My discussion with my mom about my artwork was short lived. I had been ill and home from school a couple of years prior. While I was home she tossed a couple dozen “your body is changing” books on my bed and told me to read them.
“If you have any questions, just ask.”
I didn’t, so I didn’t. This was a case of being late to the races. I already knew everything that was in the books. I had held several discussions about such matters with my older cousin, Gene, and several of my friends. (You discuss a lot of real life issues on week-long boy scout camping trips.) I suspect that the drawings tucked in my English book looked similar to those contained in the “your body is changing” books that she provided.
Seventh grade was a growing year. I had a real girl friend for the first time. The real part was based upon the fact that we kissed several times. Her name was Pat C. and she lived on Dallas. She had attended a different elementary school so our paths didn’t cross until we met in junior high. We started talking on a regular basis at one of the Friday night REC dances early in the year. Talking led to dancing (slow of course) and then … kissing. (On the lips.) We kissed goodnight in the school parking lot just before we got picked up by our parents.
I also danced with Yvonne V. at least once each night. Yvonne was a fellow seventh grader but much more mature than Pat. Paul Anka’s “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” was our song. Pat and mine was “Only You” by The Platters. Yvonne was popular with ninth grade boys so we only flirted occasionally. (Ninth graders couldn’t attend junior high dances.)
I developed a new friendship with a guy named Matt K. during the fifth grade. Matt was originally from the Boston area. We were both on the safety patrol. Matt’s post was along side the adult crossing guard directly in front of the school. There was a traffic signal that he and the crossing guard operated before and after school. The light stopped all traffic on Eleven Mile Road so Matt’s post was very important.
I had three different posts during my safety patrol service to Lincoln Elementary. My first was on the corner of Edgeworth and University. Later, I was moved to the school play ground. During my sixth grade year I was assigned to the front of the school. I was stationed near the main entrance where all the action took place. All school visitors entered through this door, so I had to look sharp and be alert at all times.
The entire safety patrol depended on me, and my alertness, because one of my duties was to signal the end of each shift. I kept track of the time on the school clock in the kindergarten room adjacent to the front entrance. At the appointed minute I yelled out to Matt “AUUUFFFF DUUUTEEE! AUUUFFFF DUUUTEEE! AUUUFFFF DUUUTEEE! ” He passed the relay signal to everyone south of Eleven Mile, and I began the relay to the north. If it wasn’t for me, and the fact that they tore down the school several years ago, a bunch of 70 – 72 year old men might still be diligently standing their posts.
But I digress.
Once seventh grade began, Matt and I walked, or took the city bus, to school with several other friends. Matt met Amy F. in the same manner that I met Pat. Matt and Amy succumbed to the same slow dance, kiss good-night ritual that Pat and I established.
During the winter months Matt and I developed a new “on the way to school” routine. The Main Movie Theater was a few steps away from Clara Barton. We stood behind the theatre and threw snowballs at the huge street light that hung high above the parking lot. The number of times we hit the light determined the number of times that we planned to kiss Pat and Amy. Sometimes other snowball throwers joined in our quest and assigned their successful strikes to Matt or me.
Ultimately, we discovered that we were more accomplished snowball throwers than kissers. This was determined more by lack of opportunity than desire. Our house fire greatly altered my social life. While I continued to go to school in Royal Oak, living in Detroit limited the number of dances I attended. (And that’s where the action was.)
At the end of the seventh grade Matt moved back east and Pat became enamored with another suitor. Both events took place before Matt and I cashed in on all of the snowball kisses.
Amy and Yvonne graduated from Dondero with me in 1965.
The fire also altered my music career. I had been taking guitar lessons for several months prior to the fire. Mom and Dad purchased my guitar after we examined several others. In the end I played a Sunburst Gibson. My go to song was “Your Cheatin’ Heart” by Hank Williams..
A few of us set up a band and took turns holding band practice in each other’s basements. Gary O. and I played guitar. Bill played sax. Tom S. played the drums. There may have been a couple of others, but the fab four is all I remember. (A younger guy, Glenn Frey, wanted to join our group, but we didn’t want an immature sixth grader playing with us so he formed a group of his own.)
The fire brought an end to my guitar lessons and band practice. Gary O. was an accomplished player when we started, and we spent most practice sessions listening to him. Tom S. played in the school band all through high school. Gary and Tom may have gone on to great musical careers. Bill practiced about as hard as me, dropped the sax, and pursued other hobbies. (Mainly girls.)
Glenn graduated from Dondero in 1966. I lost track of him after he moved to California.
The fire, and my lack of practice, stopped my playing. I still own the guitar. I pick it up upon occasion, but I still can’t play. Maybe someday.