It was hot, too hot for June, and humid too. Down in the woods and sands of Millville three young boys were talking in the glow of a full moon.
The oldest of the three was doing most of the talking. He was telling his two friends what his future was to be and how they could help him achieve it.
Who knows what they were thinking as their friend explained what it was he wanted them to do.
How convincing he must have been to get them to go along so willingly.
Who knows how long it took to put his plan in motion.
Sex, drugs and rock n' roll. The mantra of our generation. Truth was, for me anyway, no sex, some drugs-mainly alcohol, and plenty of rock n' roll. This party John Marcone was putting together might mean I'd experience some of the sex I'd been missing. Wishful thinking, but one must always have a positive attitude, musn't one?
John Marcone had a plan. He knew of an abandoned sand quarry down near Vineland and Millville, and he wanted to get those of us who hung out together and go down there for a cookout and a day of swimming and volleyball. He also alluded to the privacy the area afforded for the possibility of "romantic interludes" for those among us who had female company.
"It's the perfect place for us," he said. "The perfect place for us, if you know what I mean."
So there I was unloading tractor trailer loads of magazines at the Philadelphia Post Office. Heavy, heavy mailbags full of magazines. You opened the trailer and there before you was a mountain that you pulled down by hand. If I was lucky, I mean really lucky, the Post Office guys didn't have much on their plate, and I could use more than one of the portable conveyor belts. Some days I couldn't even use one of them, so I had to drag the sacks of magazines from the truck to the hole in the dock that the bags were dropped down into.
I didn't like college. I decided early on that I wasn't going to complete my first semester. The only class I enjoyed was my acting class, and I even cut that one a lot. I auditioned for the college theatre production, a serious work by Henrik Ibsen, called An Enemy of the People. I managed to get a strong supporting role, and that's all I lived for. My classes meant nothing for me, all I cared about was my performance in the play. I completely stopped going to gym class, which was mandatory at Rutgers Camden, and I was called into the Dean's office to explain my behavior.
Patty and I traveled throughout the desert southwest of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Utah.
The contrast between the lush greens of New Jersey and the rainbow colors out there is remarkable.
We went to the Pacific coast for a few years as well, discovering the beauty of Washington, Oregon, Northern California, and Victoria Island in British Columbia.
Washington and Oregon are GREEN. The rain forest on the Olympic Peninsula was simply amazing. Huge Sitka Spruce trees, moss and ferns, the air rich with oxygen.
Since October I have been writing again. I was encouraged by my wife Patty, and inspired by my old cohort, Jack Wiler. His blog and poetry stirred things deep within me, and all of a sudden they came pouring out, and I've surprised myself on more than one occasion.
I received Jack's book of poetry, "Fun Being Me", from my sister as a Christmas gift in 2007. I started reading it on Christmas Eve, and I had trouble putting it down. All night long I kept writing poetry in my dreams. I got up earlier than everyone else and wrote down a few of the verses I could still remember.
In 1984 my younger brother Carl died. The following year my favorite cousin Charlie died on the Fourth of July, my brother's birthday.
I decided that I would fulfill a dream the three of us had and I would travel to as much of the western part of the United States as I could, taking in the land of the cowboy and visiting the natural wonders of the area.
Patty and I traveled from 1985 to 1995, marveling at our nation's natural beauty. I fell in love with the solitude of the desert southwest, and I could go for some New Mexican cuisine right now.
In 1969 a group of students got together and decided to change the Polaris, our school newspaper.
We decided to report on what was happening out in the real world as well as what was going on within our classroom walls. Students would write opinion columns, and we hoped to encourage ideas from across the spectrum. Our school paper was going to be different, and we were going to raise some eyebrows.
I watched it as it rose up from Mr. Rizzuto's field, the field he didn't like us to play in. I watched as they tore down the trees of the woods that were my worlds of imagination. High school in my own back yard! No more eight-tenths of a mile walk, I can be there in three minutes flat, a short walk down Egg Harbor Road. I won't have to stay for lunch, I thought, finally I can come home! No such luck, we had to eat in that God forsaken cafeteria.
How would I cope separated from my Woodbury Heights classmates? Walking down hallways every hour or so, trying to find my way around.
Jack WIler wrote:
Okay, so it wasn't a landmark year. And it was inexpensive. But bunches of us showed up and were we all too cool for school. Also we were a talkative bunch. Yakkety, yakkety, yak. I'll throw up some photos and post a bio and I encourage all of you to send Bob and I photos and content. It was a wild night and we're hoping to put together a bigger bash, either next year or the year after for all of us knuckleheads. I mean we were too cool for that school and we were the ones who made it what it was. How nice we didn't all turn out to be losers.
