Beginning of the Journey - Part 1
I was the third born of six children born in Stamford, CT. Stamford was a medium sized town of about 100,000 people which seemed pretty average to me. The city has since become much more upscale and expensive, but while growing up it seemed pretty boring to me and had not much going on in it as far as I was concerned. It seemed like all the exciting things were in New York or somewhere else. Nothing much happened in Stamford, CT.
My parents were pretty normal I guess. Looking back, I think they did their best to raise all of us right. They had a lot of arguments, and my dad had a pretty hot temper, but they seemed pretty good parents to me. That was until my dad died when I was 13 and left my mom with 4 kids to raise alone. That was the hardest thing I ever faced, losing my dad like that and I am sure it was harder for my mom. Just one night, he felt pain, went to the hospital and never came back home.
I remember not being able to show remorse at his funeral. I was afraid to see my friends. I didn’t know how to act and I just shoved the pain deep down inside. It just hurt too much. Losing my dad threw me into a tailspin and coupled with the fact that now I was attending Jr. High School and meeting older kids whom influenced me in a bad way. The future didn’t look very bright. I was not stupid, and I was told my score on the IQ test was pretty high.
I started off Junior High in some of the highest classes, but when my dad died my whole world was turned upside down. My older brother was in Vietnam and I really had no one to keep me in line, as I wouldn’t listen to my mother. This was the real start of my rebellion and my rejection of the world, as I knew it.
I only attended high school, Rippowam High, for a short time. I had flunked 9th grade after crashing my motorcycle and ending up in the hospital for 69 days. I missed so much school I just couldn’t catch up so they allowed me to go on to High School, but I had to take some 9th grade classes also to try to catch up. It was no use. I was now fully into smoking pot and doing LSD and speed so I just ended up quitting school and just dropping out of society. Most of my friends continued on in school and would make fun of me saying I would be a bum with no job, etc.
I didn’t end up graduating High School until 1983, by taking the GED test. I never studied for it had never really taken any High School classes past 9th grade and yet I still passed it easily. I think I was in the top 5% in the state or something like that. Shows you how hard those tests were.
I soon got very into the big three components of rebellion; Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll. I call these the big three because they were the top three favorite forms of rebellion of teen’s back then and probably still are today. I was very angry inside that my dad had died and I hated authority of any kind. I just wanted to rebel against society in general and do whatever I pleased. I started hanging out with some guys that really pulled me down. One of these guys was particularly bad. He was not just bad, he was evil. He became the supplier of drugs for our group and we all went gradually downhill from there. We ended up going to many rock concerts and parties and getting totally blitzed week after week. Some died. Some are still messing with drugs today 35 years later!
I decided when I was 17 that I had to get away from Stamford and get a fresh start. I decided to leave home and went to San Francisco, CA. I did not know much about the place, but I was intrigued by the glowing reports of nice weather, beautiful girls, nice beaches, and a “free” lifestyle. I was a little shocked to find out was San Francisco was really like, but it was new and exciting for awhile and I was “free” to do as I wanted. I used to take the Greyhound bus daily to the Horse Races to try and make a living gambling. It didn’t work very well.
Another amazingly dumb decision I made was to take $50.00 and to get myself a tattoo of a Grim Reaper on my arm. I was really into death metal music and I was convinced I would not live to reach 30 years of age. I had a preoccupation with death and just thought it would be coming soon. I was scared of it though.
Getting a tattoo seemed like a good idea at the time. I guess it always does to people. Later on though when I ran out of money I found out how bad a decision it was as someone on the street told me I could make some money selling my plasma at the Blood Bank. I hurried on over there as I was starving and I filled out the paperwork, waited in line and got all the way up to the booth where they draw your blood and when I rolled up my sleeve for them to draw blood the lady saw my fresh tattoo and asked, “How long ago did you get that tattoo?” “A few months ago” I answered. “Sorry, but you have to wait 6 months after getting a tattoo to sell plasma.” I was crushed!
I didn’t know that San Francisco was the runaway capital of the country and that there were many young kids with backpacks who arrived daily from all over the US to seek a new life. Because of that fact, there were also many perverts and molesters who came from far and wide to feast on the young prey. This is what made it scary. When you run out of money, and you’re a kid, with no one to turn to you either have to work, steal or sell your body to survive. Getting work is not easy especially if you don’t have an apartment with a phone and a track history etc. Stealing is not too appealing because of the consequences of what happens to you when you get caught and you have no one to bail you out. Selling your body sure isn’t to appealing either for obvious reasons but it is the one many young kids choose because it is in high demand. It is a fast way to get money and they just learn to block out the feelings and the memories of what happens so they can survive.
I got a wonderful job collecting money for a supposed Polish Community Center that was to be built. I went door to door asking for donations. This went over real big. I used to use a paperclip to fish out a few bills so I could eat as I had gone hungry many days and I didn’t like that. I remember walking by these big, juicy smoked hams and roast beefs hanging in the window of this gourmet meat shop close by my motel and just drooling and feeling severe hunger pains for the first time in my life. I was free now, but I soon learned there is a price to pay for freedom.
I learned to spot the bad guys, but I remember one person who I thought looked pretty safe, who almost got me. He came around downtown looking for young, runaway boys and he wore a black reverend suit with a white collar. He seemed pretty nice and gave me his card and told me to call if I needed help. I almost did. He was didn’t give me the high-pressure routine and I was fooled by his kind voice and pleasant smile. Another man came up to me and warned me that he saw many boys go with that man but they never returned and that I should be very careful. That was enough for me as I was trying to be careful, as I knew this was a dangerous place to be in.
I lived in the worst part of town known as the “Tenderloin”. I was skinny and still could run pretty fast so I let some of the fat perverts take me to dinner thinking they were going to have sex with me after we had eaten. I would eat my dinner real fast and excuse myself to the rest room and then I was out the door and down the street before they knew what had happened to me. They were mostly big and fat so I knew they couldn’t catch me but I had to be careful not to run into the same guy again. It was a way to survive at least without risking going to jail for stealing. I was really afraid of ending up in jail, alone in San Francisco. (end of Part 1)