Blowing in the Wind

Chapter 1-2

The priest wanted me to come to his office the next morning. He was going to select the classes I would be taking during the upcoming fall semester. That sounded okay to me since I didn’t have the slightest clue as to what classes I should be taking. We shook hands, and Father Woozert went out the doorway.

I chuckled, “What a strange little man.”

“He’s a priest. You shouldn’t say things like that,” said Sheldon.

“I didn’t say he was a weirdo or freaky looking, or anything like that, just strange.”

“He’s a priest you should show him some respect.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but I’ve never seen a monk before. Do you think they all look like him?”

Sheldon didn’t reply and sat back down at his desk.

“Anyway, thanks for your help, Sheldon.”

The following morning I showed up at the monk’s office. It wasn’t a heck of a lot larger than an average-size closet. It had one small desk with a swivel chair. In front of the desk was a single Beachwood schoolhouse chair. I sat in the Beachwood and leaned forward so I’d have a better chance of understanding what the Indian priest was going to say.

Four black framed, eight by eleven, photos on the walls, diverted my attention; they looked like poor people in odd-looking garb. I guessed the photos were of India. After about thirty minutes, of going back and forth, we got through the class selecting process. In the end, Father Woozert had me taking chemistry, zoology, and biology plus lab time for each one. Also, I had English I, Algebra I and Theology. It seemed like a lot to me, and it was, as it totaled twenty semester hours. Even so, the monk was the consular; so I figured he knew what he was doing. With that class schedule, I was now going to be going to classes almost all day every day of the week. I asked the monk why he had me taking theology as I didn’t plan on being a priest. He gave me a funny look and said it was a mandatory subject, which all the students took.

A week later, along with two other guys, I tried out for the football team. We were hoping to make it as walk-ons, and we did. Over the next couple of weeks, I enjoyed the scrimmages and especially the camaraderie with the other players. However, I soon learned it was an impossible situation. By the time I got back to the dorm room from practice and dinner, it was usually past seven o’clock. My body ached, and I was tired. I sure didn’t much feel like studying. Most of the time, I’d say hi to the back of Sheldon’s Vitalis head and hit the sack for a few minutes rest. Then there were times when my short rest lasted until class time the following morning.

I soon realized the nose-ring priest didn’t know what courses a first-year student should be taking. The average student takes about fifteen credits per semester and those, who are playing sports, usually less. Something had to give. I simply didn’t have the time to practice and study. One morning I went to the football coach and told him about my class schedule, and he arranged a meeting with the Dean. He agreed that the monk, who was new to the ways of college, had overloaded me. Because of my playing football, he readjusted the schedule by eliminating zoology and theology.

By November, I was still struggling with chemistry and not doing too well in the other subjects. However, with some help from Sheldon, I made a valiant effort at conquering chemistry. Nevertheless, I realized I hadn’t prepared for college.

The chemistry classroom was in a huge auditorium. It was moby. The rows of seats rose from the floor to the back entrance of the room. If it had snowed in there, you could have skied down to where the professor was burning up chalk on the massive blackboard. The professor seated the students alphabetically, so McClain was halfway up in the big room. One of his classmates, Tony Paszak, who was in his dorm, sat a couple of rows behind him. He was a short guy with bushy brown hair and ears like Howdy Doody. Tony was a character. He usually had something hilarious to say about sitting high up in the room. Things like, “Professor, I can’t see the blackboard, there’s a cloud in the way.” Other times he’d moan, “I’m getting a nosebleed.” Then he’d pull out a white handkerchief stained with red ink, and hold it to his nose.

The chemistry professor would enter from the ground-level door wearing a long white lab coat. He hardly ever said anything more than, “Please write down these notes and formulas as we’ll be using them in the lab.” Then he’d turn, face the large blackboard, which covered most of the wall and begin writing with a piece of chalk. The class was really boring except for Tony Paszak, and it was high on my skip list.

A month later, when I went home for Christmas break, I pretended that college life was great. However, other than playing football I didn’t want to go back to the university. For the next two weeks, I partied with some of my old high school buddies, who were also home for Christmas.

Then it happened. My grades came in the mail.

One afternoon, when I came home from playing basketball at the YMCA, my parents were waiting for me in the den. Dad was livid.

He held up the grades from Marquette, “An incomplete in chemistry, a D- in biology, a D in algebra, and a C in English.

Mother was sobbing, “Oh Rail. How could you”?

“Miserable grades, you’re flunking out!” shouted Dad, “and you’re only taking fourteen credit hours.”

I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t think the grades would arrive while I was home.

“When are you going to complete chemistry?’

“Dad, finals are in two weeks; I’ll get my paper in for chemistry, and I’m sure I can do better on the final test.” I didn’t believe it but what was I to say?”

“Are too lazy to study or just plain stupid?”

“Dad I…” I stood helplessly looking at him.

“Well, you’d damn right better.”

Needless to say, he grounded me for the three remaining days at home.

In truth, I was really sorry I had disappointed them, especially mother, who realized my chances of being a dentist had taken a drastic turn for the worse. I guess it was a double hit for her as she’d now have to face her social friends with the truth about her, not to be dentist, son.

Before I left, they decided I needed to take an aptitude test to evaluate my talent/ability/potential to perform a certain task.

“We feel it’s pretty evident you’re not going to succeed in the medical profession. We want to find out what type of career you’d be most suited for,” remarked dad, “If you have any talent at all.”

I felt terrible that they had such little faith in me.

Lizzie sat listening to everything, but she’d been quiet through the whole episode. Then she stood up and said, “Gee Rail; I hope you pass the aptitude test.”

Mom and dad stared at her as she grinned and skipped away.

I was too shaken to be angry with Lizzie or even to realize that you can’t fail an aptitude test.

My parents contacted the Dean and arranged for me to take the test at Marquette University upon my return.

So, after two weeks at home, I promised them I’d try harder and do better. Then I got on a Capital Airlines flight and went back to the university.

One afternoon, four days after I took the aptitude test Sheldon, and I was lying on our beds talking.

“Sheldon, chemistry, and biology seem to be easy for you. Did you study them in high school?”

“Yes, they were my favorite subjects.”

“That figures.”

“What were yours, Rail?”

“I answered football, basketball, baseball and track.”

Sheldon chuckled, “Those aren’t school subjects.”

“They were to me; all the other stuff was just something to pass the time.”

“How’d you ever get accepted here?”

“It’s a mystery; I don’t know how my parents pulled it off.”

Someone from down the hallway shouted, “Rail, telephone.”

I slid off the bed and went down to the hall phone, “Hello.”

“We didn’t raise you to be a salesman or a Goddamn actor.”

“Dad?”

“Rail your mother is distraught, and I’m at wit’s end. We’re damn disappointed in you.”

“Dad, what are you talking about?”

“We just received the results of your aptitude test.”

“Oh.”

“It seems your talent; ability and potential are damn weak. You’re only qualified to be a salesman or as your mother put it, a low-life actor.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“Like hell it is. I’m not spending my hard-earned money for you to continue in college to end up in an unproductive job. At the end of this semester, you’ll come home, and we’ll figure something out.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Rail, are you still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’d better do your damn best to get some decent grades. We’ll discuss your future this summer.”

He hung up.

I slowly walked back to the room and flopped on my bed.

“Good news, Rail?”

“I don’t know unless you call being an actor, good news.”

“What?”

After the telephone call, I did try harder, at least for a couple of weeks. I still couldn’t make any sense out of all those chemical elements, formulas, symbols, chemical compounds and the atomic numbers. To me, it was all a jumbled mess, which I couldn’t grasp. What I’m saying is that I simply gave up trying. And regards to biology my head was swimming through the study of living organisms. With stuff like morphology, anatomy, physiology, origin, and on and on, holy cripes, I had enough trouble learning what those things were, let alone, what they did.

The weekend before the finals Tony, Sheldon and I went to the movie “Giant” starring Elisabeth Taylor, Rock Hudson, James Dean and a cast of well-known actors.

After the flick had ended, we went to the College Union for a beer. Students packed the over-sized Union. On the backside, of the room, was a long buffet restaurant which served food and beer almost all day. Along the right side were six pool tables. Near them was a large area with tables where students ate, read and played cards. After buying a beer, we joined a few others, who were sitting near the six pools tables. It was where most of the athletes hung out. Four guys from the football team had a spirited match at one of the pool tables. One of the thick-necked, two hundred and eighty-pound linemen was upset when he missed an easy shot. He lifted up one side of the pool table, letting all the colored balls fall into the pockets. Everyone laughed and shouted.

One student sitting at the table next to us yelled, “Nice shot.” It was Denton Danford, who was in my English class.

The following week we took our finals. It didn’t seem possible, but for me, things got worse. My final exams were a total disaster. To me, the test papers all looked like the New York Times crossword puzzles. I ended up receiving an F in chemistry, retained the D- in biology and slipped to a D- in Algebra and C- in English I. Four days later; I was told to meet with the football coach in his office. I learned, due to my poor grades I no longer was part of the team. Then the Dean informed me that I was on probation.

Later that day, I was back in the dorm room licking my wounds when Dad called. He shouted at me for a minute, and then hung up.

Denton Danford and I became friends. At the start of the second semester, he suggested that didn’t go to see my counselor, the little monk. Denton learned the ropes on how to set up your college course schedule. He’d learned a unique method for registration from a student whom he played gin rummy in the school’s moby Union.

One day, when we were having lunch, Dent introduced me to Wilson Smith, who was a junior. Wilson didn’t look, dress or act much like a college student. He dressed to the tees. Wilson wore nice-looking, well-pressed slacks, long-sleeve silk shirts and either black and white or brown alligator shoes. He never seemed to go to classes as he was always in the Union playing gin rummy, for cash, with some sucker student. Dent was the only one who could match him in card-playing skills and money. Nevertheless, Dent usually came in second to Wilson.

What Wilson had told Dent about registration was; ahead of time, make out the schedule of classes you wanted to take the next semester. He said to set up your class schedule, so your classes are always on Mondays and Wednesdays or Tuesdays and Thursdays. Then be one of the first in line, at the basketball auditorium for the registration. Lastly, be one of the first to go to each registration table where the courses were being offered and sign up. That allowed you to get the classes you wanted, on the day and time you wanted, before other students took them. It was important to set up your schedule, as Wilson suggested, as you would always have your Friday’s free. Then you could party over the long weekend, either locally or drive down to Chicago and have a good time on Rush Street and other areas of the Windy City.