throw a party at my house. This was a big sentimental moment for me; I was certain, although it was irrational, that I wouldn’t see any of my High School friends again. The parties on graduation night were multiple and unorganized, so there hadn’t been a real send off; I decided that was my goal. I invited (as far as I know) every one of my 125 graduating classmates.

My parents were champs! As I learned of more and more people intending to come (to include a large number from the class of 1980), I approached my Dad: can we get a keg of beer? Sure, he says. Days later…can we get 2 kegs? Sure, he says. Days later…can we get a third keg, on reserve? Sure, he says. Yes, we are all obviously underage. Those were the times, I guess.

The party was a huge success; I’d say more, but for all intents and purposes I wasn’t there. We tapped the keg early, I started drinking, and by the time people were really coming I was nearly passed out. I heard all sorts of great stories, though, so my mission was accomplished. 3 empty kegs.

And maybe it was; I might be reading more into this, but suddenly I was seeing many of my friends again; hanging out, being silly, drinking. This was a transitional phase, but a critical one that kept me in touch with the friends that I still keep in touch with today: John (Russ) Bussell, Greg Brush, Rich Williams, Brian Dolan, Kellan Flynn, Tim Healy, and more.

In fact, soon after the party Greg asked if I wanted to go to Hawaii (Oahu) with him; he had been given the trip as a graduation gift. Sure! I sold my car ($1500), and we went to Hawaii for 8 days; the drinking age at the time was 18, and we had a blast. Greg ended up getting third degree burns on the back of his ankles from surfing (well, mostly from lying on the board waiting for waves). He could hardly walk, with huge blisters on his ankles, when we got on the plane to return home.

I returned home with no money in my pocket and no car; so I pursued an impulse and bought a motorcycle (cheaper than a car), a Suzuki GS550. Mom was not happy, which was valid given my driving record.

Aug 1981 – Aug 1982. Time for college. Well, sort of. Junior college, in Napa, living at home. In the Fall I was painting houses, work that I got through Russ. I hated it. Soon after I got a job at Val’s Liquors on Third St; it was Brian’s old job, and he was leaving for Ireland for a year. Russ worked there already; he had taken Tim’s spot when Tim left for college.

[Russ had been accepted to Davis, but took a year off. His sister Katherine was battling cancer, to which she would eventually succumb. Russ stayed home to help out during this difficult time. I was not at all empathetically aware enough during this time; I’m ashamed.]

I had a light course load at the JC: calculus (I had pre-calc at Justin); chemistry; and physics. I worked a lot at Val’s, and soon – since Justin boys were considered to be good, upstanding young men – Russ and I were working together and closing the store at night, despite the fact we were both 18 and underage. After about a month of being good boys, we started a routine where we would select a few beers from the exceptional collection at the store, and each of us would chug half while we cleaned the store before closing.

In terms of academics, I was wandering aimlessly, despite my potential. Going through the motions at the JC, without looking ahead. It’s stunning to look back on it. Without blaming my parents, I think that was part of the equation. No one in our family had ever gone to college, so they didn’t know any better. They never brought it up, never encouraged it, but never discouraged it. If I had simply joined the trade union and gone to work in a trade, they would have been OK. They always supported me, always said to all of us “You can do anything”. But they never set goals; whatever work made me happy, made them happy.

Thanks to Kel, I involuntarily got off my ass. His High School girlfriend Liane had gone to college at the University of Arizona, in Tucson. Kel and Liane had sorta broken up, but typically impulsive Kel, he wanted to go visit her. He mentioned it to me at the JC on a Wednesday morning in April, and that afternoon we were on the road in my parents Ford Pinto.

As we backed out of the driveway, my Mom was in tears. I got out, asking her what’s wrong? “You are leaving me for good”, she said; I had no clue what she was talking about. But it turns out her intuition was rather accurate.

We drove all night, arriving in Tucson Thursday morning. We listened to Springsteen the entire way; 16 hours straight. We saw Liane, saw the campus, saw Tucson; it was awesome! The weather was fantastic, the campus was beautiful, the drinking age was 18, and the women were plentiful. We left to drive home that Sunday, again listening to Springsteen the entire way. But before leaving, both Kel and I filled out an application for the coming school year (1982-1983). We were going to the UofA!

When I got home I did a little research; the UofA Engineering program was accredited by ABET (Accreditation Board for Engineering and Technology); I had no clue if that was significant or not, but it was sufficient for me!

After about 10 amazing months at Val’s, we had problems. The crew was small; one older lady Joanne who worked days, two great guys in their 20’s Dane and Matt who worked days and night; Russ and I; and the manager Cathy. Cathy had hired an older gentleman who was also a High School teacher; his starting salary was higher than ours. This really infuriated Russ; it was the principle, and it was age discrimination. Russ talked with Cathy about it, but she would not budge. Out of principle, Russ was going to quit. Impulsively, Dane, Matt, and I agreed to as well. All 4 of us quit on the spot, and the store had to close down for a few days since there weren’t enough employees. At the time I don’t think I knew what principle was, exactly; Russ set me straight.

I quickly got another job at 7-11 off Silverado Trail; worked the graveyard shift. This was 4th job in less than 3 years. I only needed to work until August, when I would leave for Tucson. Both Kel and I were accepted, and got assigned rooms in a dorm. I sold my motorcycle for college money; still, I don’t think I ever explicitly asked my Dad if he would or could afford school; to their credit, I assumed all along that they would support me (to include financially). That assumption is a nice gift to give one’s children. At the time a semester for out of state students cost around $500.

About 2 weeks before flying to Tucson, Kel breaks the news: he’s not going. His Dad guilted him into going to the Maritime Academy in Vallejo; I was stunned, but Kel was pretty flakey anyway so it didn’t bother me too much. I was super excited to be leaving Napa, to be leaving California, to be going to college at the UofA.

Susan and I were still together; we were determined to make it work. She would be going to Santa Clara University, me in Arizona. I was in love with her, but it was only after I visited AZ in April that I realized how much I needed this distance; not from Susan, but from everything else. It was independence, and I needed to drink of it and prove I could survive.

We had a party the night before I left; Russ, Rich, Kel, Brian (he was back from Ireland), Mark Giovanini, a few others. I got very, very drunk, and spent the entire time on the plane the next day trying not to throw up. Great way to start my official college life!

But it was an appropriate send-off; these were my best friends, and after 4 years in High School we had forged a “post high school” relationship that would stand the test of time. 35 years later we would all still be keeping in close contact, and seeing each other whenever possible. We would know each other’s parents, and come to know each other’s children.

Aug 1982 – April 1983. My parents drop me off at the dorm, we get some food, and then they leave. My Mom was really upset, my Dad was smoking a lot so I knew we has upset too. I was still a little hung over; I met my roommate Al from New York (he was a sophomore, and had stayed in the dorm the prior year), and we went for some dinner.

1-2 weeks later Russ and Rich came to visit for the hell of it; Russ didn’t start at Davis before Sept, and the idea of a road trip appealed to them both. They only stayed for a few days, but we had a good time (remember: AZ drinking age was 18!).

[Rich, after fooling himself that he was college material, ended up joining the Air Force and doing a 4 year tour before getting out. He ended up learning how to be a plumber, which worked out really well for him.]

In those years there was little to no handholding for incoming students; but you figured it out. Bought your books, got your meal card, scoped out campus and the surroundings (one didn’t need to go too far to find food, drink, or shopping; it was all within walking distance), and started school. I was taking calculus, physics, chemistry, electrical engineering, philosophy, and sociology. Some credits from Justin and Napa JC had transferred, so this was considered a “light” load.

The dorm was all males, 3 or 4 floors, each floor broken into about 5 sections; each section had its own “Room Assistant” (a babysitter for college students). After the first semester Al wanted to switch roommates; it was odd, since we got along great. No big deal, he switched rooms in our section, and Ken Gouseman moved in; Kenny and I would end up being roommates for the next 2.5 years. He was a great guy, a straight A student, so a good influence (albeit not enough; my grades still sucked). He was from Jersey and so loved the Boss (Springsteen; although he loved The Who the most).

There were two significant learning events freshman year at UofA:

1. Home, history, and friends. I met so many students who had ambivalent (at best) or negative (at worst) experiences growing up. Either their family, or their town, or their schools; one or more sucked, one or more was gone from their life. While I was excited to be out of Napa and away from CA, I still loved the town, my family, my friends. Meeting so many people who had experiences far different than mine, much more negative, made me appreciate what I had even more. I was now vested in the relationships I had, and will do whatever is necessary to maintain these relationships; their currency is now obvious to me.

2. Independence – meaning be your own person, make your own decisions, be responsible. I go to a Police concert with some friends I met through Al; one is named Joe, and he is a total pot head. We smoke a little before the concert – and Joe is stoned. I smoked too, but I am completely sober. I watch Joe, how he acts, and I am a bit repulsed. I realize that marijuana is as much a communal high as it is a chemical high, and I am not amongst my community here in Tucson. I don’t smoke again for the rest of college, which is a first big step towards me making the right and responsible decisions, for myself. In general the reality of independence, being away from home and responsible for my finances and schooling, was pretty powerful, but I was up to the task; wanting it, even.