So I left her alone. I left the school. Actually I was thrown out because they discovered I didn't live in the district. My mother thought I needed a good straightening out so she put me in a Catholic high school. Little did she know what was coming.
True, the priests were much more into discipline then the public school. One time I committed some infraction and was sent to the deans office. A very spartan affair, it contained one desk, one chair and one rug. The defendant centred himself on the rug while the dean enumerated his offence(s).
In my case, he came around his desk and sat on it facing me. "Mr. Allen, it has come to my attention that you interfered in your teachers presentation this morning." It eas explained that it was rude and inconsiderate to disrupt class. He had stood up and was pacing in front of me as he spoke. On his fourth or fifth pass he stopped and punched me in the stomach to punctuate his sentence.
I was lucky. The worst punishment was to be forced to play soccer with the priests after school.
As is well known, those who live under oppression develop greater skills of deception and covert movements. My friends and I developed methods too manipulate the priests into releasing us for the day. From there a trip to Tijuana or the beach or Hollywood followed.
Friday and Saturday Nights were reserved for our more outlandish games. I'm pretty sure we invented 'Street Surfing' in the back of a pickup. Parties were common. Playing hide and seek with the police was a favorite game.
So keep in mind for your children, don't go too heavy on them, or you'll never really know what they're doing.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Fate Slaps Me in the Face
1963/64 provided an enormous turning point in my life. At that point I was an adrenalin filled bag of hormones that was scared of only one thing on Earth, GIRLS. I couldn't talk with them, touch one or even accept amiably when one tried to approach me. In short, I was the product of a good catholic education.
My last class of the day was Freshman English. I found myself deposited between three of the loveliest girls in the frosh class. In my later life this would be called "introducing a climate sufficient to induce destabilising behaviours". Panic or Terror work quite well too.
To my left was Anne, beautiful and from an extremely wealthy Hollywood family. Behind me was Debbie, the primary squeeze for one of the Mexican gang leaders. And on my right was Linda, beautiful, newly arrived from Vancouver and the immediate replacement for my heart.
I tried and tried to talk with her. In retrospect I'm fairly sure she liked me too. She would stand out on the grass, watching me at PE. She proposed that I walk her home, rather than catching the bus. She hung around the quad, waiting walk with me to my next class.
The more demonstrative she became, the more scared I became. I wanted to tell her how I felt so badly my throat burned. But I was too scared.
Then somewhere along the line, I noticed I wasn't see her as much. I think she gave up on me. I didn't know what to do about it. How do you get back a girlfriend you never had?
Finally, one day at school, I spotted her sitting alone on a bench in the quad. I decided then and there to tell her how I felt. I walked over, sat down, looked into her eyes and was told "Go away!".
Within a month I was in a different school.
Why is losing a girlfriend I never had a pivot point?
If I had had the courage to talk to her a month earlier the map of my life could have been very different. She was a Canadian pacifist so I probably would not have joined the Army. If I hadn't joined the Army I would never have met mom.
So as it turns out, telling me to "Go Away" was probably the biggest favour she could have done for me.
My last class of the day was Freshman English. I found myself deposited between three of the loveliest girls in the frosh class. In my later life this would be called "introducing a climate sufficient to induce destabilising behaviours". Panic or Terror work quite well too.
To my left was Anne, beautiful and from an extremely wealthy Hollywood family. Behind me was Debbie, the primary squeeze for one of the Mexican gang leaders. And on my right was Linda, beautiful, newly arrived from Vancouver and the immediate replacement for my heart.
I tried and tried to talk with her. In retrospect I'm fairly sure she liked me too. She would stand out on the grass, watching me at PE. She proposed that I walk her home, rather than catching the bus. She hung around the quad, waiting walk with me to my next class.
The more demonstrative she became, the more scared I became. I wanted to tell her how I felt so badly my throat burned. But I was too scared.
Then somewhere along the line, I noticed I wasn't see her as much. I think she gave up on me. I didn't know what to do about it. How do you get back a girlfriend you never had?
Finally, one day at school, I spotted her sitting alone on a bench in the quad. I decided then and there to tell her how I felt. I walked over, sat down, looked into her eyes and was told "Go away!".
Within a month I was in a different school.
Why is losing a girlfriend I never had a pivot point?
If I had had the courage to talk to her a month earlier the map of my life could have been very different. She was a Canadian pacifist so I probably would not have joined the Army. If I hadn't joined the Army I would never have met mom.
So as it turns out, telling me to "Go Away" was probably the biggest favour she could have done for me.
Monday, May 2, 2011
The Low School Years
In June 1963 I graduated from Our Lady of the Assumption. As we formed our procession into the church, Sister Benedicta turned and asked where we were going to high school. I immediately answered "Claremont High". Being the second shortest boy in the class I was in front of the group and my response was heard. The look she gave me was poisonous. I had seen happier looks on rattlesnakes. I felt elation at having earned that look.
It was during this first year of high school that I started coming into my own as an individual entity on the planet. I steadfastly refused to become aligned with any group or clique in the school. I was equally friendly with the only confirmed killer in the school (Tony was a 20 year old junior. a person stepped in line in front of him at the local In-and-Out Bruger and Tony stabbed him, was convicted of manslaughter and spent a couple of years in the county facility) and a hard core mormom. Although this talent wasn't recognized by me at the time, it would come in handy later in life.
By this time my constant companion was Stan. We became enamoured with brandy that year. Another favorite was finding some wino and having him buy us some beer and he got a bottle of musky. Stans father was a design engineer at the local missle factory. He would bring home small chunks of solid rocket fuel so Stan and I could use it like Sterno. What he didn't count on was our ability to return it to its original function and make explosive packages. This is where I got my interest in making things go boom. OH yeah, I almost forgot about the carbide canon we built to shoot marbles and bearings. BOOM! Heheheheh!
Another favorite pastime was to wait in the bushes on the golf course, run out, snatch the balls, then sell them to the other golfers on the course. That's usually how we paid for our beer.
Friday night was the highlight of the week. The police were usually the targets of our pranks. One Friday night we took some cherry bombs we had acquired and planned a raid on the police. But we had a problem. Cherry bomb fuses are really fast burning. No escape time. I figured how to use non-filtered cigarettes to extend the burn time. We tested the theory by setting a bunch of C.bombs off in front of the station. We had enough time to get home, move lawn furniture to the street and watch the action. When they went off the police came running into the street with guns drawn. Great show.
The next week, using the same method, we went into the police parking lot, taped the bombs to the bubble gum machines on top of the cars, and wait for the show. The good ole days were brought to life.
To this day I look longingly at blue and red lights on cars.
Summers were both thrilling and incredibly boring. Many hours were spent on the church steps, asking one another "what you wanna do?" Usually we'd end up doing something totally pointless. Anybody here remember mumblypeg? The pastor let hang around because he knew we wouldn't cause any damage.
With a little luck we'd have some money and hitch down to the beach for an overnight. During the day we'd laze around Newport Beach. In the evening we'd head over to Lido Island for the parties that were endless. This is how we ate. after the parties we'd go to the bay and swim out to a yacht that was empty. There we could get some sleep without police involvement. It simply required that one sleep tight against the rail so the Coast Guard couldn't spot you when on patrol.
Don't try this today. You'll be shot as a terrorist.
TO BE CONTINUED
It was during this first year of high school that I started coming into my own as an individual entity on the planet. I steadfastly refused to become aligned with any group or clique in the school. I was equally friendly with the only confirmed killer in the school (Tony was a 20 year old junior. a person stepped in line in front of him at the local In-and-Out Bruger and Tony stabbed him, was convicted of manslaughter and spent a couple of years in the county facility) and a hard core mormom. Although this talent wasn't recognized by me at the time, it would come in handy later in life.
By this time my constant companion was Stan. We became enamoured with brandy that year. Another favorite was finding some wino and having him buy us some beer and he got a bottle of musky. Stans father was a design engineer at the local missle factory. He would bring home small chunks of solid rocket fuel so Stan and I could use it like Sterno. What he didn't count on was our ability to return it to its original function and make explosive packages. This is where I got my interest in making things go boom. OH yeah, I almost forgot about the carbide canon we built to shoot marbles and bearings. BOOM! Heheheheh!
Another favorite pastime was to wait in the bushes on the golf course, run out, snatch the balls, then sell them to the other golfers on the course. That's usually how we paid for our beer.
Friday night was the highlight of the week. The police were usually the targets of our pranks. One Friday night we took some cherry bombs we had acquired and planned a raid on the police. But we had a problem. Cherry bomb fuses are really fast burning. No escape time. I figured how to use non-filtered cigarettes to extend the burn time. We tested the theory by setting a bunch of C.bombs off in front of the station. We had enough time to get home, move lawn furniture to the street and watch the action. When they went off the police came running into the street with guns drawn. Great show.
The next week, using the same method, we went into the police parking lot, taped the bombs to the bubble gum machines on top of the cars, and wait for the show. The good ole days were brought to life.
To this day I look longingly at blue and red lights on cars.
Summers were both thrilling and incredibly boring. Many hours were spent on the church steps, asking one another "what you wanna do?" Usually we'd end up doing something totally pointless. Anybody here remember mumblypeg? The pastor let hang around because he knew we wouldn't cause any damage.
With a little luck we'd have some money and hitch down to the beach for an overnight. During the day we'd laze around Newport Beach. In the evening we'd head over to Lido Island for the parties that were endless. This is how we ate. after the parties we'd go to the bay and swim out to a yacht that was empty. There we could get some sleep without police involvement. It simply required that one sleep tight against the rail so the Coast Guard couldn't spot you when on patrol.
Don't try this today. You'll be shot as a terrorist.
TO BE CONTINUED
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Some boring years
Around 1957 Mike and I moved. He to the desert east of San Diego and me to Claremont. Our parents would get us together for a couple of weeks during the summer and we resumed our rather dangerous lives as if we were never apart.
I was put in a catholic school in claremont, Our Lady of the Assumption to b exact. We didn't have a teaching order, we had Benedictines, an Order of nuns dedicated to discipline and duty. We did not mesh well. I spent nearly as much time in detention as I did in regular school, including Saturdays. When not in class I could be found keeping the garbage cans company, or in the hall. My mother was desperate. She had me hang around with the model student in my class. I had to go to his house and do homework with him, his mother signing a note that I had been there. That stopped when his mother saw him becoming more like me. In the morning I would watch Tom Terrific (youtube it), grab my bow and go out hunting, then off to school.
My best friends were 2 whiteys and a mexican. We were scary close. Dinner with each others families, getting into trouble together and never ratting each other out. We would have bloody fights and be playing together later the same day.
I only know where one of them is now. LGO.
Beyond this nothing much happened. 12 year old hell raising combined with a growing disdain for authority.
I was put in a catholic school in claremont, Our Lady of the Assumption to b exact. We didn't have a teaching order, we had Benedictines, an Order of nuns dedicated to discipline and duty. We did not mesh well. I spent nearly as much time in detention as I did in regular school, including Saturdays. When not in class I could be found keeping the garbage cans company, or in the hall. My mother was desperate. She had me hang around with the model student in my class. I had to go to his house and do homework with him, his mother signing a note that I had been there. That stopped when his mother saw him becoming more like me. In the morning I would watch Tom Terrific (youtube it), grab my bow and go out hunting, then off to school.
My best friends were 2 whiteys and a mexican. We were scary close. Dinner with each others families, getting into trouble together and never ratting each other out. We would have bloody fights and be playing together later the same day.
I only know where one of them is now. LGO.
Beyond this nothing much happened. 12 year old hell raising combined with a growing disdain for authority.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
A Starting Point
Deep in the backwoods of northern Minnesota lies the small town of Cass Lake. This would be the ancestral home of my branch of Allens. The reality is that I was born the illegitimate son of a young nurse in Bemidji, a small town several miles from Cass Lake. The whole place sits pretty much within the confines of the Chippewa National Forrest. In short, a really beautiful corner of Hell.
I made my escape at the tender age of 1 and was sent to California to live with friends of my mother. These lovely people accepted me into their lives and treated me as theirs. I remember the old man chopping 2 trees down and making an airplane for me to play on. That's about all I have for a while. Strange how the brain works. At any rate, This is where I became a Californian.
My mother moved us into a small apartment on Mt. View Rd. in Pomona. We lived here in some crazy poverty stricken bliss until I was 4 years old. Down the street lived a little old lady named Righty (spelling a wild guess). I would incessantly ride my tricycle down the sidewalk from our house to hers, go around an enormous concrete vase Righty had in her front yard and return home. I was liable to do this any time of day from sunrise to bedtime. More than once my mother would have to come looking for me because I would sneak out of the house to start my riding. Across the street we had a beautiful neighborhood park. Because it was across the street I couldn't go there without a grownup. To expedite acquiring an adult, I sat on the curb, staring forlornly into the park until either my mother or Righty took pity on me and let me cross the street.
The park was a marvelous place. A playground with a big, steel merry-go-round and swings. My favorite place was a little covered bridge with benches that crossed a tiny stream full of goldfish. I climbed up on the bench, kneeling on the seat and looking over the back, watching the fish. I could do this for hours. When not enraptured by the fish, the merry-go-round with my insane screams of "faster, faster" going to my mother.
During my fourth year my mom got married. We moved out of the apartment into a house on S. Hamilton Blvd. At the time it was a new development. I was convinced we had the most beautiful house in the world. Cork floors, open beam ceilings and huge windows facing the east. I know all that now. Then it was just beautiful.
Being a new development, nobody had grass, I had ventured into the front yard and was playing around when I looked up and saw another boy staring at me from the next yard. After an eternity of staring he said, "My name's Mike, you wanna be friends?" Thus began the friendship of 2 kids who were lucky to survive each other.
To say that Mike and I became good friends is a horrible understatement. We had a can phone set up between our bedrooms. It never worked but it was always there. When one of us wanted to talk to the other, he would pop the screen out of the window, climb out and go beat on the others window.
Keeping us apart was impossible. When one got sick, the parents would tell us "he's sick and can't play today." Time to plot. One of our favorite ploys was to grab a bunch of dirty clothes and do a Ferris Bueller. What's amazing is how rarely we got caught.
We built a little cart to ride down "church hill". Neither of us had any carpentry skills so this thing actually ended looking more like a Roman war sled with ropes and nails hanging out all over. We hauled it up to the top of the hill and rode it down. I got a spike driven through my foot and he in the hand. It was common for my mother to have to patch us back together. Blood flowed like pee on the rock under a cow. No tears. Rather, laughing and giggling combined with fear of being yelled at by our mothers. Our fathers, who also became best friends, adopted more of a "I can make another" attitude.
I think it was his dad that originated the phrase "Go play on the freeway." So we did. We went collecting bottles for their deposit value along the edge and then to the neighborhood store and trade them in for Superman comics. We stayed friends until I joined the army.
I made my escape at the tender age of 1 and was sent to California to live with friends of my mother. These lovely people accepted me into their lives and treated me as theirs. I remember the old man chopping 2 trees down and making an airplane for me to play on. That's about all I have for a while. Strange how the brain works. At any rate, This is where I became a Californian.
My mother moved us into a small apartment on Mt. View Rd. in Pomona. We lived here in some crazy poverty stricken bliss until I was 4 years old. Down the street lived a little old lady named Righty (spelling a wild guess). I would incessantly ride my tricycle down the sidewalk from our house to hers, go around an enormous concrete vase Righty had in her front yard and return home. I was liable to do this any time of day from sunrise to bedtime. More than once my mother would have to come looking for me because I would sneak out of the house to start my riding. Across the street we had a beautiful neighborhood park. Because it was across the street I couldn't go there without a grownup. To expedite acquiring an adult, I sat on the curb, staring forlornly into the park until either my mother or Righty took pity on me and let me cross the street.
The park was a marvelous place. A playground with a big, steel merry-go-round and swings. My favorite place was a little covered bridge with benches that crossed a tiny stream full of goldfish. I climbed up on the bench, kneeling on the seat and looking over the back, watching the fish. I could do this for hours. When not enraptured by the fish, the merry-go-round with my insane screams of "faster, faster" going to my mother.
During my fourth year my mom got married. We moved out of the apartment into a house on S. Hamilton Blvd. At the time it was a new development. I was convinced we had the most beautiful house in the world. Cork floors, open beam ceilings and huge windows facing the east. I know all that now. Then it was just beautiful.
Being a new development, nobody had grass, I had ventured into the front yard and was playing around when I looked up and saw another boy staring at me from the next yard. After an eternity of staring he said, "My name's Mike, you wanna be friends?" Thus began the friendship of 2 kids who were lucky to survive each other.
To say that Mike and I became good friends is a horrible understatement. We had a can phone set up between our bedrooms. It never worked but it was always there. When one of us wanted to talk to the other, he would pop the screen out of the window, climb out and go beat on the others window.
Keeping us apart was impossible. When one got sick, the parents would tell us "he's sick and can't play today." Time to plot. One of our favorite ploys was to grab a bunch of dirty clothes and do a Ferris Bueller. What's amazing is how rarely we got caught.
We built a little cart to ride down "church hill". Neither of us had any carpentry skills so this thing actually ended looking more like a Roman war sled with ropes and nails hanging out all over. We hauled it up to the top of the hill and rode it down. I got a spike driven through my foot and he in the hand. It was common for my mother to have to patch us back together. Blood flowed like pee on the rock under a cow. No tears. Rather, laughing and giggling combined with fear of being yelled at by our mothers. Our fathers, who also became best friends, adopted more of a "I can make another" attitude.
I think it was his dad that originated the phrase "Go play on the freeway." So we did. We went collecting bottles for their deposit value along the edge and then to the neighborhood store and trade them in for Superman comics. We stayed friends until I joined the army.
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