I enjoyed once again, to be walking the halls of Parkville Senior High School, but that would only last a day or two. While walking to the next class, I found myself lifted off of my feet, feeling my ribs crack and experiencing a searing pain in my side.

Now two feet to the right of where I was, the only thing going through my mind was how in the hell am I going to beat the hell out of the football player that did this to me. I looked back, "Jean!"

Well she didn't look mad at me, and in fact had a beautiful smile, "A gentle nudge?" She quickly bobbed her head up and down, several times.

"Mike, I saw your name in the obituaries and could have killed you. But everything is fine with us when I found out that it was your grandfather that died."

When she realized what she said, she started to cry, but I stopped her and told her I understood what she said and everything's alright. She continued on, "Mike, When I saw your name in the obituaries, it really hurt me and my life would be miserable knowing you're not there. I lost my grandparent too, and it was very hard for me. If you have any problems dealing with it, please come over and spend some time with me. I'll help you through it. OK?"

I was touched and very simply said, "Thank you Jean, I really appreciate this, but everything is fine and I am handling it well. If I have any problems, I will knock on your door to talk."

"Mike, you do that."

I was going to add a "But, I still want to see you," but she had already walked off. I couldn't wait to use this as an excuse to penetrate her fortress, but I just couldn't. If I couldn't be straight honest with her, then it wouldn't have been a good relationship anyway.

I suffered from the fear of using it to get myself in her life, and then her discovery that I lied my way in. I also knew I had a powerful sense of right and wrong, I couldn't violate that trust in her. I wondered why would a girl her age be reading the obituaries anyway?

I had to painfully laugh, as Jean found the perfect way to keep her in my mind with every breath. As soon as I got home, I told my mom that I needed to go to the emergency room. She asked why?

"I think I have broken ribs."

"Well, they won't do anything for broken ribs, except wrap them up; which is something that I can do, let me check you out." Mom mentioned I have raised areas on three ribs and became irate yelling, "Tell me who did this to you!"

"No one."

"No one gave you broken ribs, tell me or I'll raise holy hell with the school."

"Mom, no one did this, I swear!"

"Bull shit Mike, I worked in the emergency room. Tell me, or I'm calling the police and have them talk to you!" She took a few steps to the phone."

"No mom, don't! It was an accident, I swear! I. I was skateboarding at school and jumped off of the steps outside and ... and caught my side on the railing. I swear." Though mom was somewhat suspicious, she could understand it because I sprained my wrist taking a dive on Timmy's skateboard going down my street.

The next day at school, Mr. Pfiefer, the school's principal walked up to me and said, "Mike, you know skateboarding isn't allowed at school. Just give me the names of the people you were with so I can tell them not to do it anymore."

"Mr. Pfeifer, I wasn't skateboarding."

"So someone did do this to you. Will you tell me who did this?"

"No, Mr. Pfeifer, it was an accident."

"How can broken ribs be an accident?"

"Well, she is a very shy girl and I guess she over compensated giving me a gentle nudge." Mr. Pfeifer broke into a smile and walked away shaking his head.


For the rest of the year, I kept an eye out for Jean, as I wanted to ask myself over to her house anyway. Hell, she might have been living on Mars. I looked the whole year, but couldn't find her. It is amazing how large a school can actually be.

I was happy in my class choices. Once again, I made the cut for Honors Science and Math; in fact I viewed it as a coup in the face of the establishment types, like my father. It was also amazing after last year. I did include taking Photography I as a light hearted extension of Fundamentals of Art.

Another requirement was that I take a Home Economics or Industrial Arts Course. How more home-ecky could I be with cooking on a campfire? Last year I took, Printing I and decided to continue it. In that class we learned the old way of doing printing, with hand setting type from the California Job Case. That is sort of an organizational system of storing individual letters made of lead type. You would compose them in a composing stick and then lock them into a chase with wood bars called furniture. That would allow you to place it into the platen press that you print in.

I was amazed that I stuck with that class as I had an intense childhood fear of artificial hands; which came about when I watched a Johns Hopkins film of a specially made hand that allowed a person to play the piano. Yet, though artificial limbs were always in the back of my mind with fireworks and printing, I managed to enjoy them both.

Printing I had its adventure as well. A friend from Scouts wanted me to print a card saying, "I support the KKK." I really didn't want to print that, but told my friend that I will ask but the school most likely won't allow that. Well, the printing teacher said, "For a friend... All of you students have friends. You can go ahead and print them."

"What day after school do you want me to come in to do this?"

"You're doing this in class. As far as I am concerned, if you have the guts to ask me to print something like that in the first place, you can do this as an assignment." Great! I wasn't happy in the first place and should have declined my friend's request directly. I set the type and printed about 125 cards, keeping but a few of them for myself, more or less as jokes.

There was a black person in class, who stopped by while I was printing them and expressed his disdain. I mentioned that I don't feel the way that they do and they way I was the rest of the time is what really mattered. Not to that black student, he wouldn't have, "nothing," to do with me for the rest of the year. Luckily about three days as he was a senior and leaving early.

But the next day, I was walking down the hall and there were four of the largest black students that I ever saw and asked me, "You're the one who printed the KKK cards?"

It dawned on me I picked a great way to really get myself beaten up, but since I printed them, I should stand by the truth and suffer the consequences, "Yep, I printed them." We engaged in a conversation and felt each other out, but they let it be known that they too, weren't happy with me. This time the reason was they wanted the cards too, and even after giving them the few that I had, they wanted more. It blew my mind that the black students wanted me to print another batch up for them. I told them, "God Damn it, I really didn't want to print them the first time, and I'm not printing them again! I told them who I printed them for.

To my astonishment, even though he was not yet a student, they knew him, "We know him; his brother chased one of our brothers down Harford Road with a bayonet on his rifle."

"I heard that story and didn't believe it, but his brother told me. It seems your brother made a comment when he was in Confederate Uniform. He got chased, because he felt if comments were going to be thrown his way; they should know what they were talking about. If you're a reenactor, you have to have both Union and Confederate uniforms for reenacting."

My friend wasn't happy to be tracked down and asked to give the cards to the black students. He told me that they wanted them all, but he gave up a quarter of what he had. My friend, wanted them so bad, he left his school and came to shop to see if they were done. My printing teacher told me, "Your friend came in for his cards, and I told him that you must have them. I am beginning to believe that you are the first honest student that I had."

I decided for 10th grade to continue industrial arts with Printing II.

I was never good at Gym uniforms and always renting them, as I went past the room to the Laundry Lady, I stopped in the doorway of the weight room and saw a group of students working out after school. After watching them for a while, I walked up to the teacher and asked him if this is something that I can join.

The teacher was Mr. Yates, a black person with the whitest of hair in a flattop haircut. He replied, "Well, actually this is the football team, but I have been thinking about opening it to a few students. Hey, let's make you the first!"

Out of the clang of weights came a voice, "Hey Mr. Yates! Is he going to be working out with us?"

"Yes, he is."

"That's good, because he's Mr. KKK and is going to need to be strong!"

Mr. Yates mouthed to me, "Mr. KKK?"

I said, "I can explain. I printed up some cards for a frien-"

Mr. Yates immediately put up his hands and said, "Nope, don't need to hear it, just don't KKK me."

The weight lifting was great for me and it couldn't be with a better group of people. In short order, I was putting on muscle. There was also much comradery between sets, sometimes in the course of one. Once, one of those black students was spotting me on the bench press, he said, "How does the KKK feel now? He started pushing down on the weights, forcing me to push much more. It was a bear getting it up, he then told me to put more plates on the bar. We both laughed.

The Black students also razzed Mr. Yates, questioning his blackness because of his pure white hair. Mr. Yates said that every white one was a result of a black student irritating him with BS. Another player who was white suddenly one time walked up and asked, "Hey Mr. Yates, what would you do if I called you a nigger."

Mr. Yates smiled, leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head as he started laughing, "As far as I am concerned, you can call me anything you like. Because I know, if I am the lowliest of lows, I am still infinitely superior to you."

That person walked away with his head down, leaving for the locker room anyway. Many of the Black teammates took exception to this and demanded that he be punished. Mr. Yates told them all to relax, "What do you want me to do about it? He's just goofing off and I made my point, and stood high. Hell, at his age, he's his worst punishment anyway."

That much was true in his case. Not a week later, he was making fun at lunch of a 72 year old janitor. Calling him an old man and razzing him for the way that he looked. The janitor invited the student to punch him, than he will take his shot. That student declined, citing that he will get into trouble.

Mr. Yates was bringing his gym class in and the janitor called him over. The janitor explained "That boy wants to punch me, but he's afraid I will get him into trouble. Since you're a witness, he won't get into trouble so the jerk can put his money where his mouth is.

Mr. Yates started to laugh and gave his permission. As Mr. Yates passed me, he told me, "That boy's going to get himself killed yet." Sure enough, he punched the Janitor in the stomach and the 72 year old janitor picked him up and pressed him into the wall. Then let go, as he slid back down. As with Mr. Yates, he slumped away with the janitor.

The janitor turned to the girls that were watching and said; "Now you might like that boy because he has the good looks, but as you can see ladies, I have what it takes." We all busted out laughing, but the girls were completely shocked.

I was asked to try out for the football team, but declined explaining, while I might now have the strength, most people have played football since they were little, and I don't have the knowledge. One team member said, "Well I don't think that matters, we mostly lose anyway."

Photography was an unexpected course, I figured it would just be like fundamentals of art and all I would do is learn to point the camera better. The course was taught by Mr. Schwarz and it was really from the ground up; one step at a time. Starting with image itself, little by little we learned about exposure, but backwards ,as it was with photographic paper we worked on. We called them photograms, which were made by placing objects onto paper and exposing them to light. One could make a contact print to reverse it as well.

Next, we slipped back to art with the camera obscura, a room with a hole in it that allowed painters to paint the image of scenery that presented itself. In Photography I, we then made its version in the form of a camera made out of chalk boxes. You made a panel to hold the paper, put a pin hole for the lens and finished it off with a pull up shutter. I really got into the hands on approach and even turned my bedroom into a camera obscura.

There was also the history of both photography and types of photographers, also many looks at various famous photographers themselves. With words like, dye sublimation print, silver nitrate, daguerreotype and tin type; his class didn't satisfy my curiosity enough and I researched the processes at the library. Believe it or not, some processes are even more personally dangerous then making fireworks.

Finally, we moved on to a combination of film developing, composition lectures and using the SLR camera. They had two or three that the class shared, just as we shared the extra expense of the course for materials. I took to photography like a fly to fly paper.

I actually liked having my work critiqued and did my best to provide valid criticisms and suggestions for my fellow classmates. By spring, I talked my parents into purchasing my own SLR camera for me to use. It was the Minolta, SRT201 which was a very basic and totally manual camera. I think that Mr. Schwarz saw something in me as I was occasionally invited to occasional after school outings with a few of his Photography II students.

This also involved working with models and I enjoyed this, as it was not only a challenge to my total skills, but also to use the leadership abilities that I was gaining with Boy Scouts. In addition to the weight lifting after school, I was now stopping by photography class to work as I needed more time then the class could offer.

Just as the years before, I had people once again asking me about the time I played doctor with Patty. This was so old on me that I didn't care. I gave replies like, "No way, I wasn't using any drugs way back then." "Bet she didn't tell you about the second time, she showed me hers first and I found out that she had both male and female parts,- ' Don't get her excited!'"

Another good one was, "She didn't show me anything because the only hole she has, is her mouth and everything comes out of it." My favorite one that generated the most laughter the both the guys and girls was, "I didn't need to see her stuff, I could smell it though." However, it was obvious that another rumor was now floating around and the new one really had me angry and concerned.

Guys were walking up to me and saying, "Hey! Way to go stud!", "You get that pussy!" "I wished I was a lady's man like you." These statements were driving me crazy, if I was having a relationship with anyone, I should have been the first to know, not scratching my head trying to figure everything out.

It went into the realm of ridiculousness when guys started asking me for advice in dealing with women. I didn't let on I didn't really know anything, I just gave them my honest opinions and advice. I was amazed that it worked for them, though they were my beliefs, it didn't work for me. Yet it was refreshing to see that my ideas and feelings could.

As soon as I found out who was telling the rumors, I was going to beat them up, planning on beating up half the school if necessary. Finally at lunch, I figured it out as a boy said, "I wished I was you with the women." I started backing him up to the wall and demanded that he tells me what's going on.

"No, you got it all wrong, we're all jealous of you. You're getting all the women with the photography. You're working with models."

I could only laugh, and told him that was easy, just take a Photography course next year. He said that he was too shy, so I told him to join anyway and I would help him out, but he still declined. I never thought of that, to use photography to get relationships and sex. The thoughts of this went to my head and in it, I started to scheme of ways to bring this about.
But only for about ten minutes, a real serious thought entered my mind, "What would Jean think of this?" If you go after sex with the models, Jean won't ever want anything to do with you." I also figured that both the photography department and school wouldn't be happy about my abusing their program for the propagation of sex, something that I didn't want to risk as I valued it too much.

Right then and there, I decided to enjoy the time that I had with my models, if one interested me enough to pursue a relationship, I would ask her out for the right reasons. There were times that this almost came about, but I was reconciled with my desire for Jean.