1959-60. It was the eighth and final year of my parochial education. Fuck, I hated it. I had been beat on with rulers, my ears yanked and was “bitch slapped” for seven years by the good priests and nuns. It was all I was gonna take. They knew it. That first day of my 8th year, I had dared these heartless bitches in black, just touch me ONE more time I said, and I would leave for public school-they would lose $$$$. It was already agreed between the nun, my folks and PO- there had been trouble previously, and I had been jailed, the juvie court wanted a resolution worked out- to keep me out of reform school. Smoking was a problem. I had been breathing secondhand smoke from my folks since I was three. I had been addicted to smoking since the fourth grade. I wasn't gonna quit! I stole cartons of cigarettes from the IGA....I was considered a juvenile delinquent. I had long greasy hair, wore boots, Levis, a brown WWII leather flight jacket, and listened to rock 'n roll, which the Catholic church called it the devil's music. I drove a loud 1951 Ford Victoria I had earned- I worked my ass off for it! That's what pissed them off. I was too big to beat. That summer I left home and lived at a farm I worked on. They were some of the most decent people I would know in my lifetime. Their influence kept me out of reform school. They treated me like family. Anyhoo, that fall I returned home to start high school. The first day of school, I drove my little Brown Ford, parking it across the street from the school. I saw a teacher writing down our plate numbers. We were ordered to report to the principal's office, where this crazy looking old man started screaming at me for driving my car to school. Doing that was against the rules- unless I had an after school job. I did.
“I've heard about you. Just remember I run this here school Mr. Earley. This is my territory!”
I would park my car for the next year and a half at my bud's house a block from the school. It pissed them off, but they couldn't do a thing about it. I would set a record for skipping school. Actually, I was pioneering
“Homeschooling”. When I did attend school I read a lot, a novel a day I would say, plus Mad Magazine, and once in awhile a “whack off” mag that was being passed around, if I could get the pages apart. I tried out for football. Being I was the second fastest in the 100 yard dash, I was supposed to carry the ball. After the handoff, I took off around the left end, I zigged, he zagged, and as I crossed the goal line, he tackled me, landing his knees on my back. I would spend a week in the hospital pissing blood. Kidneys bruised. (He would later get a full Williams scholarship to the University of Minnesota). No more Football?! Then fuck high school! My last report card had four Fs and a D. I would go in the Marines. There was a war coming. At the time it wasn't much, but it was all we had. Four and a half years later I would attend the U of M for 3 quarters. Vietnam was all the education I needed. Rat
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