Early Teen Years

From Ridgewood Elementary School, Tim and I moved up to the Big Leagues, making new friends, and of course, getting ourselves into even bigger and better scrapes! 

In 7th grade, I really came out of my shell, as it were.  I think most of that was not spending as much time in Tim's shadow.  I remember making lots of new friends in my Homeroom (Block) Class.  It was a combination (2 periods) of Social Studies/Language Arts.  Mr. Nelson was our Block teacher.  He was really nice, and obviously had worked with incoming 7th graders for several years... very calm, patient, and understood about making the transition from Grade School to Junior High.

This is the view from the north side of the school, looking south.  You can see the three "wings" in the center of the picture; each wing was a different grade level: 7th, 8th, and 9th grades.  The large portion of the building at the bottom of the school is the cafetorium, cafeteria/auditorium.  I didn't make up that word, just using it.

I was pretty goofy in 7th grade, doing weird stuff even I had never seen before.  One of those involved running into Block class each day, jumping onto the class president's desk, and shouting, "Hello, Mr. President!"  I have no idea why I did that, but it made me popular.  Oh sure, I got lots of stares from others, but I was popular!  Bill Snook, I think was his name.   Not sure how he felt about me doing that, or what Mr. Nelson thought.


So, the years went by, uneventful, hanging out with friends after school, bike riding on the weekends, sleep-overs, homework... I never did discover girls in junior high, though.  Not sure why.  I remember going to one of the junior high dances, and the theme was to Michael Jackson's "Rockin' Robin."   


I think mostly that junior high was an awkward time for me, trying desperately to fit in, wanting to be part of the "Popular Crowd", "The IN Group", and so on.  Never happened.


I remember the summer of 1973 being a particularly hard time for me.  My older brother had just graduated from high school, and had lots of horror stories to tell me, but he also shared to funny ones about the mischief and crazy antics he'd gotten into.  Junior high did not prepare me for what was to come at the end of summer.

Childhood

We had a fairly "normal" childhood:  played with friends in the neighborhood, family gatherings, supper at 6:00 pm, cold cereal for breakfast, waffles on the weekend, and so on.  

Grade school was rather uneventful, other than breaking my right leg in 1st grade and spending the year in a half-body plaster cast.  I hated that thing, but that's what was available back then.  I don't recall how long, but I was in traction in the hospital for at least a month with a steel rod piercing my leg diagonally just below my knee cap.  I had lots of visitors, too.  That was fun... but, I was 6 and got bored very quickly.  I had a few stuffed animals and a View Master my great aunt, Louise, had given me.  She was like a second grandma to me in many ways.

(This is an aerial view of the front of the building, hidden by the shrubbery.)

I actually started here at Ridgewood Elementary in 2nd grade.  I don't recall any difficulties walking, although I'm sure there was some recovery period.  It was at Ridgewood that I met a longtime friend, Tim.  We became fast friends, hanging out and eventually sleeping over at each other's homes, going on long bike rides together and so on.

The highlight of my Ridgewood "experience", was winning the school-wide 3rd grade Spelling Bee.  Consequently now, I rely on Spell Check!

I think Tim and I met in 5th grade, maybe 6th and had a the same teacher, Carel Dermott; Danish descent, I believe.  I think in a former life he must have been a Catholic nun or something because he had a propensity for breaking rulers and yardsticks on kids' desks, one time, clipping my knuckles.

One time Tim and I were caught messing around, tossing Elmer's glue bottles around behind the teacher's back and were sent to the Principal's Office... not unlike walking The Green Mile.  Keep in mind that this was back when Corporal Punishment (spanking with a wooden paddle, belt, etc.) was quite common.  

Our "crime" didn't merit anything like this, but I know for my part, just being in the Principal's Office was enough deterrent for me to recognize the error of my ways and never re-offend.  Tim, well, he was a different story, always living on the edge from what I could tell.  And quite happy there.  The problem was that he kept taking me down with him.  Of course, I was happy to go, rarely saying no to him.  He was the rebel, and I was happy to follow blindly just wherever and whenever he went.

The Day The Music Died

About me:

I was born exactly 1 year to the day, prior to "The Day The Music Died", February 3, 1959.  That was the day on which Ritchie Valens ("La Bamba"), J.P. Richardson ("The Big Bopper" - "Chantilly Lace"), and Buddy Holly ("That'll Be The Day") were en route to another gig on their 24-city tour.  Tragically, their plane went down, ending the short lives of three up-and-coming new rock and roll stars... 

Mine was a happy childhood, along with my 2 brothers.  The very early years found us living and playing around SE Portland, near 92nd and SE Division Streets.  We lived in a small three bedroom home during the famous Columbus Day Storm of 1962.  

I remember that storm because my older brother was sent home from school early, and I recall him walking down the sidewalk toward our home, the trees nearly bending down to the street.  That's how strong the winds were.  (Consequently, a similar storm hit Portland almost 30 years later.)

The other thing I remember about that day was that our neighbor's chimney, made entirely of bricks, was blown over and its bricks spilled into our basement.  Amazing!  I don't think there was anything left of that chimney... only its remnants.  The only other memories I have of that house was my younger brother coming home from the hospital in April, 1962.  Shortly after that, in the summer, I believe, we moved from SE Portland to NE Portland, in the exclusive Maywood Heights neighborhood.  (This is now the area where the I-205 freeway intersects with I-84; the Parkrose School District.)  

That was where I climbed up the trails to the top of Rocky Butte, overlooking NE Portland, and the Gateway area.  My older brother's friend accompanied me, I don't recall why.  Anyway, we get to the top and there was this cool rock formation we called The King's Chair.  As I sat there, my brother's friend sneaked up behind me and either pushed or scared me so that I fell down the rock face, some 50 yards straight down.  I broke my right leg at the knee cap, and spent most of 1st grade at home in a plaster cast that weighed almost as much as me.  (Now, my right leg is about 3/4 inch shorter than my left.)

Sadly, within 2 years of that move, my mom and dad decided to get a divorce.  He moved out-of-state, while we moved across town to SW Portland, near Cedar Hills.  We lived in the apartments behind the shopping center for not quite a year.  Then a wonderful thing happened:  She met an amazing gentleman... Mr. McJury.

In many ways, I truly feel this is when my life began.  Yes, my father brought me into the world along with my mother, but after their divorce, he left the city and moved out-of-state.  We wouldn't see him for about 5 years, and then when we did, he'd remarried.  We hardly knew him.  He spent the next several years trying to be a father, when he should have spent that time, trying to be our friend.  Things were just never the same after that divorce, not for us kids anyway.

Welcome

Welcome.  Come in.

Make yourself at home.  I've got some overstuffed chairs over there, some beanbag chairs in that area to your left, and lots of throw pillows around the room for you to relax on.

The jukebox should arrive sometime in the next several days.  It will be filled with my collection of LPs from the 1950s, 60s and 70s.  Old stuff, huh?  No disco balls, no floor that lights up when you dance on it. Nope.  Just some old linoleum and shag carpet. 

When the world seems like a cold, harsh place, you're always welcome here... my little nest on the superhighway of the net.