The scene was the TV room in Ewing Hall. Rol, Gary, perhaps Rich and I were playing cards. Our resident ex-Marine Viet Nam vet was watching the truly bad Green Berets, shushing us whenever we got too loud.
I started to pack it in around 12:30, slightly on the early side for me, because I needed to study in the morning. Gary announced that he was going to get up early to go to breakfast and study, too. I asked Gary to wake me when he got up and I'd go to breakfast with him. With that, I bade them all adieu and went to bed.
The next thing I knew, I heard Gary telling me that it was time to get up. I remarked that I felt like I had only slept an hour. At that point I heard Rol, my roommate, rooting around in his closet. I usually wake up pretty quickly but I was having real problems this particular morning. I stumbled down to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face and stumbled back to the room, still trying to shake the cobwebs out of my head. I couldn't put it together but something just wasn't right. What was Rol doing up? He never got up early. And what was he doing in that closet for so long? Why was Gary smoking? He made a point of never smoking first thing in the morning.
We start walking down the hall and then down the stairs. Gary and Rol wanted me to take the underground route to the dining hall on our side but I knew that the dining room on the opposite side of the little quad was the only one open for breakfast. They tried to convince me otherwise but I was sharp witted on this one. I pushed open the outside door and it hit me -- it was pitch black outside. Those SOBs got me up in the middle of the night. I cursed them obligatorily and then burst out laughing.
It was really about 1:30 in the morning. Gary had seen me turn over in bed and softly said "time to get up". When I actually responded, he just went with it. Nothing was planned. Rol couldn't contain himself when I said that I felt like I had slept for only an hour. He buried his head in his closet and bit on a towel to keep from laughing aloud. And Gary having a cigarette at 1:30 AM was no big deal but I couldn't pick up that clue. But somehow, in my daze, I knew which cafeteria was supposed to be open.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Rich and the Earthquake
Rich was part of the gang from my days at University Park and a founding (and finding!) member of the Brotherhood of the Stake. Someday I'll write a prologue on Rich, because his personality was so distinctive.
On this eve of the 100th anniversary of the San Francisco earthquake, I had to write this remembrance down.
One night we ended up playing a game in the TV room on our floor and someone had put the movie San Francisco on. It's quite a good movie, but almost all of the story concerns Clark Gable trying to seduce Jeanette MacDonald with Spencer Tracy as his boyhood chum priest trying to stop any shenanigans. This is all prelude to the earthquake. The promotions during the commercial breaks showed scenes from the earthquake and that's what we were all itching for. At one break, Rich announced that he needed to go to the bathroom and shuffled down the hall at absolute minimal speed, as only he could. As soon as he was out of earshot, the movie returned and voila, the earthquake. I remember the earthquake scene as being pretty quick.
As soon as the next commercial break came on, we heard the telltale shuffling coming back down the hall towards us. We burst out laughing before he ever re-entered the room. We gleefully announced that Rich had missed the only part of the movie that he was interested in. He accused us of conspiring to trick him into leaving and missing the still pending earthquake. Only after the movie returned to the air and he looked at the images of rubble on the screen, did he start to believe us. And he went ballistic, cursing fate for yet again conspiring against him. And he was plenty mad at us for having such a good time at his expense.
By the next day, we were all friends again. After a night's sleep, even he could laugh at his own misfortune. The quick rebound was what made Rich so endearing.
On this eve of the 100th anniversary of the San Francisco earthquake, I had to write this remembrance down.
One night we ended up playing a game in the TV room on our floor and someone had put the movie San Francisco on. It's quite a good movie, but almost all of the story concerns Clark Gable trying to seduce Jeanette MacDonald with Spencer Tracy as his boyhood chum priest trying to stop any shenanigans. This is all prelude to the earthquake. The promotions during the commercial breaks showed scenes from the earthquake and that's what we were all itching for. At one break, Rich announced that he needed to go to the bathroom and shuffled down the hall at absolute minimal speed, as only he could. As soon as he was out of earshot, the movie returned and voila, the earthquake. I remember the earthquake scene as being pretty quick.
As soon as the next commercial break came on, we heard the telltale shuffling coming back down the hall towards us. We burst out laughing before he ever re-entered the room. We gleefully announced that Rich had missed the only part of the movie that he was interested in. He accused us of conspiring to trick him into leaving and missing the still pending earthquake. Only after the movie returned to the air and he looked at the images of rubble on the screen, did he start to believe us. And he went ballistic, cursing fate for yet again conspiring against him. And he was plenty mad at us for having such a good time at his expense.
By the next day, we were all friends again. After a night's sleep, even he could laugh at his own misfortune. The quick rebound was what made Rich so endearing.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
The Spoiler
In May of the fourth grade we moved about 4 or 5 blocks to the other side of school. We moved next door to the Reuhlmanns. Margie was in my class, Peter was in Mary's so we already knew the family a bit. After we moved to Philly, Mr. Reuhlmann was elected mayor of Cincinnati, back when it was an position of honor in the pre-Springer days. Peter was a year ahead of me in school and we played together that summer a lot.
It was my first year of Little League and because I was pretty big and had a decent if not awesome arm, my coach taught me how to pitch. I was pretty decent as I had some modicum of control and I could drop down and throw sidearm to give a different look to the batter.
We started out the season pretty badly at 1-4 before we started to gel. We had gotten our record up to 4-5 and had the last game of the season against Peter's team. They were in first place and would clinch the title if they won. They beat us pretty soundly the first time we played. Normally we played on Sunday morning but this game was in the evening during the week for some reason. School was out by then and I thought about the game all day long. Peter and I did some trash talking but I felt like he had upper hand in that department since they were such a good team. I was quite edgy but come game time, I had just the right mix of adrenalin and composure. Once I got out of the first inning without much damage, I was really confident that I could beat them. We ended up winning 3-2, which was a low score for that level of play. I pitched the absolute best that I could and have never experienced such a high athletically since (not that I had any sort of athletic career).
Peter's family hosted a cookout for his team that night that they had figured was going to be their pennant celebration. Peter came over and invited me to join but I refused to go. I felt like I would have shown disloyalty to my team if I attended another team's party. (Go figure) I also felt very sad for their team, and felt kind of guilty for ruining their fun. I remember laying on my bed listening to the fun outside with all sorts of mixed feelings.
But boy, I was proud of how I pitched.
It was my first year of Little League and because I was pretty big and had a decent if not awesome arm, my coach taught me how to pitch. I was pretty decent as I had some modicum of control and I could drop down and throw sidearm to give a different look to the batter.
We started out the season pretty badly at 1-4 before we started to gel. We had gotten our record up to 4-5 and had the last game of the season against Peter's team. They were in first place and would clinch the title if they won. They beat us pretty soundly the first time we played. Normally we played on Sunday morning but this game was in the evening during the week for some reason. School was out by then and I thought about the game all day long. Peter and I did some trash talking but I felt like he had upper hand in that department since they were such a good team. I was quite edgy but come game time, I had just the right mix of adrenalin and composure. Once I got out of the first inning without much damage, I was really confident that I could beat them. We ended up winning 3-2, which was a low score for that level of play. I pitched the absolute best that I could and have never experienced such a high athletically since (not that I had any sort of athletic career).
Peter's family hosted a cookout for his team that night that they had figured was going to be their pennant celebration. Peter came over and invited me to join but I refused to go. I felt like I would have shown disloyalty to my team if I attended another team's party. (Go figure) I also felt very sad for their team, and felt kind of guilty for ruining their fun. I remember laying on my bed listening to the fun outside with all sorts of mixed feelings.
But boy, I was proud of how I pitched.
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