College life began rather unceremoniously for me in the spring of 1977. I'd just graduated from high school a month before, a half year early. How? I dunno; seems like I wasn't there most of the prior 5 months, but somehow I'd managed! I skipped a lot of classes for various reasons, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't do that given again the opportunity to do it over.
My mother had been doing well that summer, 1976, but in the early fall became quite ill and was taken into the hospital. I remember she looked very pale and sickly the night that we visited her. She was sitting on her hospital bed when we walked in. I got the sense that she didn't recognize me when we went there. Somehow inside me, I knew she was not going to get better. I ached all over. I told her about how I'd started college, and how much I enjoyed that. Honestly, I don't know how coherent she was at that point, I only know that I felt so sad looking at this shell that had been my mommy.
My college life officially started fall term 1977. We'd put my mother to rest a few months earlier, and I think the shock hadn't quite warn off as I started my morning routine of hitting campus around 7:30 am. My first class was an introductory writing class, 101, I believe. "Express yourself. Write what you feel. Write what you know." Sounds easy enough. The professor gave us various ideas or themes on which to write, so we were never at a loss for topics. One of my favorites was a little piece I wrote that compared a male ballet dancer (ballerino) to a cat, with its sleek, elegant movements. It was memorable.
That first year I took the regular slew of freshman classes: Writing 101-103, Biology 101, English Lit 101, Psychology 101, First Year French 101-103, Dalmatians 101, One hundred and one 101... You get the idea.
Now, during this time, our family had disbanded, due to the passing of my mother in early 1977 at the age of 44. I was 19 at the time, and well, simply not prepared to go out into the world alone. Oh, I had family: my two brothers, aunts and uncles, grandparents, but somehow that wasn't enough. There have been many times since then that I'd wanted to share some little bit of joy or happiness or sadness with her, only to be brought back to the reality that she was gone.
I moved in with my Grandparents, her mother and father, where I had the run of the house during my college years because they'd recently moved into a mobile home park in Tempe, Arizona and spent the majority of the year there for health reasons. I remember they'd come back for holidays (Thanksgiving and Christmas), and then go back to Tempe after the New Year started.
There was one crisis while they were away. The retaining wall on the north side of their property broke loose and fell into the neighbor's flower bed. Wow. I wasn't aware of it for a couple of days because I was busy with studying and couldn't see that part of the yard from anywhere in the house. The only time you could see it was if you were in the garage and the door was up. Sunday afternoon, the neighbor came knocking, er, pounding on the front door. I don't recall his name, so I'll go with Mr. Smith. "What'er you gonna do about this mess??"
"Excuse me? What mess, Mr. Smith?"
He did the "come'ere" finger motion with his index finger, and I followed him. When we got to where the fence and wall should be, I noticed a rather large segment missing... until Mr. Smith pointed it out to me.
"That mess," he said.
It was all I could do to keep from giggling manically, but I somehow managed.
"Well, I could call my Grandfather and see what he suggests."
Mr. Smith looked at me, rather perturbed. I don't know what he expected of me, being only 20 and rather clueless about such matters.
"You go do that, and I'll wait here."
Off I went to find their telephone number. When I called them, they said to call Charlotte, my Aunt, and she and Ralph (my Uncle) could take care of it. After all, no sense in them coming back to Portland just for a little matter like this, right?
I must have gotten distracted, because the next thing I knew, there was that darn pounding on the front door again.
"What's the matter with you? Did you die?"
"Excuse me?"
"You were supposed to come back and tell me what Charlie (my Grandfather) said to you about this mess."
"Oh yeah. Well, my Aunt and Uncle will be over later to look at it and get ahold of the insurance people."
"Later? What about now? What about my flower bed???"
"I'm just telling you what he said."
"Hrrumph!" And he stormed away.
That's a bit more dramatic than it actually went down, but not by much. Within a few days the insurance man had come by, given an estimate of the damages to Mr. Smith, who seemed satisfied, and within a couple of weeks, the wall (and Mr. Smith's flowers) were fully restored.
Another memory of the time was working one summer, 1978, at a Circle K store just off the Banfield Freeway,on Halsey Street near NE 82nd Avenue. I worked swing shift, about 3 pm to 11 pm. The only time the doors were actually locked were when I had to stock the coolers or use the restroom. Other than that, there was pretty steady traffic in and out of the store. That was also the time when I worked a week long graveyard shift at the Tigard location on SW Grant Street, just off of Pacific Highway. I didn't own a car, and so the manager of the NE Halsey location had to drive me there every night that week. I remember crawling back into bed every morning around 7 am and getting up about 3 pm or so to have a snack, then dinner, and shower to get ready for work. I think by the end of that week, not only was I exhausted from the graveyard shifts, but had started drinking coffee, too. Ha!
There were a couple of pretty cool courses I took while I was living there in NE Portland: Puppetry for Clinic & Classroom, and Ice Skating. By my Junior year at Portland State, I'd decided to go into Teaching as a career, and with Speech Communication as a minor, I thought it might be kind of fun to take a class called, "Puppetry For Clinic & Classroom". It was every bit as fun as it sounded. Each week we had to develop a lesson plan and some type of puppet to accompany it. I made a basic hand puppet from terry cloth, a dog rod-puppet (very similar in size to Kermit the Frog), and a marionette of the Conehead, "Beldar", from Saturday Night Live. Within a year of this, I would be creating many more puppets with the guidance from my future wife.
Now I mentioned taking an Ice Skating class as well. It was in this class that I made the acquaintance of Judy Fanning, a nice young lady with whom I became fast friends. I don't know if it was a twist of fate, or some sort of divine sign, but on our first date we'd planned to go to Meier & Frank (now Macy's) and play Pong, as that particular video game was all the rage at the time. Here's where fate stepped in: It was during our course final exam. Part of the final was to skate from one side of the rink to the other, while performing various skating moves. One such move was to skate backwards, a challenge for even the most seasoned skaters. I made it across fine, although, really, really slow!
Judy, on the other hand, hmm, no such luck. She started off fine, and then about halfway across the ice, I think she hit a nick in the ice or got distracted or something because the next thing we knew, she was flat on her back, and had shattered all the bones in her right wrist. Yikes! We'd only known each other for a few weeks, I think, but seemed comfortable enough with one another that she asked me if I could drive her to the hospital. (Some first date, eh?) We went directly to the Emergency entrance, she filled out the paperwork as best she could and then I went off to the waiting room.
The next thing I know, she's wheeling by on a gurney, giggling quietly to herself, waving at me, and just generally looking out of it. She told me a could of days later that the nice doctors had given her morphine to dull the pain and between that and the Mickey Mouse heads and balloons painted on the ceiling, she was feeling no pain whatsoever.
At some point in 1979, I moved out of my Grandparent's house and into an apartment in Beaverton, Oregon. I don't recall who my roommate was, but it put me closer to my friend, Judy.
Now, I don't recall if I was working at the time, but Judy and I started getting serious in the spring of 1979, and at one point, I believe the conversation went something like this:
"What would you say if I asked you to marry me?" She paused, and her whole face lit up. It was truly magical.
"Well, I'd probably say, 'Yes'." And the rest, as the saying goes, is history.
-----------------------
We got married on Flag Day, June 14, 1980, just under a month after the massive eruption of Mt. St. Helens. Judy's wedding dress had a hint of ash on it from that eruption.
That first year I took the regular slew of freshman classes: Writing 101-103, Biology 101, English Lit 101, Psychology 101, First Year French 101-103, Dalmatians 101, One hundred and one 101... You get the idea.
Now, during this time, our family had disbanded, due to the passing of my mother in early 1977 at the age of 44. I was 19 at the time, and well, simply not prepared to go out into the world alone. Oh, I had family: my two brothers, aunts and uncles, grandparents, but somehow that wasn't enough. There have been many times since then that I'd wanted to share some little bit of joy or happiness or sadness with her, only to be brought back to the reality that she was gone.
I moved in with my Grandparents, her mother and father, where I had the run of the house during my college years because they'd recently moved into a mobile home park in Tempe, Arizona and spent the majority of the year there for health reasons. I remember they'd come back for holidays (Thanksgiving and Christmas), and then go back to Tempe after the New Year started.
There was one crisis while they were away. The retaining wall on the north side of their property broke loose and fell into the neighbor's flower bed. Wow. I wasn't aware of it for a couple of days because I was busy with studying and couldn't see that part of the yard from anywhere in the house. The only time you could see it was if you were in the garage and the door was up. Sunday afternoon, the neighbor came knocking, er, pounding on the front door. I don't recall his name, so I'll go with Mr. Smith. "What'er you gonna do about this mess??"
"Excuse me? What mess, Mr. Smith?"
He did the "come'ere" finger motion with his index finger, and I followed him. When we got to where the fence and wall should be, I noticed a rather large segment missing... until Mr. Smith pointed it out to me.
"That mess," he said.
It was all I could do to keep from giggling manically, but I somehow managed.
"Well, I could call my Grandfather and see what he suggests."
Mr. Smith looked at me, rather perturbed. I don't know what he expected of me, being only 20 and rather clueless about such matters.
"You go do that, and I'll wait here."
Off I went to find their telephone number. When I called them, they said to call Charlotte, my Aunt, and she and Ralph (my Uncle) could take care of it. After all, no sense in them coming back to Portland just for a little matter like this, right?
I must have gotten distracted, because the next thing I knew, there was that darn pounding on the front door again.
"What's the matter with you? Did you die?"
"Excuse me?"
"You were supposed to come back and tell me what Charlie (my Grandfather) said to you about this mess."
"Oh yeah. Well, my Aunt and Uncle will be over later to look at it and get ahold of the insurance people."
"Later? What about now? What about my flower bed???"
"I'm just telling you what he said."
"Hrrumph!" And he stormed away.
That's a bit more dramatic than it actually went down, but not by much. Within a few days the insurance man had come by, given an estimate of the damages to Mr. Smith, who seemed satisfied, and within a couple of weeks, the wall (and Mr. Smith's flowers) were fully restored.
Another memory of the time was working one summer, 1978, at a Circle K store just off the Banfield Freeway,on Halsey Street near NE 82nd Avenue. I worked swing shift, about 3 pm to 11 pm. The only time the doors were actually locked were when I had to stock the coolers or use the restroom. Other than that, there was pretty steady traffic in and out of the store. That was also the time when I worked a week long graveyard shift at the Tigard location on SW Grant Street, just off of Pacific Highway. I didn't own a car, and so the manager of the NE Halsey location had to drive me there every night that week. I remember crawling back into bed every morning around 7 am and getting up about 3 pm or so to have a snack, then dinner, and shower to get ready for work. I think by the end of that week, not only was I exhausted from the graveyard shifts, but had started drinking coffee, too. Ha!
There were a couple of pretty cool courses I took while I was living there in NE Portland: Puppetry for Clinic & Classroom, and Ice Skating. By my Junior year at Portland State, I'd decided to go into Teaching as a career, and with Speech Communication as a minor, I thought it might be kind of fun to take a class called, "Puppetry For Clinic & Classroom". It was every bit as fun as it sounded. Each week we had to develop a lesson plan and some type of puppet to accompany it. I made a basic hand puppet from terry cloth, a dog rod-puppet (very similar in size to Kermit the Frog), and a marionette of the Conehead, "Beldar", from Saturday Night Live. Within a year of this, I would be creating many more puppets with the guidance from my future wife.
 |
| Dorg, circa 1978 |
Judy, on the other hand, hmm, no such luck. She started off fine, and then about halfway across the ice, I think she hit a nick in the ice or got distracted or something because the next thing we knew, she was flat on her back, and had shattered all the bones in her right wrist. Yikes! We'd only known each other for a few weeks, I think, but seemed comfortable enough with one another that she asked me if I could drive her to the hospital. (Some first date, eh?) We went directly to the Emergency entrance, she filled out the paperwork as best she could and then I went off to the waiting room.
The next thing I know, she's wheeling by on a gurney, giggling quietly to herself, waving at me, and just generally looking out of it. She told me a could of days later that the nice doctors had given her morphine to dull the pain and between that and the Mickey Mouse heads and balloons painted on the ceiling, she was feeling no pain whatsoever.
At some point in 1979, I moved out of my Grandparent's house and into an apartment in Beaverton, Oregon. I don't recall who my roommate was, but it put me closer to my friend, Judy.
Now, I don't recall if I was working at the time, but Judy and I started getting serious in the spring of 1979, and at one point, I believe the conversation went something like this:
"What would you say if I asked you to marry me?" She paused, and her whole face lit up. It was truly magical.
"Well, I'd probably say, 'Yes'." And the rest, as the saying goes, is history.
-----------------------
We got married on Flag Day, June 14, 1980, just under a month after the massive eruption of Mt. St. Helens. Judy's wedding dress had a hint of ash on it from that eruption.
