It felt like my personality changed in high school. I became more withdrawn, more nervous, more fearful, and more frustrated. High school was threatening. Roaming gangs controlled restrooms on some of the stairs. They blocked admittance forcing cross-legged boys to run to another stair for safe access. The west parking lot was a battlefield of black and white violence. No guns and likely no knives, but brass knuckles were a useful collectors item. The skirmishes were irregular but I did not want to test my luck running across the firing range. I found another exit. I slipped out along side the little used canyon like exit between the gym on the right and the practice field on the left. Snipers lay way among parked cars and bushes to the west.
I became aware I was not the same person with everyone. It was unplanned and spontaneous. I was already different at home than with my friends at Webster. I considered that normal even though I had no idea what normal was. But at Central I was involved with different cast of characters in completely different circles. My respond was unique to each group. I never wanted them to meet. It was as though my fragile house of cards world might come crashing down. There was no real reason to fear their meeting, but I did.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the wonder of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.”
Nothing describes those four years of my life better that Charles Dickens opening to A Tale of Two Cities. In retrospect my life was a ying-yang mash under which I might collapse at any moment. I survived with thanks to my friends. They dragged, they cajoled, they prodded, they pulled me along as man being dragged behind a horse. I was going to get to the other end and they were going to make sure I did. But they never knew how much I needed them. I doubt they ever knew how emotionally fragile I was. I didn’t know who I was or where I was going. I just wanted to survive.
This is so melodramatic it may make one gag. Yet it was emotionally true. I hid my feeling as much as possible. I tried to smile when the clouds rolled in. I loved to laugh and loved the silliness of life. I was in a tug of war with the spiritual forces of this world as though I had gone to Vietnam. I won and lost wondering how the war would end, or if it would end.
Some names will be changed. There will be no need to protect anyone, but I do not want to embarrass anyone. I may even have different memories of events and situations. I may even be wrong. I am looking back 50+ years. If some readers lived with me through this phase, even name changes will not hide identities. I will likely paint myself in darker light than you remember or those I love. I will write from my internal struggle. I hope you will laugh. I hope you will see a young man attempting to come to terms with who he is to become. These are the years of transformation and the modeling is of clay, sloppy, wet dripping yucky clay. It might get messy.
Central from 20th - Main front entrance
Center from Dodge - side entrance
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