Off the seat of a bicycle
Chapter 18-19)       I come into police focus again
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The years following high school were spent sputtering in and out of college.

I had trouble in the dorm and my roommate moved out saying he was afraid of me. It was the same reason my father threw me down the steps I suppose.

You know, not until I started writing this book and cataloging the events from my life have I gotten to see that certain themes have re-played over and over in my life.

Why was this guy afraid of me? Why were my teachers afraid of me?
Was it because of my rage? Frankly I don’t know, because I was never aware of my rage prior to writing this book. I can’t tell you what those people saw.
I wasn’t actually dangerous, just loud and needed massive alone-time and quiet to settle my spirit.

I do know my roommate intentionally walked in on my girlfriend and me, and I thought he just wanted to see her naked. On the other hand maybe I was hogging the room.

I remember also that he was a popular guy and was saying stories about me to everyone. I was taught to keep my mouth shut, and here he was spreading my personal information, but he was only privy to my information since he lived with me. Maybe I was shoving that fool out the door, and did it by using my intimidating personality. I don’t remember.

For some unknown reason, while living in the dorm, I stole a statue and kept it for a couple days before returning it to the building lobby where it came from. My roommate narked me out. The school sent me to one of their psychologist where I must have performed adequately. Afterwards the school put me on probation but I was just so fucking quasi-social.

I finally gave up the school-charade after a year and a half. I quit and was living with my mom.

My father had money and success and he supported me fully or partially for the next ten years. I think my mom encouraged me to fail in some respects because it was how she thought of herself. I think too she wanted to punish my father.

I didn’t understand the rancor of their relationship and how that footballed me across the field. I remember thinking that I was waiting during my entire childhood for my parents to give me permission to do something, yet I didn’t want a suit-and-tie job. It’s like I wanted to be a geologist but nobody said I could be that, so I just waited. They discouraged and distained my artwork. I loved to draw, it was truly in my soul. But their reaction caused me to throw away all my work.

I was 20-21 years old, but didn’t have a regular job when I lived at mom’s. Of course everything was cheap by today’s standards. I didn’t own a car for another 6 years, and was happy riding a bike and walking everywhere. I loved being outdoors and these were the formative years for my bicycling even though I had ridden all my life.

After quitting school, my father heard about it and drove into town for a solid chit-chat, which got nowhere. I was flattered that he came just for me because I hadn’t seen him since he left  … but what influence did he think he had?
Today ... I wish I'd said how happy I was to see he was okay, but he was just angry.

We had to sit in his car. He couldn’t go into Mom’s house, and my hang-outs were wrong. He had only one hour to get it done and get back to work, but I was destroyed by my upbringing wasn’t I? Wasn’t that his fault?

Again, my course was already cast; I was too unstable to decide about life now. I had been taking drugs, and spent most of my time on the streets around campus. My mother accused me of spending all my time ‘squiring’ the girls about town. I didn’t think that was true because I had a steady girlfriend, but I was ‘trying to find myself’ and didn’t have a clue.

The meeting with my father disjointed everything and I moved out of Mom’s house and stayed in empty classrooms and anywhere I could get in. It was winter and cold. I was homeless and dreamed of finding success but didn’t know which direction to go … at least I wasn’t wandering off in the woods, my brain wasn’t that derelict. I was still trying … but what was I waiting for?

A friend told me about an apartment building that had 5 free rooms in the basement if the person would sweep and mop the halls and burn the trash. The apartment manager was just evicting another dead-beat so he had a spot open and offered me a room. I was settled at last.

The room was 20 feet long and 6 foot wide and it felt like paradise. Everything became easier with Mom out of my hair and I felt better without her crushing anxiety. I could breathe.

I was beginning to get small jobs around campus. I bubbled-in form-B’s for a researcher, helped a guy move into his new house, painted another guy’s house. Loaded and drove a u-haul to Cleveland for a guy who was moving there with his wife, and hitchhiked back. He was worried for me, but I said no, and got off at the highway ramp and put up my thumb. I hitchhiked several places before.
I worked a day here or there, and sometimes worked around the apartments to subsidize my father’s allowance. I learned to paint at those apartments for $2 an hour … and it was a trepid start to what eventually became a livelihood.

It was a good time for me and I fit into campus life since I was the same age as the students and had a nice girlfriend, Susan W. She was always nice to me and was in a school … but I wasn’t taking classes … all I did was ride a bike and walk around campus most of the day.
 
Somehow I came into police focus again.

It had been three years since the last investigation but I wasn’t stealing or breaking any law other than occasional drug use. But that’s a lie I told myself. I was sport for criminal mischief at all times.

Drugs weren’t an everyday thing for me … oh hell yes they were. I smoked dope every day and I was a large person with dirty clothes, and stuck out because I talked loud. In retrospect, I probably seemed threatening to those who didn’t know me. I was a hippie, and looked street. I had the requisite long hair and was in the crowd the day they tried to take the administration building. I successfully dodged the draft and signed the ‘subversive’ sheet.

Yes I took the inductee bus to Indianapolis and signed the ‘subversive American’ sheet. I dodged the draft.
Before I left, I asked my girlfriend if she would wait. She shook her head. I liked her honesty. I’d heard stories of girls that promised to wait but had to send a dear John letter to the guy while he was overseas. Anyway, it gave me motivation to get rejected.

The inductee center kept me a few hours after the bus left. They said I'd have to recant my subversive sheet. No way. I saw the leverage it gave me. They said they'd have to do a full investigation of my family and friends. I just shrugged. Lol, good luck finding a friend. And my mom would never narc me out. I could depend on that 100%.
Late in the day, I was supposed to go meet with the Major who would decide how many days they would detain me. I sat in the outer office for a while, looking at him through the glass, and then just got up and left. I was on my way out the door to the street when they stopped me.
They took me back to first guy I talked to, who gave me a bus ticket and said I was turned down for service. 4F, I was unfit. Spot on, they got that right.

I had to walk a while to get to the greyhound station. No military bus for me … but in reality, I couldn’t go into the military any more than I could take the athletic locker with the school basketball team. If I couldn’t sit next to members of my own basketball team, how could I join the military?

But the police didn’t come because I dodged the draft.
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Chapter 19 the drug set-up

The police came because I was seen in drug circles. I wasn’t a factor in drug deals beyond a pill here or there, but I influenced others to take drugs, and saw it as a good thing. I openly blabbed about drug experiences … good lord, the one time I should be tight lipped about something, I run my mouth to everyone.

We used to gather at the pizza parlor, but not for drug deals. It was just somewhere to be. It was a bustling time and I felt camaraderie, and felt warm and accepted by the people, even though I don’t remember anyone. But these were wonderful times because I belonged. We were all the same age and energy, and the ideas were fresh and alive like we invented everything anew. But it was an illusion since these people were in school and would soon be gone and make lives while I would continue to stumble.

I lived the illusion, and it felt great. We gathered one night with everybody excitedly talking about nothing. It was just people. I wasn’t selling or carrying drugs. There was no talk of drugs, there was no purpose to the conversation. It felt fresh and there was no harsh battery overlooking the conversation ready to fire salvo against any misspoken word or slovenly drip on your chin. My father wasn’t there. I was with my peers and successful and calm, and was the person I wanted to become.

Then the door opened and in walked Mike. He didn’t fit. I knew him from high school where we got into a fight of sorts. He hung out with the rougher guys back then and I got sideways over a pissing right to something and they tried several times to get it off in a brawl. But I wouldn’t fight. I knew if you hit one, then the others would come for their turn. It was stupid and I should’ve made friends with them, or smashed the shit out of him, but I didn’t want their lives, and maybe that was the problem.

Mike and Jeff caught me once on a back street. They screeched their car to a halt and started rousting me. Mike quickly backed away, saying he wouldn’t fight anyone who didn’t fight back, but that wasn’t why. He backed away because I looked down the steep slope next to us, and he knew I was going to take him down that hill, and he didn’t want to go. That’s why he backed off. Jeff said he didn’t care, and rushed in putting a fist right at my mouth, but I moved my head back and all he got was air. Quick as that, the non-fight was over; I was dutifully intimidated, and those guys never bothered me again … or so I thought.
    
Someone told me Mike was playing in a Stones-style band in Indianapolis, but here he was tonight. He walked up and asked to ‘borrow’ $5 so I gave him the money, and he left. My daddy kept my $50 monthly allowance going despite our differences. I lied to my father and told him I was taking classes.

Ten minutes later Mike came back and showed me a piece of aluminum foil. The other people at the table must have been witnesses. It was folded into a tiny rectangle and he said ‘it’s morphine.’ He asked if I’d take it in exchange for the five dollars but I wasn’t interested, and said, ‘keep the money.’

Mike left but came back two minutes later and handed back the five dollar bill. In a brief glimpse, I saw a human being standing there when he smiled at me. Mike was doing ok, but the whole thing was curious until Larry the narc walked past a few minutes later and we exchanged looks. So that’s what it was … a drug set-up … good thing they didn’t offer up hash, because I would’ve taken that.

Larry the narc probably didn’t realize that I knew exactly who he was. See, I’d seen him at the SDS rally. I saw him again when he was searching somebody’s dorm room with several men looking for drugs. Somebody pointed him out that day and I would see him a number of times again. I never displayed emotion around him .... just observed.

Chapter 20) Bones and Dan the informer
Chapter 21) A fledgling business is born
Index of chapters