There's No Place Like Roam

There's No Place Like Roam

As I covered before, College and “Road Trip” go hand in hand.  This time it was late fall of 1986 and you still had a few weeks before you had to study for finals.  One of my friend’s roommates went to high school with guys who now attended Ursinus College in, appropriately enough, Collegeville, PA.  We decided this would be our Friday night destination.

We arrived at the dorm and the high school buddies had a mini reunion.  While they kicked back with a few, the three of us not being alum decided to break away and explore the campus.  It was the first weekend of December and a light snow was falling.  It wasn’t sticking and it really didn’t seem to be that cold out.  It was picturesque painting as we wandered through the wooded college.  There was a quietness that permeated throughout.  We looked for signs of life, but all we could hear was the occasional wind gust.  In the distance we saw a shimmering light…and yes, we thought we’d stop for the night.  As we approached the building, the light emanated from the other side.  We turned the corner to see the entire first floor beset with windows.  The glow came from the lights within.  Inside was a serene setting of festive females.  A dozen or so Christmas clad co-eds carrying on with their holiday hangings.  We stood in silence in front of the glass and stared for what seemed like hours.  We were unseen.  Well, not unseen by everyone.  Our trance was terminated by a rent-a-cop.  In a stern voice he awoke us, “What are you guys doing here?”  Without missing a beat I responded, “Window Shopping!”  He was not amused.  The commotion drew the attention of our Christmas angels.  A few poked their head out the door and asked the guard what the issue was.  He pointed in our direction asking if they knew us.  One spoke out, “Yeah, they are with us...let them in.”  We were as surprised as Ferris was when his sister covered for him with Mr. Rooney.

We had stumbled upon the girl’s dorm.  Dumb luck I suppose.  They asked us for assistance with their decorating and we gladly obliged.  One of my friends was 6’ 5” and came in handy for the higher hanging ornaments.  He was their own personal Bumble.  They were setting up for their dorm’s party the following night, but we got an early preview.  As the party preparation wound down it was time for them to prep.  We were invited up to their rooms.  We were now in the inner sanctum.  We were free to roam as our holiday hosts went about their business.  Room to room we explored seeing others already in full swing.  We were invited into a room with two girls who looked like they could have still been in high school, and probably were earlier that year.  They were drinking from an IV bag hung much like you would see bedside at a hospital.  I had hoped maybe they were nursing students.  We were offered a sampling as a Meat Loaf song began to play.  As the music continued we suddenly were ignored.  It was at the “We were barely 17 and we were barely dressed” that they embraced and kissed.  Hmmm, time to move on.

We rendezvoused with our festive females.  They were heading to the campus bar and we could join them if we liked.  Well, sure!  But we had to rally back with our friend first.  We said we would meet up with them there later and asked if they knew our friend.  They did not, but they gave us directions back to his dorm.  We were thanked for our holiday help, and were told we better be at the bar later.  As the girls exited the building, I held my friends back from leaving.  They both looked at me for my reason.  I said we had gotten lucky before getting into the girls dorm.  Luck may not be on our side next time if we needed to get in.  After wandering the first floor, we found a fire exit.  ALARM WILL SOUND WHEN OPENING DOOR.  From previous dorm life experience, we knew this never worked.  And it didn’t this time either.  We exited and my friend held the door open.  I quickly scoured the outside and found a piece of brick.  We used this to prop the door open so we could gain access later.

As we began to walk I turned to one friend and asked him for the directions back to the dorm.  His look led me to turn to the other.  What neither of you was listening?  Well, that made three of us.  I guess we found our way here…we would find our way back.  After an hour or so of going building to building, I knew we were hopelessly lost.  We finally found one that had someone inside.  We entered and headed to the guard at the front desk.  He seemed a bit skittish as his walkie talkie went off.  “Yeah, there are three menacing characters roaming the campus and they are heading your way.”  Hey, that must be us!  He answered it simply.  “Yeah I see them”.  An angry response jolted back, “Well, I've lost them, where the hell are they!”  And back he went, ”Right in front of me”.  We could hardly contain our laughter.  We pointed out to the guard at the desk these “three menacing characters” are just lost and needed to get back to the guys dorm.  We were told to wait here, the head of security was on his way.  We assumed it was his pal on the other end.  In a few moments in entered Captain Harris from Police Academy.  I swear he was ready to yell “Proctor!” at his desk-side counterpart.  He informed us he had been following our antics all evening long from the moment we left the guy’s dorm.  He began grilling us about our intentions…like you really needed to know what three guys intentions are at an all girls dorm?  Accusingly he asked, “And why were you guys propping open that door?”  Not recalling our earlier exit I responded with, “We did not try to pry open any door.”  Angrily he shouted, “PROP, PROP!”  It was then my friend said, “I thinks he plays for the Flyers”.  Well, we were supposed to be menacing, weren’t we?

Eventually the guard calmed down and was satisfied with our tale.  He “escorted” us to the guy’s dorm where our story was confirmed by our friend.  Later that night we all went to the campus bar to meet up with our vixens...and donner and blitzens.  After grabbing a few brews we spotted them.  They were glad to see us and asked if we were all right.  Curious as to why all the concern, one responded.

“We heard there are three menacing characters roaming the campus.”

Sunday Stroll

Sunday Stroll

Sunday I woke up feeling a bit under the weather.  I was hobbled with an injured foot, a gift given to me when I thought I was young enough to run with Max.  This, plus a digestive system still topped off with fine fair from the previous night.  It took all my energy to relocate from the bed to the couch.  The weather outside was a preview of a beautiful fall to come.  Had it been rain, I might not have moved at all.  Christina and I had planned to go to the Smithtown Heritage Country Fair.  As she took Max for a walk, I conjured up enough energy to go.  And I am glad I did.

Uncle Giuseppe’s Marketplace, Ocean’s Bounty Fish Market, Aji 53 Sushi, Three Guy’s Hobbies and the Smithtown LIRR train station.  These are among our destinations that take us past the Smithtown Historical Society’s sign.  Passing it each time, we never really gave it much thought…until one day.  As we passed, we saw one of those “Old Timey” baseball games going on in the fields behind.  We didn’t have time to stop, as we were on our way to one of those aforementioned destinations.  Unfortunately as quickly as we drove by, the thought of it exited our minds.  We had plans, and there were no deviations.  I recently saw a flyer in the paper, and Christina saw the same one on the way to Croxley’s Ale House.  Yes, I know it sounds like it should have been reversed.  The Smithtown Historical Society was having a Country Fair.  We both thought back to the baseball games we had seen played and realized this would be a good opportunity to attend.  But wait, it was on a Sunday and it was from 11am to 5pm!  Time to check the Steelers’ schedule…game time 4:25.  We were good to go.

I kept to the plan, even though I did not feel 100%...or 50% for that matter.  I will say Smithtown did a good job of handling traffic, both car and pedestrian, for the event.  As we arrived at the entrance we were handed a map.  A map?  I had no idea sitting behind the roadside sign was several acres owned by the Society.  As I found where we were on the map, Christina quietly inquired, “Where is the Brush Barn?”  It was straight ahead.  She had seen a sign stating, “Ukrainian Folk Dancing at 11:00”.  Well, it was 11 and being of Ukrainian decent, she wanted to go.  Figuring I would be a downer, I surprised her with a “Let’s Go”.  I was interested, but it was mostly because I figured I could sit down in there.  I must say, I was quite impressed.  The energy and the coordination were impressive, as where the costumes.  It took Christina back to her youth, when she would see similar recitals.  I would compare it to what most of us think of as “Russian” dancing from old television sitcoms.  But don’t tell a Ukie that!

The next event we were treated to was from the Long Island Riders.  On their horses, they put on a "Cowboy" shooting demonstration.  As they rode through obstacles, they had to shoot and hit several targets.  I don’t think they missed.  We then headed towards the Civil War encampments, but what caught Christina’s eye were the barnyard animals.  I had no idea of the expanse of this place.  As we passed the soldiers, one turned to me and in a quiet voice, and like passing along a secret, “You want to be at the end of the parking lot at 12:30.”  I knew they were doing a reenactment…now I had the time and the place.  It also made Christina happy because we now had ample time to feed the animals.  We soon headed towards the parking lot, and we came upon the baseball field.  The “Old Timey” baseball players were practicing and a Gent, handle bar mustache and all, manned a tent up front.  He had old artifacts and rules, baseballs and bats of all sizes and shapes.  He regaled us of the game and how it used to be played.  Unfortunately a match was not scheduled for this day, but we did learn of ones to come.

It was approaching 12:30, so we worked our way over to the designated spot I was informed of.  The Union soldiers went by us in formation..and we followed.  As they turned past the high hedges to an open area, you could see the Confederate soldiers already occupying the end of the field.  A battle ensued as the Confederates charged forward.  The Union held their ground.  I believe they were inspired by the SUV parked near them.  Apparently someone did not get the memo “No Parking in this area”.  Outside of that one modern day blemish, it took you back to the 1860’s.  The Union would attack and push the Confederate back to the tree line.  Despite losses, they advanced on.  They were able to capture the rebel flag and win the day.  This was only a 10 on 10 man battle.  A friend, who I ran into at the fair, also participates in these historical civil war reenactments.  He said their groups contain thousands of men.  I can only imagine.

It was now after 1pm and the NFL was in full swing.  We still had time, so I wanted to peruse the antique car collection.  A blue grass band played alongside the grass lot to prove even more ambiance.  We strolled through the pristine sedans.  I enjoyed the history and the excellent restoration of these automobiles.  I am not as familiar with old cars as I am with old planes.  And that is when the PA announcement came.  "We will have a fly-by of historical planes in about 15 minutes."  Shortly we were treated to 7 or 8 vintage aircraft buzzing the field.  A perfect way to end the day.

I am used to spending my time before games a little differently.  At home tailgating, taking in every NFL pregame talk show with beer and perhaps some wings.  Today was a little different, taking a step back in time.

And it actually made me feel a little bit better.

Wind-Doze

Wind-Doze

The more I stop and smell the roses, the more I realize this must be purgatory...

For the second morning in a row I couldn’t sleep on the train.  Once again a cud-chewing cow decided to graze in the seat next to me.  I never wished so hard for someone to get lockjaw.  Since snoozing was no longer an option, I stared out the window and started to think.  Why is it our life is wasted on the things we don’t want to do, and we have such precious few moments to spend on the things we cherish.  Money makes the world go round.  In 2008 we almost watched it make it stop.  Outside of the 1%, most of us have to work the usual 40-hour week with 2 weeks vacation…and that is if you are lucky.  You toil from your teens until you retire.  Some never make it.  Even if you achieve retirement, what is left? Your golden years they say are for you to sit back and enjoy life’s rewards.  And what is that after the age of 65?  The say 60 is the new 40, perhaps…but it is still the old 60.  And…if you are lucky to make that age, if you lucky to have your health…you are in the minority.  Our prime years are wasted working towards what?  What is the end game?

That brings me to religion.  What is the end game I asked…eternal life afterwards.  All religions have some sort of reward for you at the end of your journey.  Why?  Because why would you take such a journey then.  If someone said to you:  Would you like to work all your life, struggle every inch of the way, barely enjoy the things life has to offer, then die?  Oh, sign me up!  No, there has to be a dangled carrot at the end of a string.  And that carrot is usually a place called Heaven.  Where you will reunite with all your loved ones.  Well, what if I don't WANT to reunite with them?  Then what.  What happens to THEIR Heaven if they can't be with me? (I am not quite sure why they would want to be in the first place)  And where is this Heaven?  Just beyond the bright light?  Because that is the only evidence people bring back from their near death experiences.  It sounds like a desperate gambler to me.  He bets everything on a long shot, because this time he is going to win...he has to.  Well, our life is the ultimate price we can pay.  I have yet to see anyone collect on their winnings.

You have heard the term, “Heaven on Earth”.  Well, I provide an alternate reality.  Or maybe I just watched too many reruns of Lost.  Maybe this is purgatory.  Yes, we get those moments of joy.  But we give up 5 days of life just to make it to the weekend, we work 50 weeks to maybe get two of them for ourselves and we work a lifetime just for the possibility of retirement.  I don’t care for that ratio.  I agree with the line, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life”.  But even those few who are lucky enough to have that, I am sure deep down even they would rather be somewhere else.

If this is purgatory, I know I am fortunate enough to be high on the food chain…I get that.  I could go into the actual pain and suffering that happens every day in this world…and no one lifts a finger to help.  But this blog is just one man’s view staring out a train window this morning…

As more than the train went chew, chew, chew.

My 9/11

My 9/11

Today marks the 11^th Anniversary of the September 11^th attacks.  Over the years you have heard stories of great courage inside the Towers and the aircraft all the way down to simpler sacrifices of serving bottled water to those covered in ash.  It was a horrific day, but a day that brought out the best in people.  I unfortunately had contact with the one person that it didn’t.

2001 had already been a year of change for me.  I was breaking free from a long term on again, off again relationship.  It was doing neither of us any good.  At work, my long time nemesis had somehow become my boss.  Life likes to mock me like that.  I was learning to deal with both.  Simpler problems for a simpler time.  As springtime arrived things began to look up.  The Yankees were back, coming off 3 World Series wins in a row.  I had just had season tickets transferred into my name and was looking forward to all the games I would be going to.  Secondly, spring is also time for romance.  I had met an attractive young blond and we immediately hit it off.  I was however 12 years her senior.  Her energy and undaunted outlook in life revitalized me.  I asked her where she had been all my life…she said grade school.

It was a very good summer with weekends alternating between the Hamptons and Yankee Stadium.  Roger Clemens was setting strike out records every time he pitched, and I wanted to be there to root him on.  When it appeared he was poised to pass another Hall of Famer on the All Time Strike Out list, my friend, who shared the tickets, and I kept those for ourselves.  Soon it was Sept 3^rd, Labor Day, the unofficial end of the summer.  Unfortunately what did become official that day was the end of my summer romance.  I was caught off guard.  I did not think this was a seasonal relationship…and it hit me hard.  Well, I still had my Yankees and the Roger Clemens chase to take her off my mind.  The next home game he would be pitching in was Monday, September 10^th and we had our tickets.  That morning I packed my jersey and a change of clothes and headed to work.  That day was on again off again rain.  The Yankee game was in question.  Some people would head to the Stadium optimistic.  We waited until we got word.  Tonight’s Yankee game has been postponed due to rain.  That night my friend and I looked at the weather forecast.  Tuesday, September 11^th looked like a perfect fall day.  We didn’t have tickets, but we decided we would go to the game.

Tuesday started like Monday, except my bag was already packed with my Yankee gear from the day before.  I got to work a little early, around 8am, since I knew I might skip out around 4pm to head up to the Stadium.  I went through my work e-mails to see how my day was going to play out.  I then headed to the local deli to get a cup of coffee and an egg sandwich.  I returned and launched AOL to read some of the news as I devoured my breakfast.  Shortly before 9am I received an updated AOL news alert.  “Small plane hits World Trade Center”.  It reminded me of back in 1945 when an army B-25 hit the Empire State Building.  Of course, it was in a dense fog…today there was not a cloud in the sky.  As most, I figured it was just someone who must have lost control of his plane.  It made me think of the movie Airport 75, when an older gentleman had a heart attack flying a single engine plane and collided with a jumbo jet.  Maybe the big screen was repeating itself here in real life.  AOL soon refreshed and a photo of the damage was attached.  This was no small plane.

I left my office to head to the conference room to turn on the TV.  As I arrived, it was already on and a crowd had formed.  We discussed the outline of the plane on the outside of the building.  You could see it was a larger jet, but none of us recalled ever seeing them fly so low over New York City.  It was hard for our minds to fathom the unfathomable.  Until 9:03.  We all watched as a second plane hit the other Tower.  At first, you thought you were just watching earlier footage…because that is what your mind wants you to think.  But with both Towers now ablaze, your mind was opened to your worst fears.  We were under attack.  One of the things that will stick in my mind was what the TV announcer said at this moment.  “This is obviously a major malfunction of the Air Traffic Control System.”  Apparently her mind had not yet allowed her to believe what she was seeing.  At this point everyone realized we were no longer watching an isolated incident.  Tears formed, people ran towards phones.  We hoped for the best, we feared the worse.

At the height of sensitivity, one of our secretaries came into the conference room.  “Mike, you have a phone call.”  She must have seen me turn pale.  She apologized and said it was my boss, she was looking for me and I was not in my office.  The secretary told me my boss wanted me to give her a call.  I thought maybe she was going to inform me to tell my staff and I that we could go home to deal with what we needed to.  This would not be the case.  I gave her a call from the conference room as my eyes were still glued to the TV.  It seemed she was having computer issues and needed my assistance immediately.  Nothing we did at work was earth shattering or needed immediate assistance that day.  Also, we were getting quicker updates from the TV than anything on the computer.  I asked her if she was aware what was happening.  She responded, “Yes…are you coming over to help me?”  The room was shocked when I told them the reason I had to leave.  I headed over to the other building.  I passed their conference room, and much like ours, it had the huddle masses of hysteria.  Everyone was in there…except for my boss.  Her computer was on but she said it was acting weird.  She said she had to run to her car and when she got back she needed to do work.  Have it fixed by then.  I ran some diagnostics to fix a few things with her operating system.  It was then I heard the screams.  As one of TV watchers rushed back to their desks, they popped their head into my boss’s office.  “One of the Towers just collapsed.”  I was stunned.  What did they mean?  Did the top floors come down?  I had finished running the computer tests as my boss returned, as she requested.  I told her she just needed to restart her computer, I was heading back to my building.  I was not sure if she knew about the Tower collapsing.  Even if I told her I doubt her cold expression would have changed.

I arrived back at my building and headed into the conference room.  I would learn the entire Tower collapsed.  It was the second Tower hit.  It was discussed that since it was hit lower and on the corner, the Tower must have been more damaged than the first.  This must have caused the structure to collapse.  As we were talking about our theories, the unthinkable happened.  The first Tower hit collapsed.  How could that have occurred?  The damage from the plane had been up high.  We all sat in stunned silence.  The phone outside the conference room rang.  It was my boss and she was looking for me again.  I told the secretary to tell her she could not find me.  I returned to my office not knowing what else to do.  Shortly I received a call from our Personal Director.  She asked if I had helped my boss with her computer.  I said yes, but don’t people have something a little more to worry about today than that.  The Director agreed whole-heartedly, but went on to say that we both know what my boss is like.  I said I fixed the problem right away, what was her issue.  “Well, she had a removable zip drive disk in her computer and now it is gone.  It has all her work on it, her entire life.  She is saying you took it.”  What?  Yes, I didn’t care for her.  And, given the opportunity…I would love to screw her over.  But today?  THIS day?  How could I even think of that?  How could SHE even think of that?  I obviously told the Director I did not have it.  She told me that my boss had gone home because maybe she was mistaken and left it there.  She also said to stay away from her office so she cannot accuse me of anything else.

Slowly word got out about this.  The grapevine at work was very active.  People could not believe my boss’s focus on this day.  Maybe if she took time to be human, she would never have lost the disk to begin with.  Knowing that I was already guilty until proven innocent in her eyes, I had to figure out what happened.  My boss had computer illiteracy denial.  One time she put a CD into a drive and she couldn’t get it out.  I was summoned to help and was able to remove it.  It was upside down.  She informed me she did not put it in that way, it must have flipped over inside.  I wanted to say the computer is not a jukebox and it is not trying to play the B-side.  I thought better of it.  This time I was told she claimed she had put the disk into the drive.  Then it hit me.  I had told her to restart the computer, I bet she never did.  The disk was probably in the drive and would appear when the computer was rebooted.  I called back the Personnel Director to tell her what the issue might be.  She told me she would go to my boss’s office and restart the computer.  Otherwise my boss would claim I just stuck it back in there since I was caught.  About 15 minutes later the Director called me from my boss's office.  It was in the drive all along.

I look back at that day.   I think maybe it was better my mind was preoccupied with the mundane, instead of the insanity that unfolded before us all.  What I was to learn months later was the Personal Director had already had it with my boss at this point.  Her actions on this day were the final straw.  My boss would be terminated before the end of the year.

The only acceptable loss from that day.

Concrete Evidence

Concrete Evidence

They say time heals all wounds.  Well, recently I was able to alter that statement.  Apparently time REVEALS all wounds.  As I get older, as most men, my hairline has started to recede…or my forehead is growing.  Luckily, it is currently at a glacier’s pace.  However, it has pulled back enough to reveal an old scar…wound if you will.  One that was hidden for oh so many years.

Before there was ice hockey, there was street hockey.  As kids, we would play all day confiscating the basketball courts for our own needs.  We organized games against other neighborhoods.  You didn’t need talent, you just needed a stick.  And I easily fit that prerequisite.  We played all throughout our high school years.  However, my first two years at Drexel there was not enough interest from my classmates to compete.  It would be during my cooperative job at the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard that I found others with the hockey bug.  Games would be set up between rivaling departments.  Our rink would be just over the bridge in South Jersey.  After a fall full of games, we decided to put together a team.  The Delaware River Destroyers.

During that time, in the dorms, my street hockey stick always seemed to be by my side.  I would shoot around in the halls and the C-shape of our building made the angles more interesting.  I used a tennis ball to keep from breaking anything important.  Friends would bet I could not get it through a door that was just slightly cracked open, and bounce it off an unsuspecting student’s head studying at his desk.  I would be successful more often than not.  I think that is why, when playing today, I hit the goalie with my shots more than I should.  One night, after hanging out with the guys in my room... and having a few too many, my roommate returned.  He had been on a date and was ready to hit the sack.  He was a little pissed that the majority of the empty beer cans had missed their intended garbage pail target.  By this time everyone had left and I was already up in my loft.  I was not about to descend to clean up the mess.  I reached for my hockey stick and started shooting the beer cans towards the pail.  My roommate chirped, “With your aim, this will take all night”…so I decided to start shooting the beer cans at him.  I must say, he definitely tolerated my annoying inebriation over the years.  He shot me a look, and exited the room.  I finished shooting the last beer can and found myself hanging over the loft a little too far.  No big deal, I would just push off the floor with the hockey stick to propel myself back upon the bed.  It would slip out from underneath me.  All my weight was shifted forward.  Only one way to go…down!  From 5 feet above I fell.  I just needed a soft place to land.

Now before my dorm room became the den of iniquity, it was pretty standard.  The usual student’s room consisted of items that were never intended to be used as furniture.  Milk crates for bookcases, cable spools for tables and cinder blocks…well, for everything else.  And it would be the cinder block my head would find at the end of my decent.  It all happened so quickly I hardly felt a thing.  Well, that could have had something to do with all the beer I drank.  As I took inventory of my extremities I noticed something on the corner of the concrete block.  Upon closer inspection I discovered what it was.  It was part of my scalp.  As I peered in the mirror I looked like Leroy Brown with a couple of pieces gone.

My roommate had left the door open when he exited.  He was chatting in the hall with a few fellow students when all they saw was a cinder block come flying out of the room.  It was my intoxicated way of disposing of my foe.  One look by them at the tossed item and it was easy to piece together what had happened.  Much easier than it would be piecing me together.  I grabbed my t-shirt from the floor and tried to stop the bleeding.  They came in to find me looking like the fife player in the Yankee Doodle painting.  “Dude, you are gonna have to go the hospital…you probably have a concussion too”.  I always wondered how they could distinguish between the drunken and concussed signs.  I obviously was in no shape to drive, and unfortunately neither where they.  I got dressed and we headed down to the front desk.  They would summon my chariot…the Drexel shuttle…to take me to Penn Presbyterian Medical Center.

My friends poured me into the van like a bartender might do to his bar fly after last call.  I rambled on the ride over resembling a scene of HBO’s Taxi Cab Confessions.  Luckily for the driver it was not a long trip.  He had radioed ahead and when I arrived I was greeted with a wheelchair.  I guess I looked much worse than I felt.   I was taken in to the hospital.  I was examined, temporarily bandaged up and wheeled towards radiology.  Before they did anything more they needed to get an x-ray of the damage.  Now, by this time, it had to be after 2am.  The hospital hallway lights were dimmed, the room doors were closed…it was desolate.  We arrived at radiology and the orderly went inside to inform them they had a late night patient.  I was told to wait until someone came out to get me…and he was off.  I was there maybe 5 minutes before my continued inebriation got the better of me.  I decided my wheelchair and I would take a tour of the hospital.  It must have been a big hospital, because I wound up getting lost.  I never thought to get out of the wheelchair to allow for easier navigation.  I just continued to wheel around and explore.  I really had no concept of time at this point.  But after a while, and a small miracle, I got back to the radiology room.  I parked and continued to wait…like I had never left.  A few minutes passed when someone came out ready to lock up.  He turned and my presence startled him.  I said, “I am here for x-rays.”  He responded, “Hey, that was over an hour ago…where have you been all this time?!?”  Around.  He opened the door back up and it was picture time.

After the x-rays I was wheeled into an examination room to await my fate.  I was told to stay put this time.  A doctor would be with me shortly.  Soon the door opened and I wheeled around.  You could almost see the light around her and hear music playing.  I tried to quickly make myself presentable…but that that ship had long since sailed…and burned...and sank!  I found out she was doing an internship.  She couldn’t have been that much older than me.  The bandages were removed and I was informed I needed several stitches.  She must have gotten a whiff of my breathe because she kidded I wouldn’t be needing anesthesia.  I told her, “In spite of my current outward appearance, the alcohol inside has long since worn off”.  She asked if I had gotten into a fight.  I said yes, with a cinder block.  As she patched me up I revealed my story.  I included my disappearing act in the wheelchair too.  She just smiled and shook her head.  I had time to tell the whole tale too…I was getting a lot of stitches.  Her bedside manner was beyond belief…and that made me swoon even more.  We had a moment…well, one of us did at least.  She was finally done and she cleaned the remaining blood from my face.  I was told to come back and see her in 7-10 days to have the stitches removed.  She also told me to avoid any more cinder blocks.  I thanked her for the advice.  I also apologized for my appearance.  She told me she had seen worse…somehow I didn’t believe her.  I called Drexel’s security for a ride back.  She would wait with me for the shuttle to arrive.  Soon it came and took me home.  I would get back as the sun was coming up.  God’s flashlight shinning on me.  I am sure he got a good laugh.

The 7-10 days would pass quickly.  During that time I eagerly awaited to reacquaint myself from my emergency room rendezvous.  I was sent to the same examination room from that night.  My anticipation peaked but soon turned to disappointment.  A nurse entered the room and informed me she would be taking out my stitches.  I asked her about the doctor and was told this was a simple procedure and she would not be needed.  My heart sank.  The stitches were expeditiously eradicated.  I was led out to the reception desk for paperwork to be processed.  With my head held low, I turned to leave...and almost collided with the person behind me.  It was her!  I took a step back as my heart took a beat forward.  I thanked her for taking good care of me last week, and how you could hardly see a scar.  She had an inquisitive look.  I soon realized she did not recognize me.  I informed her that I was the bloody and battered cinderblock guy that she stitched up in the middle of the night.  It took her a second, but her bright blue eyes finally lit up in disbelief.  “Well, you sure do clean up nice!”

Life would go on at Drexel.  I did, however, stop shooting the ball around the halls.  The first game of our street hockey season would be only a few weeks after that night.  I would blow out my knee in that game and my street hockey stick would be retired for good.

Just another wound to heal.

Middle Man

Middle Man

I get called a Democrat because I constantly rip on the Republicans.  The reason I do so is because I used to be one.  The Republican Party is no longer your Father’s Republican Party though.  They are so far right that they fell off the edge of the flat Earth.  What about ripping on the Democrats you say?  Well, that would be the equivalent of the bullies making fun of Forrest Gump.  The first two years under Obama they had a majority in the Senate and all they did was fight among themselves.  They screwed up a free lunch.  Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right…here I am stuck in the middle.

Now, the Democratic National Convention is in full swing.  I keep an eye on it but my interest wanes with the frustration over their inability to actually change our lives for the better.  Their posturing and presumptuousness is disheartening.  Last year Obama was the elitist from Harvard.  Now Romney is the Richie Rich who cannot relate with the common man.  The Republican Nation Convention was no better.  They must have gotten the word out to the camera crews.  They panned in on every woman attending, trying to prove they are not anti uterus.  Unfortunately all you really saw was the same old shades of gray.  Every single one of these women looked like a Leona Helmsley clone.  If you listened carefully you could here them chant, “We don't pay taxes. Only the little people pay taxes."

And the Republicans built it?  Hell…they didn’t even pay for it.  And build what anyway? President Obama referenced the roads and bridges that helped to build the businesses.  Well, he didn’t build them either.  Nor did he fix them or expand them for that matter.  Our infrastructure is crumbling and I have not seen a single thing done about it.  Both sides are ignoring the real root of the problem.  But what have I seen happen over these three plus years?  I have seen the DOW hit 13,000 and the S&P hit all time highs.  I have seen oil companies post record profits.  I have seen bailed out banks refuse to loan money.  I have seen credit card companies raise interest rates on existing balances.  If FOX News truly were fair and balanced, they would have noticed they have the best Republican President in years.  If President Obama is a Socialist, where is your money?  Did you get that check from Big Business yet?  I thought not.  Obama is coming for your guns?  Well, there are more guns out there than ever…and coming soon to a theater near you.

The Republican machine will win this election.  Obama offered us hope and change.  What we have seen is no hope for any change.  And that will keep the Obama supporters home on Election Day.  Democrats will say it was the Republican Congress that blocked his every attempt.  I say you had two years when the tables were turned and the Republicans were on the run.  They got up off the mat better than Rocky did in…well…any of the Rocky movies.  A lot of people blamed George W. Bush for all our ills, whether right or wrong.  One fact you can’t argue though…his eight years helped to drive a stake right, and left, down the middle of this country.  The proof is after W’s reign, and after 200 plus years of old Christian white guys named John, William, James and even George…we got a “Socialist” Black Man named Barack and a “Billionaire” Mormon named Mitt.  Didn’t see that divergence coming.

It is funny how the Republicans tell us that Obama has failed the nation.  Actually, it seems the only people he has failed are the ones who voted for him.  The ones who didn’t vote for him seem to get richer by the day...

As the middle class goes by way of the Pterodactyl.

Beaten To The Punch

Beaten To The Punch

Yesterday’s blog reminded me of a story.  I mentioned that in junior high that I needed to make friends in class since none of my friends from elementary school were placed with me.  I would proceed to live in two separate worlds - junior high friends and neighborhood friends.  It would be the summer of 1979 when these worlds would separate for good.

My friends in my old neighborhood, myself included, were a mischievous bunch…and that is putting it mildly (see the Bus’d blog).  In spite of the trouble we would find, we did have our simpler kid days.  As I mentioned previously, none of them were in my classes in junior high.  Mainly because I was an honor student…and they were not.  Even though I hardly saw them during school, we still had our winter and summer breaks to spend together.  One February morning in 1978, while I was in seventh grade, I awoke to the back yard blanketed in white.  “Snow Day!”.  What I didn’t realize at the time was that this was one of the worst winter storms to ever hit the east coast.  Snow day?  It was more like snow week!  The amount of which we had never seen before.  The entire neighborhood, streets and all, became our playground.  It was a fantastic week to be a kid.  Eventually the snow would give in, and I would be returning to school…and class without my friends.

Summer would arrive soon enough.  I would leave the house in the morning and not return until dusk.  During that time, we occupied ourselves in the outdoors.  Now 1977 was the “Summer of Sam”.  However, for us, 1978 was the summer of the Yankees.  They had fallen behind the hated Red Sox by 14 games.  Their manager was fired and it seemed all hope was lost for a World Series repeat.  We were kids, we didn’t know any better…so our hope sprung eternal.  Each day as we played outside, we listened to the Yankees on the radio.  For the night games, we would huddle in my friend’s garage to watch his Dad’s black and white TV in his makeshift workshop.  As September rolled around, it was back to school…and our separation in class.  However, with the Yankees run at the Red Sox lasting throughout that month it kept me in contact with the group.  The chase culminated on October 2, 1978.  The Yankees and Red Sox finished the regular season tied.  They would play a one game playoff to determine the winner.  We watched, they won…we went our separate ways for the school year.

Eighth grade came and went.  There were no snowstorms that year to keep my friendships current.  As the summer arrived, things would be a bit different too.  My parents had decided to send me to a “day camp” for the month of July.  It was called Tours for Teens.  This was not a camp per say.  Instead, a bus comes to pick you up and takes you to different places each day.  Six Flags in New Jersey, Jones Beach on sunny days, the movies on rainy days…and even a Yankee game.  I always wondered if my parents did this to separate me from the neighborhood kids.  Whether it was their intent or not…it worked.  The end of July saw my travels come to an end.  I joined up with my friends, but they were already a full month into the summer.  It seemed I was always a step behind in what was going on.  Also, there was no Yankee excitement of the previous summer to bond us together.  The season was further dampened by the loss of their captain, Thurman Munson, in a plane crash.  Much like any group of friends, there is always an Alpha.  Someone who calls the shots.  Usually it was the oldest and probably your best athlete.  Our group was no different.  We had our Alpha and I was probably more like our Dug.  However, I had always been a very close friend with him to this point.  But something was now different.  He seemed to be distant with me…but I really did not give it much thought.  Now, we always had scuffles among friends.  Eventually someone would get on your nerves and you would settle it.  And it would seem I had done something to annoy him.

It was the second week of August and we were playing a pick up game of baseball.  On this day, when lunchtime came, we all retreated back to our own homes for a bite.  Slowly we trickled back to the park.  The ones who arrived first continued on with the game.  I was up at bat and hit the ball well.  I slid into 2^nd base not so subtly, kicking up quite the dust storm.  The 2^nd baseman took offense.  He also happened to be Alpha’s younger brother.  He started to swing at me, but I just wrapped him up and held him until he calmed down.  Alpha had not returned from lunch yet.  What I did not know was that word got back to him quickly.  Except the word was I was beating up his younger brother…and this was his last straw.  The skirmish with Alpha’s sibling had already ended and the game resumed when Alpha arrived.  And he arrived in a hurry.  I could see the anger in his eyes as he quickly approached me.  Before I could say a word, or even think of defending myself, he landed a haymaker.  I went to the ground and turtled…I had no beef with him.  Before he was pulled off of me, there was a shouting rant of everything that was building up inside of him.  While the punch was telling, the words were even more revealing.  The animosity among friends usually ended with the scuffle.  This time it did not.  The tensions never did clear.  Our friendship had ended.

Even though I had heard the words, I never did find out the exact reason.  Could it be because I was perceived as spoiled in the neighborhood?  We did not have much, but I guess we had more than they did.  Maybe it was because I was more smart-ass than smart.  Whatever it was, it brought our friendship to the breaking point.  I was an outcast for the rest of the summer.  For the first time, I looked forward to the start of the school year.  I would be going into ninth grade, my freshman year.  I had been in class with most of the same kids now for two years.  My third year would be the turning point.  No longer being a part of the neighborhood gang, I began to step up my friendships in class.  At the end of school year I was asked to join the baseball team they all played on.  I never looked back.  When I think of that summer day, I see it as a major turning point in my life.  The friends I made in the honors classes would unknowingly push me to succeed.  And these guys were not like most honor students.  You competed in the classroom, on the field and with the bottle.  An A+, a game winning home run and then drinking a 12-pack was what you aspired to.  It was hard enough for someone to excel at one of these let alone all three…but you tried anyway.  This high school “training” certain sowed the seeds for my success in college.  And we were all going to college, of that there was never a doubt. 

In contrast, most of the kids from the neighborhood went on to have checkered careers.  One can only wonder, “But there, for the Grace of God…and one punch, goes I".  In 2010 one of the guys from the old neighborhood died.  He was a transient living in Florida…never having beaten his demons and addictions.  I felt obligated to see my old friend off.  The entire neighborhood gang was there at the wake…including Alpha.  The group began to reminisce about stories post punch.  One of them turned to me and said, “See what you missed when you stopped hanging out with us.”  That one line took me back to a night after I had graduated college, the last time I spoke with them.  Valley Stream was a small place, and both my high school friends and neighborhood friends sometimes hung out at the same bar.  I had seen them in there before, but this night I had worked up the courage to go over and talk.  All I could think was I really don’t want to get punched in the face again.  As I barely was able to get a “Hey guys” out, Alpha spoke.  “Oh, now you are coming over to say Hi…what about your fancy friends?  Why don’t you go back to them?”  It was 10 years after the punch but maybe I finally had my answer.  Could it have been the fact that I started to create friendships outside the group that magnified his issue with me?  I would never be sure, but ironically, it would be his own actions that pushed me away for good.

Maybe that was his intentions all along.

My Blue Heaven

My Blue Heaven

Today is back to school day.  I know, not because I have kids, but I have a wife who counsels them.  The preceding weeks were not wrought with back to school items of notebooks and pencils.  It was clothes and shoes needed for the school year.  Not being a parent, and not being a student for a LONG time, a friend pointed out it is not all about the peripherals for the kids anymore.  While the recent Target commercial touts “Notebook and Jeans”, it is more about the fashion that tops the list of back to school items.

Kids these days need to keep up with the latest fashion trends…buying clothes at Abercrombie and Fitch or Hollister…and $80 jeans that may not even last the whole school year.  Jeans may be the only thing that has transcended the generations.  Back in the day they cost a little bit less…and with patches, they lasted a little bit longer.   Along with a few pair of jeans we had some T-shirts and a pair of work boots.  Oh, and sneakers for gym days.  These were not purchased at some fancy store either.  Ours were procured from Sneaker Circus, a surplus store that was the "Island of Misfit Toys" for sneakers.  Most of them had manufacturer defects, but if you scoured long enough you could find the perfect pair.  For your efforts you would get a T-shirt from the shoe’s creator.  I would always choose blue.  If you were lucky your Mom was able to haggle a second one.  $10 for a pair of sneakers and two T-shirts…my back to school clothes shopping was done.

Growing up I was on the cusp of the 70’s to 80’s transition.  The 70’s still saw the jeans and cigarette packs rolled up in the arm of a T-shirt.  The 80’s…well, I blame the 80’s for the fashionistas we have today.  My friends would fall on both sides of that fence.  However, I still preferred the jeans and T-shirt look.  When I started junior high, I had come from a small grade school.  Most of the students knew the others in their classes since they had travelled up the grades together.  I however, failed to have any of my previous pals in my new classes.  It would force me to make new friends.  I remember one assignment about a month into the new school year.  It was designed so you could get to know about the other students in the classroom.  You were to choose the person sitting next to you.  Write everything down you know currently about them, and then exchange papers.  Then write down everything you want to tell that person about you and give it back to them.  While I thought this was a good way to get to know someone, it seemed like a recipe for disaster.  Luckily, I had gotten to know the student across from me and we had already started to become friends.  When I received his write up on me, one thing stuck out in particular.  “Always wears a blue T-shirt”.  Now my new friend was more on the fashion side.  He was always primped and pressed.  I, on the other hand, was not.  I guess he took note of my wardrobe.  I wrote down that the T-shirts are not always blue, and they ARE at least different ones.  We both completed the assignment and passed back the papers.  Soon the bell rang and we were off to our next class.  As we walked down the hall I repeated to my friend, “They are not ALWAYS blue.”  He said well, it seemed like it.  And how could they all be different anyway, how many did I have?  I told him I had plenty.  I followed with, “You think I always wear blue, well, now I will!”  And that is when the wager was made.  He bet me I could not wear a different blue T-shirt the entire month of November.  I responded, “You’re On!”

When I arrived at home, I needed to take inventory.  I checked the calendar and that November had 19 school days, taking into account holidays and weekends.  Right off the bat the first two weeks would be easy.  Being a Yankee and Islander fan, I had several T-shirts representing my favorite teams.  Of course, my Steeler ones would have to wait.  The blue that lies upon one of the hypocycloids was not enough for it to count.  I also had my collection of Sneaker Circus T-shirts from the previous years…of course all of them in blue.  Puma, Mark 5 and Converse…all good to go.  And I had a few of each brand too.  My friend never stood a chance.  For the next 19 school days our own version of the book, How to Eat Fried Worms - where a 10-year-old Billy must eat 15 earthworms in 15 days to win a bet, played out.  Of course, I was glad I only had to wear a different blue T-shirt.  Much easier on the digestive system.  Each morning in homeroom our group of friends inspected me.  They jotted down the details of the T-shirt so I would not try to sneak it back into the rotation.  By the time day 19 arrived the entire homeroom was wise to the bet.  Some rooted for me, others against…as their own wagers were formed.  That final day there would be no doubting the legitimacy of the last T-shirt.  My birthday falls in November, and one of my gifts that year was a new T-shirt…blue…go figure.  The Yankees had just won the 1977 World Series, and this was a T-shirt celebrating their victory.  I wore it proudly to celebrate mine.

To this day I still have quiet the collection of T-shirts.  A whole side of my walk in closet is dedicated to them.  I still prefer wearing T-shirts over anything else.  Over time only one thing has changed.

I now get them in other colors besides blue.