The in-between Times 1970 – 1972

The in-between times

Somewhere along in here I ended up with my motorcycle and the very first night I had to drive to show it off to Dennis. It was not registered or insured yet but I did not care. Well all went well till I was racing home trying to beat my father home when the light went out for a few seconds and when it came on I was at end of road with a big patch of sand in front of me. This bike had the foot brake on the left so when I pushed down on right nothing happened so with no choice I hit the front brake and skidded across the intersection into a big rock. Oddly enough I flew between two trees and no harm to body. From wheel and forks destroyed. I managed to get it home and had to work awhile to fix it. Not sure if I learned anything from this.

Latter on after a day of water skiing drinking and smoking pot Dennis and I were headed home I think and bike was not running right so I stopped at the dealer to ask for advice. They told me to set the points so I did this with a match book cover and headed out. Dennis and I were pretty hammered and I did not realize this. So I headed up Southbridge Street and got up to about 70 MPH I looked up ahead and the light changed from a straight through to a green arrow to the right, a car pulled out until he saw us then he stopped. There were two lanes of stopped traffic on left side of road; I could not stop in time so I decided if I was going to hit this car I should do it as fast as possible, I said I was hammered, I stood up and waved my hand at driver and yelled get out of the way then I hit the gas, we hit the front fender of the car at about 70 MPH I flew upside down and Dennis flew over me looking down at me and I still remember him yelling at me in midair “you fucking asshole”. This bike did not ever run again but surprisingly neither one of us was hurt. All the drunks from the bar came out and tried to keep us down but all I wanted to do was leave before the cops came. I only had a permit and you cannot ride two people on a permit.

Sometime between quitting high school and going in the navy I managed to fit a lot of living in, it was only one year but what a year. I managed to hitchhike to Florida, drive a borrowed without permission car to New Mexico on the way to California, and get arrested in Ohio and New Mexico all in one year.

My father told me if I was not in school I would work or not live at home. So naturally I left home. I had been trying to leave home since I was 10 or so, so it seemed like a logical thing to do. I packed a bag and headed out for Florida. I got as far as New York when it started snowing a blizzard. When I left Massachusetts it was about 70 degrees but it changed rapidly late in the day. After about 9 pm when the snow basically became a white out I decided to roll out my waterproof sleeping bad in the new snow bank and sleep since there were no cars coming anyway. Well after about an hour I woke up frozen and wet. The sleeping bag was not water proof. I did the only thing I could I moved to the freshly plowed road surface and hoped I did not get run over. About 5am a guy stopped in a VW bug and gave me a ride to New Jersey. I am glad it was a bug as they have little heat and I could not put my boots on as they were swollen to twice normal. I thawed out by the time I got to Delaware and was able to put boots on.

In Delaware I got a ride from a fellow who was returning from leave to a coast guard base in cape Hatteras, So went that far with him. We got high together at the base; He kept a pound stashed behind a radar screen. I pushed on and got a ride from a van full of kids going on a field trip to Florida. We camped out along the way and got high. The kids and I got along great, but I think the teacher escort would have preferred I was not there. Well we got to Daytona and parted ways. I ended up on the beach and ran into a guy named Jon Simms from upstate New York who had a 57 nomad wagon. He was planning on driving back in a few days and asked me if I would share the driving. I did not want to head back north yet but slept in the nomad for a couple of days and decided it was a good idea since I had not found any work or other way to stay alive. So off we headed to Glens Falls New York. We got back to Jon’s house and it was way too cold to be outside so Jon offered me floor space till it got warmer. Jon shared this apartment with a few friends and his parents lived downstairs. They grew and sold pot as well as stole bread from grand union on Sunday morning, no one worked. Once a week this slow girl would come by and have sex with all people in house. Everyone did not tell her that they knew about the other. She was dumb enough to believe it. I never did anything with her. It was not for lack of desire, more from shame. I felt I needed truth and real feelings. So after a month I headed home.

There was a time when I really felt I had to get away and I guess this must have been before I was 16 because I did not have a driver’s license. I was hanging out with Mike and Tommie and I came up with the idea of going to California. They said how can we do that I said we could drive, they said we don’t have a car; I said there is an extra car at my house. So we walked to my house and got my father’s 1967 Pontiac Catalina convertible and a 5 gallon can and a piece of garden hose. We got as far as Tucumcari New Mexico and we were tired so we pulled off into the desert to rest. I decided to play a little so I did some circles in the sand. This turned out to be a little more than the car wanted and I bent a push rod. We had been driving at about 90 to 100 MPH all the way here, we had avoided all the tolls and police somehow, looking back how could it be explained but divine intervention. So we drove down the road till we found a junk yard and not having any money we worked out a deal with owner to use his tools and only pay for push rod. We had to find a compatible engine and remove a push rod then put it in ours. We were just finishing when a state trooper showed up and Asked for license and registration. Well Mike had a license and we had registration so we figured all was ok. We told him my family was moving to California and my parents let us drive this car. Little did we know my father had reported car stolen. He did not know we had taken it.

Off to jail we went, a very strange jail. Two story building with maybe twenty cells on each floor, all empty. Now we were scared because we had seen movies about what happened to long hairs down south. They put us in different cells as far apart as possible. We had to yell to communicate. We stayed there for a few days, they would not talk to us or give us phone calls, only once a day they gave us bread and beans, the cells were hot in day and cold at night, No exercise no anything. Then one day they took us out and brought us to airport in Texas and sent us home, separately not together. I think they were trying to punish us by fear. No conversation on the trip to the airport either. I still have strange feelings when I go through Tucumcari. I must mention that when I got home not a word was said, it never happened.

Sometime later, during the time when I was pretty much living at the F******* house, I was sleeping downstairs in basement as usual. I don’t remember if we had been drinking or drugging that night but we probably had it was standard operating procedure. I woke up in middle of night with my pants open and an erection. There was a head between my legs it had long red hair; this meant it could only be one of two people Patty or Patrick, I believed it was Patty at this point. There was only moon light coming through the small casement window. So I could not really see anything. I pretended to be asleep and enjoyed the experience. I was a bit scared. This was first time I had had oral sex so all in all a little strange. When it was over I was still pretending to be asleep. The person stood up and moved away, at this point I could see the body, it was defiantly not Patty. Nothing was ever said about this. And it was not repeated till years later when Patrick came to visit me at my house when I was going to East Coast Aero Tech. oddly it did not change our relationship. We were close friends before and remained so after. This did change me, as far as I had to question myself as to how I could enjoy this when I had always believed myself so anti-gay. Hell I remember one time Den, Pat and Me waking along the road talking about how fucked up faggots were. I did try to talk to Dennis sometime after about this and he rejected the topic. He was not ready to talk about it.

Then there was the time when Den, Pat, Larry, and I were at my house and my father had been drinking as usual, he started talking shit and it embarrassed me as usual, I had had enough and I just walked over to the gun closet and picked up a rifle and pointed it at my father’s head. I told him I was going to end his shit and save the world. I did not care about going to jail, it only seemed important that he not live to hurt more people. I expected him to be worried or scared but he was not. It was like he wanted it. Then he said go ahead it will end it all for me but you will suffer for the rest of your life. After thinking about it I had to put it down and walk away. This decision to not follow through would haunt me the rest of my life. It changed how I saw me, how I would deal with others, what my ethics would be. Most people would say I made the right decision and maybe they would be right but for me it was wrong and perhaps me spending the rest of my life in prison would have saved others pain.  Again nothing was ever said.

In 1969 or 70 my sister Jody had a shotgun wedding to Bob Pierce and shortly after had her first child Jennifer. She lived in the projects at Great Brook Valley. I lived with her and spent the first 6 months of Jens live caring for her. Jody had other things to do most days. They Jody gave up Jennifer for adoption and she has not been seen since. I miss her very much; I became very attached to her. I have always wondered if Bob pierce was her father. Then in 1971 Jody had her son Eric Pierce whose father was Richard Niroda. At this point the four of us lived on Wachusett Street in Worcester. Now there is something strange about Wachusett st I seem to have been pulled back here many times in my life. One day Bob started hitting my sister and I confronted him and my sister told me to mind my own business. This was the beginning of the end of my trust in my sister.  I left and did not see her for a long time.

Somewhere during this period my sister showed up with Richard at our house and my father sent them packing with a shotgun. It seems that they had stolen a rifle that had hung over the mantel in the living room; this was no ordinary rifle as it was a flintlock that my ancestors had used in the revolutionary war. This theme would play out more years later, my sister destroying family history. You see our house was full of many generations of antiques, Passed down from one generation to the next. Most of which we were not allowed to touch. Odd when you look back on it, my father paid 500 dollars to have a couch and two antique chairs upholstered in red and blue velvet, a sizable amount of money in those days. And they were never covered to protect them but we were never allowed to use them, so time destroyed them and they were never used. this is a recurring theme in my life, I spend time and effort and money, sometimes, developing a talent or career only to drop it after I perfect it and start something new.

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