I was a scared and confused kid in the tenth grade. I asked the kid behind me in Mrs. Ventrucci's homeroom a question and a booming voice far above the homeroom din shook me, "Turn around and shut up."
I did exactly what Mr. Lugviel, our Career Dayl counselor told us. I stared at Mr. Lugviel incredulously. He was burning me with laser-angry eyes, "Yeah, you! The stupid-looking kid in the glasses." A twitter of laughter arose and the giggles of the pretty girls stung as my face and ears got red-hot. I never heard a word Mr. Lugviel said during Fourth Period English that day, Carreer Day be damned.
I must have thought of at least fifty ways of brutally killing Mr. Lugviel since I was not the only kid talking before class began. Why pick on me? A hot steam iron applied to his face occurred to me.
Mrs. Pavlovich assured me of my intelligence the year before but I didn't feel intelligent. I took failing grades rather than get up in front of the class and give an oral book report. I was disappointed with sub-average work in algebra as a sophomore among freshmen. Mr. Kettula exiled me to the back corner of his World History class for the entire year because I whispered something to Dave across the aisle. I sat next to Tom Yunker, a senior in sixth period study hall. The desks were in pairs and Tom liked to talk. Whenever I responded (whispering) Mr. Hocking made me sit on the raised platform in front of the study hall. He never humiliated Tom.
At home I couldn't do anything right. Girls at school acted as if I were invisible. I was confused, scared, angry. My world was upside down and I increased my smoking of unfiltered Camels to a pace of three packs a week.
Algebra was the biggest disappointment. I got a C for the first marking period, a C-minus the second and a D for the third period at the end of the first semester.
"You better bring up those grades, mister," said Dad, as my grades slipped to a D in world History also, as did my English grade. Mom agreed. No mention that I was doing solid B work in biology. Then Mom jumped in.
"You won't get good grades hanging out at Khoury's and shooting pool and smoking cigarettes. Do the honor roll kids hang around there. No! They're at home, studying. They're not down in Khoury's hole (below street- level.),"
I was thoroughly shamed and more angry. I was also afraid that I was upsetting Dad and that could set off a fatal heart attack.
Everyone else was so happy at school, engaged in sports or extra-curricular activites. I tried that also- joined the ROTC drill team. After one practice session the PMS (Professor of Military Science ) disbanded the team because the team was too small.
Now I didn't feel a part of Ironwood High School, disconnected academically and socially. I was fifteen and a failure already. The friends of the last two years drifted away as David and Jon had girl friends and school activities. In the fall I spent much time in the caves (woods) smoking and brooding. In the cold months Khoury's was my home away from home with the click of pool balls and the cacophony of pinball machines.
Christmas recess descended upon L.L.Wright High School with an accompanying gloom. Final exams loomed the week after New Year's Day.
It was a Christmas gloom that was to become a lifelong personal tradition. I felt like a prisoner on death row.
John Hagstrom called me and asked if I would join him at the Christmas party sponsored by the choir, since he was a choir member and one of the guys I used to hang out with.. I thought that anything would be better than staying home and assembling my model of a '62 Chrysler Imperial.
As the day of the party approached apprehension arose. What would I say? There would be girls there, some of the prettiest in the school. I didn't want the disgrace of chickening out but I prayed that God would make me catch the flu before the party. I always caught the flu at some point in the school year. To have it now would be a blessing.
My prayer wasn't answered so I was stuck with attending a social event. That was something like getting in front of the English class and giving a book report. What was I thinking? I worried and brooded until Mom asked, "What the hell are you brooding about? You look like an old hound dog. Snap out of it!"
What I needed was liquid courage, some of Dad's whiskey that his boss gave him for Christmas. I checked it out but there was a little notch in the label coinciding with the whiskey level. Damn it! A little hooch before the party would perk me up and maybe I would even muster some conversation with those pretty girls. Wait a minute. Check the refrigerator. There it is, a quart of kosher wine that a fellow employee had given Dad. If I break the seal and only take a third of the wine Dad won't notice.
I needed a container for the wine but there was nothing available except an unused goldfish bowl in the storage room upstairs. I poured the wine into the bowl. Maybe I need more. Half the bottle should suffice. I hid the goldfish bowl, filled with wine and put it in an old empty Victrola cabinet and covered it with a book to arrest the fumes. There it would stay until needed.
The party was not formidable, filtered through a goldfish bowl of kosher wine. I talked to a girl and she just giggled. Tried another girl and she walked away. Then I saw Gail. I knew her, a sidekick with Jenny . Gail frowned and walked away. I followed her and from then on I was in a black-out.
I came to lying in the deep snow, shivering violently. I was in the caves and my (bare) hands and feet were freezing . I zipped up my short jacket. Somehow I found my way home. Mom hit the ceiling when I vomited and made me clean it up. I didn't admit to drunkenness but to the side-effect of Copenhagen snuff. Dad noticed the wine he received was somewhat depleted and he asked me if I took any. I confessed and was grounded for two weeks. Dad was also not happy that I didn't admit to being drunk when confronted by Mom.
When school resumed I had found fame. People had noticed me! Even a senior told me, "Chased Gail into the girl's bathroom at the choir party. Way to go, kid!"
Another kid said, "Lucky you didn't get kicked out of school. Mr. Quistorf was pissed at you when he kicked you out." It wasn't as much fun when others filled me in on my drunken antics.
I found a cadre of new friends with whom I would get drunk many times. Suddenly I went from a nobody to a bad-ass and I liked it. My friends and I would laugh at the scrapes we would eventually encounter.
The business of taking finals came and I had put forth much effort into studying for history and English, my weaknesses. Biology would be easy and algebra? I reckoned that you either know it or you don't. I did review the distance and rate problems, but nothing else. If I did a lousy job in the final exams Mom and Dad would probably kick me out. Maybe I could live with Sam Khoury and become a famous pool shark. At any rate my academic confidence was low, save for biology.
Classes resumed and the day of reckoning arrived with report cards distributed. Biology got me a B, English a C, World History a C-minus. I entered Mr. Mattson's algebra class with cold hands and a pounding heart.
Mr. Mattson had written the distribution of all the scores in all four algebra classes, the lowest being 74, which I thought was mine, to the highest score of 195 of a possible 200 points. He settled the class down and drew their attention to the scores. He used a yardstick for a pointer.
Mary asked, "Mr. Mattson, who got the 195?" A chorus of queries arose then ebbed.
"You'll never guess who got the 195," Mr. Mattson wore a smirk and he rested the tip of the yardstick on his shoulder. He sauntered back and forth, obviously amused.
"Ed Tafelski?"
"Nope."
"John Hedin?"
"Nope."
"Ken Talaska?"
"Nope."
Mr. Mattson was coming ever so slowly down the aisle where I sat.
" "Beet" Anderson?"
"I'm looking at the guy with the top score. I looked up to a joyous smile."
"Me?" I croaked.
"Yup!, you got the 195. Notice that the next highest score was 174."
If someone had dropped a pin it would sound like a hammer. The whole class was stunned, myself included.
"George has what it takes to do math. He'll be in Plane and Solid Geometry next year, right?"
I nodded, speechless.
It slowly filtered through Luther L. Wright High School that George was a smart guy. The next year I helped the principal's son (a future lawyer and judge) with chemistry, a future teacher with physics and even a few pretty girls with geometry . I went on to major in math, receiving a bachelor's degree in science for Northland College. Math became one of the things I love about life and I still go to websites and review concepts in linear algebra, calculus and many other topics.
Limitations, self imposed, keep us from successes.
Great piece, George! You write real good.
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