Chapter 1

 

CHAPTER 1
FINDING MY WAY

 

Hope is a wonderful thing. One of the great things in life is pondering what’s ahead for us. A young person looks ahead with big hopes and with dreams that may someday be realized. But as life’s journey begins, it’s often found that the outcomes aren’t the same as what we had expected. Some things will change life’s course and you will find yourself being either highly successful, a huge failure, or for many, somewhere around average. You can believe me when I tell you that our decisions, our health, and even those who we associate with will play an important part in our future. They surely have in my own.

Graduation night was both a grand and a simple affair. As the commencement ceremony ended, I departed from the presence of my classmates for the final time, and my parents and I headed to the neighborhood tavern for a couple of celebratory drinks. While sitting at a table talking about the future, I looked up to see my senior English teacher, the school’s Vice Principal, and the Dean of Discipline sitting together at a nearby table, looking our way and smiling. They rose from their seats and came over to congratulate me and offer their hopes for a great future. They all seemed amused that a seventeen-year-old just-graduated student was sitting there drinking, but how many of my former classmates were doing the same that night at home or elsewhere? It was just a couple of drinks, being my parents were cautious enough to not overdo things. We soon left the bar and headed home and I settled in to watch Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry and call it a night.

Family and friends gathered for a graduation party two nights before, so the celebration was out of my system by the time commencement came around. What my parents didn’t know was that the younger crowd celebrating in the yard, was sneaking cases of beer up the alley while they entertained the adults and I moved between the yard and house to show my appreciation to all who came and keep them from coming outside. My efforts failed. Mom grew angry at the end of the night when she found a group of minors having anything from a buzz to being utterly blasted. She was furiously making pot after pot of coffee, believing that everyone would all walk out of there sober after downing several cups of caffeine and she was steamed and alarmed when it didn’t. My dad seemed to have mixed feelings, with the attitude that guys were going to be guys but at the same time being responsible for our behavior and safety as a parent.

Looking back to when I entered high school, I was a shy, thin-skinned kid with little confidence in himself. I wasn’t that much different afterward, although I was wiser than when I first entered those doors. Thankfully, things change as you experience life. I can say that I didn’t motivate myself in the ways I should have and didn’t get much motivation or encouragement at home in succeeding at schoolwork. I had a few friends with who I became tight but didn’t go further to build a bigger circle. I was pretty much an introvert in those days. Young people often pick up on those things, and some of them would take advantage of them. The results often aren’t good. Because of this, I found myself involved in numerous minor scuffles at school. I didn’t go looking for trouble but sometimes found it because I see now I was an easy target for those who were looking to have fun at someone else’s expense. Sometimes I would be pushed to the point of striking back. I was the type of guy that let things bottle up so when I had enough, it was often with little self-control. That can be a bad thing, but thankfully there was more noise than contact and no one was bruised or banged up badly. When I left school, I did so letting go of any anger or grudges I might have had toward any of my classmates who I didn’t get along with. Carrying anger for what happened in those four years wasn’t going to do me any good as I looked ahead.

At Neumann, there was no perfect conduct score of one hundred. The highest you could get was a grade of ninety. Get yourself three detentions and your score dropped ten points. I’d get in minor tussles at least a few times a month, earning me a few detentions each quarter. Amazingly, my conduct score never dropped below that high of ninety during any of my four years. I think the teachers and priests had mercy on me, knowing that I wasn’t a troublemaker. I had visits to the class counselor’s office with him talking to me about my continued encounters with other boys, but what do you do when you feel you have no other options?

The first time I could ever remember punching someone in high school is when a boy I’ll call Dirk confronted me in the hall outside of our homeroom during my freshman year. He told me that I was going to bring him fifty cents each day or else not come to class. That didn’t seem like a good deal to me. At the time, it only cost thirty-five cents to ride the bus one way or fifteen cents if you bought tokens. Fifty cents wasn’t a lot of money, but multiply that daily and it adds up. Even worse, if I were to give in, my troubles would just be beginning. Knowing that I wasn’t going to pay him, I responded in the only way that seemed logical: I punched him square in the face. That led to a fight in the hallway that caught the attention of nearby faculty. This episode started what seemed like a recurring trip to the Dean of Discipline’s office. Mr. Fanelli often had a stern look about him, but I will say that he seemed to be a fair man when it came to dealing with students. After hearing my explanation of why I had hit Dirk, he sentenced me to a few mornings of detention. Dirk admitted that he tried to coerce pocket change from me, and Fanelli came down hard on him. The school had an even dimmer view of extortion than they did fighting, and he had crossed the line.

Dirk was never seen again at Neumann, earning an expulsion for his petty extortion. I’ll give him credit for his honesty, but what I didn’t know is if he was being contrite or cocky with his admission. Someone told me that he wound up at a public school in a different section of the city, but I had no way to confirm that.

At Neumann, they did not take kindly to fighting. I knew an older alumnus who told me that when he attended the school more than a decade earlier that they set up a boxing ring for those who exchanged blows. Those boys would have the option of fighting one round with gloves and headgear on or doing time in detention. If it were so, I don’t know if the ring experience was their way of teaching that fighting had its consequences or if those who came up with the idea were a bit sadistic. Probably the former, but either way, that would be unheard of today. I didn’t think that it was an entirely bad idea, but that was before my time there. I asked other earlier students and they couldn’t recall such a thing, so this was probably no more than a tale.

Detention was a boring time of forced tranquility. There was no staying after class like when we were in grade school. When you had detention, it was before classes started in the morning. When you arrived, you sat silently until the first period started. The only break in the quietness was the proctor taking the roll call. He would call out your name and call out how many days you had left to serve in detention. The only humorous part of the experience was when there was a student who had done something so heinous that he didn’t know when his detention sentence would end. The man calling the roll would read the names of the boys doing their time.

My name was called. “Bennett, Brian” was heard from the high-standing podium where the proctor sat above the boys. I gave a tepid response of “Here.” “That’s present Mr. Bennett. Two days.”, came the response. The names went on and on.  “Morrison, Alexander”.  ”Present” Young Mr. Morison received his sentence.“ Six days left.” Then came a troublemaker: “Rogers, Seymour” “Present.” “Indefinite. The normally quiet cafeteria where detention was held exploded with the laughter of the student offenders. A tense shout of  “Shut up!” from the proctor rang out as we all howled, but you could sometimes see a sideways smile on his face as he continued reading through the list of young men, appreciating the break in the boredom. Looking back, I think the school may have done better to give Dirk an indefinite and toss him for a second offense rather than expulsion, but those were different times when they didn’t take things like that as lightly as they do today.

I had enough time in detention for minor squabbles to have Mr. Fanelli suggest I talk with the freshmen counselor. Mr. Weinrich. He seemed to be an easy-going guy whose family once owned a neighborhood bakery. He asked me why I thought I was having problems with the other boys. It wasn’t like I had a problem with everyone, just a few who took advantage of my quiet nature, and I didn’t like being picked on by them. I didn’t take a jab right away but held back, often too long. Once I felt that I had put up with enough from someone and became angered or upset, I’d take a swing at them. I can’t say that I was good at fighting. None of the fights lasted longer than a few punches or shoves. Mr. Weinrich urged me to join the karate club after school hours, but I wanted to learn how to box.

Karate was the stuff of Bruce Lee movies. I had never seen a real-world situation in my neighborhood where someone used martial arts to settle things. I can’t say we boxed as they do in the ring either, but we gave it what we could when calling someone out to a “fair one.” He said there was no way he could recommend boxing, stating his concern that I may use what skills I’d learn in the wrong way if I was angry. Mr. Weinrich said that karate taught discipline. I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to hear it at that time. The way I saw it, no one was showing discipline when they hassled me. Why fight by their rules? And with that stalemate, the talks about learning fighting skills were over. Not that it mattered, I learned later that there was no boxing club at the school and I would have to find one if I wanted to move ahead with it.

Was the counselor testing me by letting me ramble on? I’ll never know. Looking back, my thoughts were like I was seeking to use a maul hammer to swat a fly. No one caused me any real harm, they were just taking advantage of someone who didn’t have the will to fight back until he was pushed. As time would move on, my attitude toward those things would change, but as we matured we showed each other more respect and it wasn’t a problem anymore.

Having friends with different interests didn’t help me much in my social growth. Ken, one of my best friends in school, was into smoking marijuana at that time, and that was something that I didn’t get into. Still, he respected my decision and we remained friends instead of thinking of me as being nerdy -  so much so that when we sometimes cut class and spend afternoons at his house, he would smoke a joint while I would have a bottle or two of beer or malt liquor, whatever he had available. I wouldn’t smoke but I had no problem with a couple of beers. What kind of sense did that make?  I was setting unrealistic standards. You don’t think about those things when you're young. We didn’t care. Both of us spent our Junior and Senior years in shared-time classes. That was when you spent your morning at Neumann for academic subjects and then waited for the school bus to take you to Bok Vocational/Technical High School to learn the skills of your selected trade. Well, some boys took the bus. Ken had his dad’s car, and because of that, we sometimes didn’t show up for afternoon classes, cutting them during our senior year to hang out instead. It was only a few times, but my second-year Electrical Shop teacher, Mr. Trautmann, had an apathetic attitude and would pass you whether you were there or not. He also taunted the students. At the start of one class, he declared he was going to demonstrate how a capacitor worked. He showed how it held a charge, and then discharged it by touching a metal cabinet with its terminals and sending sparks flying. Preparing to do it again, he recharged the capacitor and confronted a student with a menacing look. “Roger Johnson, come up here.” Roger’s eyes widened as he stared and pondered what was to come, while everyone else laughed. Some of us wondered aloud if our teacher would have jolted him. Mr. Scott, my first-year instructor, was no-nonsense, and he made that clear from day one. If you didn’t show up for a class or make an effort to learn, you didn’t make the grade. If he put you with a class partner and you didn’t get along, too bad. He put you in the position of working things out or not learning at all, and he earned a lot of respect by teaching us more than electric repair. Ken took Optical classes, learning to make eyeglass frames and lenses. He earned the nickname “The Professor” in those days. I thought the name was because some classmates thought he had a smart, intelligent look. I later found that it was because of the light blue lab coat that he wore during shop class. We got together from time to time after we graduated. One Saturday afternoon, some of his friends stopped by and were soon passing the weed around. When I declined, one of his friends asked me mockingly, “What, you don’t smoke?” Before I could answer, The Professor shot back and said, “Hey, it’s not his thing. Back off.” He didn’t go for peer pressure and accepted it if you were reluctant to indulge in what others did.

We remained friends after school ended. Ken was a good friend, and being so, got me my first full-time job, which would later bring someone wonderful into my life. I hadn’t realized it at the time being things were a boring routine when I first started working there.

When other friends spent Friday nights at The Loft or The Forum discos, I spent the night hanging around the house reading and listening to rock music. Disco? It wasn’t my thing, so rather than go and spend time with friends at the dances, I stayed home and kept to myself. There were the times that Bill, Marc, and I, and a few others would hang out, go to the movies, or spend Saturday nights sitting around a few tables at Big Al’s Pizzeria on Oregon Avenue. That was until the owner of that joint ejected us on a few occasions. I can’t say I blame him. Between finding the volume knob on the back of the jukebox and cranking the music up to levels too loudly for most customers and loudly joking about the pizza being so greasy you could oil a machine with it, Al had enough of our antics. He chased us out one night here and another there. When we returned a few weeks after our last ejection, Big Al laid out the law for us. He said we were welcome to hang out and eat our pizza as long as we behaved ourselves. If not, we could go somewhere else. Al gave us a break that night. Most business owners would have put us out and been done with it. We had a lot of laughs in those days and the serious things of life became more important later on as we moved toward the future.

Those were great times, and the guys were all fun to be with. We just grew apart with different interests. I remember going with the guys one night to the former Dicken’s Inn in Old City. I felt totally out of place there, like a social misfit. It just wasn’t my thing. Anyhow, it turned into a one-night expedition. I came, saw, and I was unimpressed at what I had experienced. Nothing against the others, it just wasn’t my thing.

I was yet to find my way socially. But this was just the start of things, and better things were coming; things that I felt comfortable with. When they did come, those things turned into life-changing experiences. Yes, the rest of my life was truly about to begin. I would have never expected that things would change as much as they did, taking a 180-degree turn from where I started. But there would be many things ahead in life to experience before I got there. Looking back, that was fine. After all, what’s life without its experiences? You’ll never learn your likes from your dislikes or the good from the bad without them. You can’t learn how to function or behave around others until you’ve seen what’s out there. And with that, it was time to look ahead and experience the adult side of life.