purse in the girls’ room and return the pocketbook before anyone knows what happened.”
“Oh,” I said. Her stealing didn’t bother me.
We became close and spent nearly every weekend together, whether we slept in the back of my car, at the frat house, at my parents’ house or in a cheap motel.
It was fraternity weekend in the spring of 1966 and the only formal event of the year. The brothers wore jackets and ties while the girls wore some type of evening dress.
A dinner party was held at a restaurant with a full size swimming pool which was the attraction, along with a terrace for summer dining. We were drunk and, before the party was over, I saw Sally eyeing the pool just outside the glass wall from where people were eating. The pool was lit up as though it were swimming weather. She said she needed a swim to sober up.
“Please don’t strip naked,” I asked her and she replied, “I’m thinking more of a swan dive from the ten meter board.”
As usual, I couldn’t say no to friends and became entangled in her madness.
“After I dive, you have to follow me,” she said. I agreed, but made her promise to stay clothed. Anyway, I was fairly confident she would not be that stupid.
Everyone stared in awe at her perfect swan dive. Her long hair trailed like blond streamers and her formal dress caught the wind making the plunge into the pool look surreal.
She surfaced and said, “OK, your turn.”
I looked and felt like an idiot as I climbed to the ten meter board. I dove in wearing my madras sport coat, white shirt and pants. As I climbed the ladder out of the pool, the colors from my madras coat created an abstract stain on my white shirt. The jacket dripped tears of color everywhere until it bled out.
At that time of my life, my behavior was erratic. At times, I would follow people to the doors of Hell to be in their lives. Other times, I didn’t care what people thought because life was all about me.
I was too drunk to feel humiliated; however, as the owner of the restaurant came running at us, I felt out of control and full of shame. I had to run in order to dodge the consequences of acting like a stupid kid.
Sitting in the car soaking wet, we decided driving back to the frat house was too far. Since my parents’ home was only a 30-minute drive, we headed to see Mom and Dad.
Before we faced my family, we had to get straight and somehow dry our clothes. Once we were off the turnpike, we looked for a spot to park on an access road. It was pitch dark and tough to find an area big enough for a car, but I found a grassy spot and cautiously pulled over to park. We completely undressed and hung our clothes all over the car to dry. I passed out in the front seat while Sally curled up in the back.
Early the next morning I heard a tapping sound on the windshield, so I forced open my bloodshot eyes to peek at the noise.
“Can we play through?” I heard someone say.
I jumped up to a sitting position and my heart stopped when I realized I had parked on the first tee box at a private country club. The foursome stopped their practice swings, distracted by my girlfriend, waking up nude and disoriented.
Amidst their laughter and jokes, all I could say was, “Holy shit.” My only thought was to get out of there fast, but the car keys weren’t in the ignition. For some reason I must have pulled them from the ignition and put them in my pants pocket or coat, dropped them between the seats, or gave them to Sally. Panic arose in me as I looked at the disorganized piles of wet clothes hanging all over the car. The keys could have been anywhere.
“Get up and help me find the keys,” I shouted to her. She sat up to see the windows were full of faces staring at her. “What the hell is going on?” she asked.
Again I shouted, “Help me find the goddamn keys,” but her first priority was to hang clothes on the windows so no one could see us
I found the keys, started the car, carefully backed onto the road and sped away.
Still naked after driving a few miles, I saw a dirt road winding up to a farmhouse and turned sharply. I drove past a stand of trees and stomped on the brakes creating a cloud of dust. I was pissed at what happened in the past 24 hours, and hated what I was going through, trying to dress into wet clothes in the car while the morning sun shined on us. I was hung over and dreaded the certain embarrassment that we would face when we got home.
Mom and Dad were quiet as they looked at us, not able to comprehend what happened. Mom gave Sally some dry clothes. After I changed, we flew out of the house and hit the road. I drove to White Mountain College to drop her at the front desk before I continued on to the frat house. I didn’t know she hadn’t signed out for the weekend. She was expelled from school immediately and sent home that day.
The next weekend I went to pick her up, but the RA of her dorm told me she was no longer a student. I felt sick that they wouldn’t give me information to contact her, but I assumed she would call me.
I never heard from her again.
Although during the second trimester I went to several classes, studied more and got better grades, I still did not have enough credit hours to be a full-time student. I was convinced college was too tough for me, and dropped out of school before finals.
Before the third trimester began, a frat brother escorted me to the liberal arts department chairman and we discussed my academic future.
“Here’s the deal,” said the chairman, “You have a high IQ and good grades in math courses, so I will reinstate you in the liberal arts curriculum as a math major with a science minor.
He ended our little talk by saying, “This is your last chance at being a full-time student at this college. If you fail, you will flunk out because clearly you are not trying very hard. If you apply yourself, you will do fine. The choice is yours.”
Before the spring trimester ended, a frat brother assaulted a girl in the frat house. The college closed our house and took our Greek charter. I had to go home for the remaining trimester. For over a month, I commuted from home and managed to earn good grades while driving four hours each day.
When school ended, I continued to live at home for the summer. I didn’t adjust well to living under Dad’s roof and, the longer it lasted, the more rebellious I got. It was tough to live with rules after having experienced the freedom to live as I pleased.
During the summer of 1966, Sam and I frequented bars and smoked pot regularly. Drugs of any kind were tough to find, so I was glad when he brought a good sized stash from college. It lasted us most of the summer. I was hooked. Just seeing grass made me smile.
The euphoria from getting high allowed me to feel free from myself, relax my mind enough to see the world in a sort of slow motion and calmly look at the peaceful side of life.
Pot was a different escape than was drinking. Instead of getting excited to forget about life, I usually mellowed with a more subtle view of what was happening. I could stay ‘in the moment’ and appreciate the life that was all around me.
As is the case with most addicts, the euphoric feeling captivated me. I wanted to stay high and so I continued throughout life trying to maintain the ecstasy. I bought grass from Sam to smoke when he wasn’t around. My psychological addiction to drugs was quickly established, and I would do most anything to get high.
~ ~ ~
One mid-summer night, I was following Sam home from the Inn. As I rounded a sharp curve, I saw an oncoming car that was too close to the line in the middle of the road, so I pulled my car off to the right to avoid a head-on collision.
My car continued moving fast along the shoulder and, as I tried to gain control, I looked up and saw a concrete abutment directly in front of me. I cramped the wheel to the left and over-compensated, driving across the road and down an embankment.
As the car careened down the hill, I recall seeing fence posts flying at the windshield before I was thrown