One life, ten years, three words at a time

An exercise in memoir writing

Winter of ’64. Dad has cancer. Guardian angel arrives. Angel sends money. Dad goes North. Mom joins him. I join him. Hello Mayo Clinic. Snow is deep. So is mood.

I am confused. What’s my job? Am I comforter? I am 14!

It’s kidney cancer. Surgery goes well. Dad’s in pain. “Man oh Man.” “Man oh Manischevitz.”

A giggle erupts. Can’t help it. Start to laugh. I can’t stop.

“Man oh Man.”

More laughter bubbles. Relief breaking through. He won’t die. Back to normal. Back to ordinary. We tell ourselves.

Springtime same year. Stepinac High school. Don’t fit in. Who ever does? Hartsdale’s a drag. Pimply teenage angst. Full blast drag.

Summer of ’66. Back to Buffalo. New high school. Same old story. Drink green beer. Get green hangover.

Senior year, ‘68. Advanced Placement English. I’m an APE. Discover Richard III. Life looks good. Better than before. Yellow beer works.

Lucky with girls. For a time. Girlfriend becomes nun. For all time. C’est la vie. Off to college.

Fall of ‘68. Freedom feels good. Goodbye to barber. Hello to LSD. With beer chaser.

Along comes ’69. Hair gets longer. Patience gets shorter. Parents get worried. He’s a hippie. I can’t deny.

The gap grows. Man on moon. Dad near tears. Not for me. Whose giant step? Can’t see Vietnam. Not from moon. Gotta see Vietnam. Patience grows shorter. Trouble with Dad.

Next stop, Woodstock. Good times roll. Monday morning mud. Hendrix’ sonic song. Rockets’ red glare. The real lift-off.

Back to school. Can’t escape Vietnam. Discover draft raiders. They make sense. I help out. I meet Patty.

I drop out. Become guerrilla bookseller. Front for actions. Dylan’s credit card.

Follow Patty south. Down to DC. Arrested at Justice. Confess my crime. Judge just laughs. I walk out.

Phone call awaits. Action in Buffalo. Are you in? I say yes. Goodbye to DC. Goodbye to Patty. Hello to hometown.

Plan is simple. Invade draft boards. Steal draft files. Ditto Army Intelligence. In one night. Out the next. Seven of us. Finally doing something. Maybe save lives. Maybe lose some. Seems worth trying.

Big empty building. Hot steamy night. Everything goes smoothly.

Then it doesn’t.

We are busted. In our underwear. Off to jail.

Front page news. Dad stands up. “He’s my son. I love him.”

Federal trial, ‘72. Possible 12 years. Judge is enlightened. War on trial.

We lose anyway. Expecting 18 months.

Patty also expecting. Baby due January. Our big secret.

Judge sends message. One-year sentence. Sentences are suspended. We walk out. Life is good. Very, very good.

Break baby news. Mom, Dad aghast. Not getting married. Marriage corrupt institution. Parents not convinced. Love doesn’t stop.

Winter Street, ‘73. Baby home born. Joy and sorrow. Dad is dying. Screaming in pain.

Baby is born. It’s a boy. Dad dies in June. Nearly Father’s Day.

Look for job. Watchman at Zoo. Start writing sci-fi. Baboons from Space.

One year on. Try writing non-fiction. Profile local bookseller. Sell to weekly. Good-bye to baboons.

I am launched.