After a long hiatus, I thought it prudent to do another installment of Tales From The Lebowskis. For those of you just joining us, you may want to navigate older posts and acquaint yourselves with the individuals featured in these tales. This installment is the fifth Great Jaja Adventure, entitled "Lunar Fenderbender"
In the early 1970's, an enjoyable pastime for the Lebowski crew was to play the board game Password. The whole family could get involved with this: Mary Lebowski (later to be known as "Nonnie"), David Lebowski Sr. (eventually "Jaja"), Diane Lebowski (my mother), Susan Lebowski, David Lebowski Jr. (later "Blaze" and/or "Daven"), Patty Lebowski (later "Pappy") and the youngest Lebowski, Stephen (later "Lebo" and "Hulka"). On some occasions, they were joined by the clan patriarch, John Lebowski, then Jaja, eventually Great Jaja, and now living in our hearts and memories.
It was April, 1972. I am sure of this for a reason that will eventually become clear. The entire Lebowski clan was playing a heated game of Password. It was Great Jaja's turn. Password, for those unfamiliar, consists of a player attempting to get the other players to guess a secret word within a time limit. Great Jaja had the perfect clue for his secret word. The timer began. "Astronaut" he said smugly. Reasonable guesses such as "rocketship", "space", and "planet" were thrown out. Shocked and angry his perfect clue fell to such simpletons, he repeated it again, angrily. "Astronaut!" More guesses. "God damn it, astronaut!" More guesses. "God damn you people, astronaut! Astronaut!" But alas, the younger generations of Lebowski were unable to come up with the secret word, even as more and more obscenities framed the perfect clue.
Time eventually ran out, as time is wont to do. The time came for the big reveal. What was the secret word, Great Jaja?
Fender.
You may be thinking, "what in god's holy name does the word astronaut have to do with the word fender?" This, and other variants thereon, was the exact question every Lebowski in the room asked Great Jaja.
"Don't you people watch the goddamn news?"
You see, in April 1972, the Apollo 16 mission was taking place. Apollo 16 was one of the moon missions that made use of a Lunar Roving Vehicle (LRV) or "Lunar Rover". The LRV used in Apollo 16 experienced issues with its rear fender extension during the mission. Essentially, it broke off, the astronauts attempted to reattach it with tape, but the lunar dust caused the tape's adhesive to fail, and the part was lost. They eventually constructed a makeshift fender out of, amongst other things, duct tape and moon maps.
But you no doubt already knew this. Everyone knows this, god damn it. What kind of damn fool could even hear the word "astronaut" and not immediately think "fender"? Certainly not the Lebowskis, not anymore. In fact, to this day, if you approach any of the Lebowskis present that evening (and several who were not) and prompt them with "astronaut" the response will ring clear and true.
Fender.
If you know who these people are, try it for yourself some time.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Formative Years Fiction - Evil Robots
Sorry it took me so long to post the next one. There's a lot of scanning, etc. involved in doing these and I wasn't sure if it would be easier to try to make a .pdf, especially for one down the line that lacks illustrations and is long (for a kid's story). Anyway, at least for now we'll stick with the multiple images format.
So here is the next installment of my Formative Years Fiction feature. This story is from the 3rd grade (as will be the next one). It is an action-adventure story written in the first person. What kid doesn't dream about taking on hordes of evil foes and winning? Because each page is more self contained than in the previous story I'll be posting commentary after each page instead of just one block of text at the end. Without further ado, enjoy Evil Robots! (As always, you can click each image to see it full-sized)
As you can see, the cover sets the tone for what is sure to be an exciting romp in the world of robotics. Now, you may already be wondering how a robot, a mechanical construct without free will could possibly be considered "evil". Eat my butt.
Oh good, for those who somehow started reading this but somehow missed the cover with crazy robots all over it.
There was no particular reason why this book was dedicated to my cousin, Brett Pallos. I just thought he would enjoy a story about evil robots.
I didn't actually own a plunger dart gun as a kid. I desperately wanted one. So in my story, I got to have one. But it betrayed me! I liked using quoted speech and onomatopoeia in this story, apparently. Also, I would still find those fridge contents very disappointing today, except maybe some veggies. Meghan is my sister, Meghan Thirty, with whom I had a tumultuous relationship as a child. Yowsa? Really? I wrote "yowsa"?
Regarding the illustration, I like the random broken roller skate that has no purpose. I also like how badly 2D the fridge is, especially its bizarre face. And good lord, I hope nobody attempts to use those flimsy handles on the fridge doors.
Fridge, you dick! Those ice cubes look painful, and check out the massive flaming lump they left on my head! I was a big fan of the eye-pop-out effect for shocked cartoon characters at that point, it found its way into a lot of my drawings at that age.
"Too" not "to", young me. Also, poor Meghan, getting blamed for everything.
OK, so a steady diet of cartoons had taught me, by this point, that water is very bad for electronic devices, such as robots. Of course, if anything mechanical breaks, it must explode. That's just how those things work. I like the impossible angle on the dart shot in this picture. Also, it's weird but something about the face on this drawing of me reminds my of my cousin Sarah Thirty's long-term boyfriend Donnie Dunder. (He is much better looking than this drawing though, don't worry. He's also not a 3rd grader who fights evil robots.)
That first line is quite the rhyme. I like that the car needed no impetus to come to life, but turning the key will shut it off. Our house really was on a hillside, that angle is only a slight exaggeration of our driveway at the time. I like that I was so surprised by the car that I jumped two stories, had my Walkman fly off my head onto the roof, my eyes bugged out, my tongue went crazy, and I said "Aooga" with no exclamation point. As if I were calmly stating it. Also, I like that the car just has the word "Varoom" overit him.
Well, yeah, I'd say that's suspicious. I remember being super proud of Roboland's security system when I drew it. Thieves are brought to the roof and tied to a post. A robotic punching glove then punches them, post and all, onto the adjacent roof, into a cage that apparently has a poker game and a TV inside. Ray's Chopping Block was a real store in my town, and spelled their actual sign correctly. There was also a Citgo in the center of town, but the sign was not that big. Apparently in my story they borrowed the sign from near Fenway Park in Boston. And made it all lower-case.
Alright, shitty fiction trick #58: conveniently mention something had been true all along, right when it's necessary. However, this is really a borderline example. It wasn't as though I hadn't explained how I became soaking wet, I just hadn't explained it in a way that made any logical sense whatsoever. You see, the ice cubes that struck me in the back of the head when I was fighting the fridge were made of water. Clearly that brief contact with the ice cubes was enough for me to become soaking wet and remain that way for several minutes if not hours. I like the final robot ominously sitting in its display case, and I like that the case's upper left corner is shaped just perfectly to let the explosion not touch it.
And here it is, the big daddy of them all, the Spider-Snake-Dragon-Robot. I'd be a goner if that fancy water fountain didn't have a "Blast" option for just such an occasion.
And that's the end. No explanation of why the robots came to life. No explanation of what their purpose was. There are way too many questions left unanswered here... tell me this story continues!
Thank. God. If we read the whole series, everything will be explained! Also, there will be evil creatures, evil people, and... uhhh... evil minerals. Great. The evil people are the only ones who won't be in all caps, for some reason. Unfortunately, I never actually wrote these sequels. The unanswered questions will remain unanswered for all time. But here's what those sequels might have looked like in a parallel universe where I made them.
Evil Creatures is full of shout-outs to a favorite recurring conversation I have with my friends Josh Stryker and Marco Agrocrag about deadly animal hybrids. There's a Snawk, a Bat o' War Jellyfish (a thing of NIGHTMARES), an Alligator Snapping Tulverine, a Wolfornet, and a starfish holding an assault rifle (not a hybrid). I went with the JRR Tolkien "In a bind? Giant eagles, for the win!" idea too.
One of the shadowy figures in Evil People should be instantly recognizable to folks who have known me long enough. Enjoy!
So here is the next installment of my Formative Years Fiction feature. This story is from the 3rd grade (as will be the next one). It is an action-adventure story written in the first person. What kid doesn't dream about taking on hordes of evil foes and winning? Because each page is more self contained than in the previous story I'll be posting commentary after each page instead of just one block of text at the end. Without further ado, enjoy Evil Robots! (As always, you can click each image to see it full-sized)
As you can see, the cover sets the tone for what is sure to be an exciting romp in the world of robotics. Now, you may already be wondering how a robot, a mechanical construct without free will could possibly be considered "evil". Eat my butt.
Oh good, for those who somehow started reading this but somehow missed the cover with crazy robots all over it.
There was no particular reason why this book was dedicated to my cousin, Brett Pallos. I just thought he would enjoy a story about evil robots.
I didn't actually own a plunger dart gun as a kid. I desperately wanted one. So in my story, I got to have one. But it betrayed me! I liked using quoted speech and onomatopoeia in this story, apparently. Also, I would still find those fridge contents very disappointing today, except maybe some veggies. Meghan is my sister, Meghan Thirty, with whom I had a tumultuous relationship as a child. Yowsa? Really? I wrote "yowsa"?
Regarding the illustration, I like the random broken roller skate that has no purpose. I also like how badly 2D the fridge is, especially its bizarre face. And good lord, I hope nobody attempts to use those flimsy handles on the fridge doors.
Fridge, you dick! Those ice cubes look painful, and check out the massive flaming lump they left on my head! I was a big fan of the eye-pop-out effect for shocked cartoon characters at that point, it found its way into a lot of my drawings at that age.
"Too" not "to", young me. Also, poor Meghan, getting blamed for everything.
OK, so a steady diet of cartoons had taught me, by this point, that water is very bad for electronic devices, such as robots. Of course, if anything mechanical breaks, it must explode. That's just how those things work. I like the impossible angle on the dart shot in this picture. Also, it's weird but something about the face on this drawing of me reminds my of my cousin Sarah Thirty's long-term boyfriend Donnie Dunder. (He is much better looking than this drawing though, don't worry. He's also not a 3rd grader who fights evil robots.)
That first line is quite the rhyme. I like that the car needed no impetus to come to life, but turning the key will shut it off. Our house really was on a hillside, that angle is only a slight exaggeration of our driveway at the time. I like that I was so surprised by the car that I jumped two stories, had my Walkman fly off my head onto the roof, my eyes bugged out, my tongue went crazy, and I said "Aooga" with no exclamation point. As if I were calmly stating it. Also, I like that the car just has the word "Varoom" over
Well, yeah, I'd say that's suspicious. I remember being super proud of Roboland's security system when I drew it. Thieves are brought to the roof and tied to a post. A robotic punching glove then punches them, post and all, onto the adjacent roof, into a cage that apparently has a poker game and a TV inside. Ray's Chopping Block was a real store in my town, and spelled their actual sign correctly. There was also a Citgo in the center of town, but the sign was not that big. Apparently in my story they borrowed the sign from near Fenway Park in Boston. And made it all lower-case.
Alright, shitty fiction trick #58: conveniently mention something had been true all along, right when it's necessary. However, this is really a borderline example. It wasn't as though I hadn't explained how I became soaking wet, I just hadn't explained it in a way that made any logical sense whatsoever. You see, the ice cubes that struck me in the back of the head when I was fighting the fridge were made of water. Clearly that brief contact with the ice cubes was enough for me to become soaking wet and remain that way for several minutes if not hours. I like the final robot ominously sitting in its display case, and I like that the case's upper left corner is shaped just perfectly to let the explosion not touch it.
And here it is, the big daddy of them all, the Spider-Snake-Dragon-Robot. I'd be a goner if that fancy water fountain didn't have a "Blast" option for just such an occasion.
And that's the end. No explanation of why the robots came to life. No explanation of what their purpose was. There are way too many questions left unanswered here... tell me this story continues!
Thank. God. If we read the whole series, everything will be explained! Also, there will be evil creatures, evil people, and... uhhh... evil minerals. Great. The evil people are the only ones who won't be in all caps, for some reason. Unfortunately, I never actually wrote these sequels. The unanswered questions will remain unanswered for all time. But here's what those sequels might have looked like in a parallel universe where I made them.
Evil Creatures is full of shout-outs to a favorite recurring conversation I have with my friends Josh Stryker and Marco Agrocrag about deadly animal hybrids. There's a Snawk, a Bat o' War Jellyfish (a thing of NIGHTMARES), an Alligator Snapping Tulverine, a Wolfornet, and a starfish holding an assault rifle (not a hybrid). I went with the JRR Tolkien "In a bind? Giant eagles, for the win!" idea too.
One of the shadowy figures in Evil People should be instantly recognizable to folks who have known me long enough. Enjoy!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Formative Years Fiction - GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY
New feature! Formative Years Fiction will be a chronicle of written works from my childhood years that have been preserved and exist to this day. I did not think of this idea unprompted. You see, lately I have been enjoying (enjoying so much!) the webcomic Axe Cop. Axe Cop is a web comic written by a 6-year-old (5 at the series' start) and related to his 29-year-old professional comic book artist brother, who illustrates the adventures. The work neither mocks nor patronizes the young author's imagination, instead giving professional level expressive tools to the unfiltered mind of a child. It rules.
I was a creative kid, but nowhere near as creative as the little genius behind Axe Cop. I also had no older brother to turn my ideas into pure comic magic, only a mom who saved my periodic works of fiction. Because sometimes I wrote. Often for school, sometimes for fun. Below is my earliest surviving written fictional narrative, penned at age 6. It is a tale of action, suspense, and triumph. I wanted to call it Gold Mines: An Adventure Story but at age 6, could only manage GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. I dared not flatten the memo pad it was written on in a scanner for fear the binding would come apart, so it is in the form of several photographs. A transcript is available below the images.
Transcript:
GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY
A GOLD MINER WAS DIGING A HOLE WHEN HE FOND
A MAP IT WAS A TRESHER MAP HE FOLOD
THE MAP TO THE DESERT WHER HE FOND
A CAVE HE WENT IN THE CAVE IT WAS DARK
HE FELT SOMETHING IT FELT LIKE SOMETHING HE FELT
BEFORE IT WAS A COLED SNAK GARDING
A KEY AND A DOOR
IN THE DOOR WAS GOLD HE ATAKD THE SNAKE
UNTEL HE KELD IT HE GRABD THE KEY
AND OPIND THE DOOR AND
GOT THE GOLD AND BOHT A NEW HOUSE
ABOT THE AUTHER THE AUTHERMATTHEW Remus! HAS ALOT OF TOYS
There are many questions left unanswered. Why was a miner digging a hole? Why did he need a map to find a desert with a clearly visible cave? Why had he felt a (coiled/cold?) snake before? Why was the snake guarding a key and a door? Who locked the door and left the key so close by with a snake? Why did Remus Thirty spell snake two different ways two pages apart? Sadly, no sequel exists to GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. However, not all is lost. For while 6-year-old me did not have a 29-year-old brother who could draw, 26-year-old me who can draw DOES exist. Here is a special artistic rendering of GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY.
I was a creative kid, but nowhere near as creative as the little genius behind Axe Cop. I also had no older brother to turn my ideas into pure comic magic, only a mom who saved my periodic works of fiction. Because sometimes I wrote. Often for school, sometimes for fun. Below is my earliest surviving written fictional narrative, penned at age 6. It is a tale of action, suspense, and triumph. I wanted to call it Gold Mines: An Adventure Story but at age 6, could only manage GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. I dared not flatten the memo pad it was written on in a scanner for fear the binding would come apart, so it is in the form of several photographs. A transcript is available below the images.
Transcript:
GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY
A GOLD MINER WAS DIGING A HOLE WHEN HE FOND
A MAP IT WAS A TRESHER MAP HE FOLOD
THE MAP TO THE DESERT WHER HE FOND
A CAVE HE WENT IN THE CAVE IT WAS DARK
HE FELT SOMETHING IT FELT LIKE SOMETHING HE FELT
BEFORE IT WAS A COLED SNAK GARDING
A KEY AND A DOOR
IN THE DOOR WAS GOLD HE ATAKD THE SNAKE
UNTEL HE KELD IT HE GRABD THE KEY
AND OPIND THE DOOR AND
GOT THE GOLD AND BOHT A NEW HOUSE
ABOT THE AUTHER THE AUTHER
There are many questions left unanswered. Why was a miner digging a hole? Why did he need a map to find a desert with a clearly visible cave? Why had he felt a (coiled/cold?) snake before? Why was the snake guarding a key and a door? Who locked the door and left the key so close by with a snake? Why did Remus Thirty spell snake two different ways two pages apart? Sadly, no sequel exists to GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. However, not all is lost. For while 6-year-old me did not have a 29-year-old brother who could draw, 26-year-old me who can draw DOES exist. Here is a special artistic rendering of GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Tales from High School X - Br. Thomas Raygun, the Short-Tempered Saint
This entry will not be one anecdote so much as a collection of reminiscences about one individual who was an unwaveringly positive part of my experiences at St. Francis High. While most of my conversations about the school range from complaints about some aspects to bemusement with others, I have really nothing but positive words for Br. Thomas Raygun. Br. Raygun was a man of honesty, honor, duty, and kindness and he worked tirelessly for the good of the school and the students (and, following a brief hiatus working for his order in another capacity, continues to do so today).
St. Francis High was several towns away from my hometown, and timing the bus system to allow for extracurricular activities was tough from day one. Since my father worked in the same town as the school, we decided it would be easiest and cheapest for all parties if he gave me rides to and from school. The only problem was that my father needed to drop me off well before the school actually opened in the morning. He explained the situation to the school and it was Br. Raygun who helped us out. Br. Raygun woke up unbelievably early in the morning every day (we wondered if he ever actually slept at all) to start working on things in the school office. He said it would not be a problem at all to let me in to sit quietly and do homework, etc. in the office until the cafeteria opened or the morning buses arrived. For my part, I stayed reasonably quiet most mornings, although sometimes Br. Raygun would remind me about what color silence was (it was golden) when I would get too loud chatting with another student or two in a similar position as myself in the mornings. This was my initial impression of Br. Raygun: a hard-working, busy, kind man who liked quiet.
Br. Raygun had another side to him though, a side that most freshmen experienced first. Br. Raygun had what could be called "a temper." And when Br. Raygun got angry, something about his face and his voice put you in a state of mortal terror. I (along with my entire year at St. Francis) vividly recall a time our freshman year when we were too noisy at lunch while Br. Raygun had the misfortune of teaching a class just a thin auditorium divider away. For weeks he had sent requests over for our lunch period to please keep it down. One day, we had ignored this request for too long.
The lunch period was nearly over, and students were just starting to wander into the halls to use the restroom, clear trays, etc. Suddenly, one of our classmates, Ryan Bubcook (a short, funny guy with a high-ish voice) came RUNNING into the cafeteria shouting "GO BACK! GO BACK!" with fear in his eyes. Several paces behind him, moving with powerful, purposeful strides was Br. Raygun. Death was in his eyes. Steam may have been coming from his ears. I could not for the life of me tell you what he actually yelled at us next, as my mind (and the minds of nearly every young man in the room) was reduced to a state of prey animal panic, only noting the loud noise coming from the direction of this enraged apex predator. Another student, a friend of mine at the time named Mike Brolan, had been in the restroom during all of this and wandered back in the room completely oblivious to the circumstances. Br. Raygun erupted at him that he should sit down immediately. The change in Mike's facial expression from pleasant daydreaming to fear for his life would've had the whole room in stitches were we not terrified for ourselves. In a matter of mere moments (which felt like hours), the storm passed and Br. Raygun returned to his class. We silently cleared our trays and left our lunch period, thankful that no casualties had been claimed.
I personally felt the fury of Br. Raygun's anger one time that same year. Despite that intense lunchroom experience, I still felt confident that Br. Raygun and I were on good terms. He was my good buddy in the mornings, of course. Br. Raygun often acted as a substitute when teachers were absent. One day I went to attend my Algebra I class only to note the teacher, Ms. Goodman was absent and Br. Ryan was waiting at the door. As I passed by, I thought it would be friendly and funny of me to greet him by saying "Hiya, Bruddah!" in a squeaky, Newsies-esque voice. I entered the room and took my seat, unaware that Br. Raygun had entered directly behind me. As I sat, he exploded at me that I shouldn't dare address him so disrespectfully ever again. I was stunned and afraid. I thought I had just made a harmless greeting. I spent the entirety of the period in silent terror, mixed with a sense of injustice over the harsh response I had gotten from so little provocation. What happened next floored me.
As the class period ended, Br. Raygun approached me, I assumed to remind me once again to watch myself and never do such a thing again. Instead, he offered me a sincere apology for his reaction, telling me it was not deserved. I didn't know what to do, I mumbled a confused acceptance and left the room. Here was this man, a fully-grown adult with terrible powers of intimidation, apologizing to ME for something he was within his rights as an authority figure to do (even though it may have been of unnecessary magnitude). That day, my affinity for Br. Raygun based on the early mornings in the office and my fear of Br. Raygun based on his superhuman yelling ability coalesced and evolved far beyond the sum of the parts. I realized my deep, abiding, unwavering respect for Br. Raygun, a man who was unafraid to speak up when he felt he should, and was also unafraid to own his actions and apologize for them if appropriate. From that day forward, my respect for Br. Raygun only ever grew.
As students in the school got older and wiser, Br. Raygun's interactions with us became more and more genial. Here was a man who loved the school, but was not blind to its faults and would always work to improve them. Certain aspects that he had no control over, he would let students gripe about and subtly let them know with a wise look or a slight smile that he agreed, though he may not voice that aloud. Maybe he didn't do this with every student, but he did sometimes with me, and frequently with my good friend Dan Hellion, with whom he had a great affinity. Dan and I (more Dan than I, but both of us at times) found out how good and sharp a sense of humor Br. Raygun had for those who took the time to get to know him. We already knew how hard he worked (this is a guy who would even be outside at 5, 6 AM salting the parking lot in the winter with the custodial staff, often starting before they had arrived for the morning), now we were starting to see how good of a guy he was in other ways.
I remember one time when my junior class went away for junior retreat before the start of our third year, and a few of us caught a ride with Br. Raygun. There were about six students that traveled up with Br. Raygun; three or four of us rode with him, another two or three drove in a second car, caravan-style. On the way up, we stopped for dinner at Chili's. This was an unexpected and fun stop and Br. Raygun was great company at dinner, laughing along with our surely inane, high-school-age humor. He then surprised us all by picking up the tab for all of us. I'm not sure exactly how much a brother of a religious order makes a per year, but I'm sure it's not a tremendous amount. This was a really kind and appreciated gesture from Br. Raygun, and was indicative of his impeccable character.
The end of my senior year was a bit chaotic, closing with some major unpleasantness involving me, my friends, and a couple of students that we had treated pretty poorly that year. We were, at the time, convinced that these students were deserving of any cruelty or jokes thrown their way. In retrospect, we were really just being mean, immature teenagers. I've made peace with one of the individuals, and another I hope is doing well wherever he is. But part of what made this situation really messy is that as part of the litany of our offenses, it came out that we (and by "we", I mean largely "I") had been making pretty bad fun of the school Principal, Br. Willard as well. Now, to this day I will tell you that I was not alone in a low opinion of this guy. But I was probably one of his most vocal critics, and also used my gifts for impersonation and cartooning to make my points. I should add that Br. Willard was a prideful man, and I earned his deepest scorn for damaging that pride.
I bring up this seeming non sequitur not for its own value as a story (this time, anyway). After a few of my friends and I had been suitably dragged through the public square over these matters, there were a variety of reactions from people in the school. Fellow students were largely sympathetic, and some even flat-out vilified the student(s) in question who had let Br. Willard know just what I had been saying about him. Some faculty supported us too, an appreciated but probably not altogether very professional stance. Other faculty clearly thought we were bad kids who got what was coming to us. Br. Raygun was one of a handful of faculty who made it a point to approach us and let us know that he was just looking forward to this whole mess getting wrapped up so we could move on and graduate. He didn't condone our behavior, nor did he condemn it. He showed great wisdom and insight by all but saying, "you already know you were out of line, I won't belabor the point. I also know you're good kids at heart. Hopefully you've grown from this, let's move on." At least, that's the subtext I got from him. He may not have outright said it, but silence, as Br. Raygun knows, is golden.
Br. Raygun, if you chance to ever read this, thanks for being a terrific person and looking out for me in high school. You're a living example of what it means to be a man for the students of the school and you have my perpetual, unblemished respect.
St. Francis High was several towns away from my hometown, and timing the bus system to allow for extracurricular activities was tough from day one. Since my father worked in the same town as the school, we decided it would be easiest and cheapest for all parties if he gave me rides to and from school. The only problem was that my father needed to drop me off well before the school actually opened in the morning. He explained the situation to the school and it was Br. Raygun who helped us out. Br. Raygun woke up unbelievably early in the morning every day (we wondered if he ever actually slept at all) to start working on things in the school office. He said it would not be a problem at all to let me in to sit quietly and do homework, etc. in the office until the cafeteria opened or the morning buses arrived. For my part, I stayed reasonably quiet most mornings, although sometimes Br. Raygun would remind me about what color silence was (it was golden) when I would get too loud chatting with another student or two in a similar position as myself in the mornings. This was my initial impression of Br. Raygun: a hard-working, busy, kind man who liked quiet.
Br. Raygun had another side to him though, a side that most freshmen experienced first. Br. Raygun had what could be called "a temper." And when Br. Raygun got angry, something about his face and his voice put you in a state of mortal terror. I (along with my entire year at St. Francis) vividly recall a time our freshman year when we were too noisy at lunch while Br. Raygun had the misfortune of teaching a class just a thin auditorium divider away. For weeks he had sent requests over for our lunch period to please keep it down. One day, we had ignored this request for too long.
The lunch period was nearly over, and students were just starting to wander into the halls to use the restroom, clear trays, etc. Suddenly, one of our classmates, Ryan Bubcook (a short, funny guy with a high-ish voice) came RUNNING into the cafeteria shouting "GO BACK! GO BACK!" with fear in his eyes. Several paces behind him, moving with powerful, purposeful strides was Br. Raygun. Death was in his eyes. Steam may have been coming from his ears. I could not for the life of me tell you what he actually yelled at us next, as my mind (and the minds of nearly every young man in the room) was reduced to a state of prey animal panic, only noting the loud noise coming from the direction of this enraged apex predator. Another student, a friend of mine at the time named Mike Brolan, had been in the restroom during all of this and wandered back in the room completely oblivious to the circumstances. Br. Raygun erupted at him that he should sit down immediately. The change in Mike's facial expression from pleasant daydreaming to fear for his life would've had the whole room in stitches were we not terrified for ourselves. In a matter of mere moments (which felt like hours), the storm passed and Br. Raygun returned to his class. We silently cleared our trays and left our lunch period, thankful that no casualties had been claimed.
I personally felt the fury of Br. Raygun's anger one time that same year. Despite that intense lunchroom experience, I still felt confident that Br. Raygun and I were on good terms. He was my good buddy in the mornings, of course. Br. Raygun often acted as a substitute when teachers were absent. One day I went to attend my Algebra I class only to note the teacher, Ms. Goodman was absent and Br. Ryan was waiting at the door. As I passed by, I thought it would be friendly and funny of me to greet him by saying "Hiya, Bruddah!" in a squeaky, Newsies-esque voice. I entered the room and took my seat, unaware that Br. Raygun had entered directly behind me. As I sat, he exploded at me that I shouldn't dare address him so disrespectfully ever again. I was stunned and afraid. I thought I had just made a harmless greeting. I spent the entirety of the period in silent terror, mixed with a sense of injustice over the harsh response I had gotten from so little provocation. What happened next floored me.
As the class period ended, Br. Raygun approached me, I assumed to remind me once again to watch myself and never do such a thing again. Instead, he offered me a sincere apology for his reaction, telling me it was not deserved. I didn't know what to do, I mumbled a confused acceptance and left the room. Here was this man, a fully-grown adult with terrible powers of intimidation, apologizing to ME for something he was within his rights as an authority figure to do (even though it may have been of unnecessary magnitude). That day, my affinity for Br. Raygun based on the early mornings in the office and my fear of Br. Raygun based on his superhuman yelling ability coalesced and evolved far beyond the sum of the parts. I realized my deep, abiding, unwavering respect for Br. Raygun, a man who was unafraid to speak up when he felt he should, and was also unafraid to own his actions and apologize for them if appropriate. From that day forward, my respect for Br. Raygun only ever grew.
As students in the school got older and wiser, Br. Raygun's interactions with us became more and more genial. Here was a man who loved the school, but was not blind to its faults and would always work to improve them. Certain aspects that he had no control over, he would let students gripe about and subtly let them know with a wise look or a slight smile that he agreed, though he may not voice that aloud. Maybe he didn't do this with every student, but he did sometimes with me, and frequently with my good friend Dan Hellion, with whom he had a great affinity. Dan and I (more Dan than I, but both of us at times) found out how good and sharp a sense of humor Br. Raygun had for those who took the time to get to know him. We already knew how hard he worked (this is a guy who would even be outside at 5, 6 AM salting the parking lot in the winter with the custodial staff, often starting before they had arrived for the morning), now we were starting to see how good of a guy he was in other ways.
I remember one time when my junior class went away for junior retreat before the start of our third year, and a few of us caught a ride with Br. Raygun. There were about six students that traveled up with Br. Raygun; three or four of us rode with him, another two or three drove in a second car, caravan-style. On the way up, we stopped for dinner at Chili's. This was an unexpected and fun stop and Br. Raygun was great company at dinner, laughing along with our surely inane, high-school-age humor. He then surprised us all by picking up the tab for all of us. I'm not sure exactly how much a brother of a religious order makes a per year, but I'm sure it's not a tremendous amount. This was a really kind and appreciated gesture from Br. Raygun, and was indicative of his impeccable character.
The end of my senior year was a bit chaotic, closing with some major unpleasantness involving me, my friends, and a couple of students that we had treated pretty poorly that year. We were, at the time, convinced that these students were deserving of any cruelty or jokes thrown their way. In retrospect, we were really just being mean, immature teenagers. I've made peace with one of the individuals, and another I hope is doing well wherever he is. But part of what made this situation really messy is that as part of the litany of our offenses, it came out that we (and by "we", I mean largely "I") had been making pretty bad fun of the school Principal, Br. Willard as well. Now, to this day I will tell you that I was not alone in a low opinion of this guy. But I was probably one of his most vocal critics, and also used my gifts for impersonation and cartooning to make my points. I should add that Br. Willard was a prideful man, and I earned his deepest scorn for damaging that pride.
I bring up this seeming non sequitur not for its own value as a story (this time, anyway). After a few of my friends and I had been suitably dragged through the public square over these matters, there were a variety of reactions from people in the school. Fellow students were largely sympathetic, and some even flat-out vilified the student(s) in question who had let Br. Willard know just what I had been saying about him. Some faculty supported us too, an appreciated but probably not altogether very professional stance. Other faculty clearly thought we were bad kids who got what was coming to us. Br. Raygun was one of a handful of faculty who made it a point to approach us and let us know that he was just looking forward to this whole mess getting wrapped up so we could move on and graduate. He didn't condone our behavior, nor did he condemn it. He showed great wisdom and insight by all but saying, "you already know you were out of line, I won't belabor the point. I also know you're good kids at heart. Hopefully you've grown from this, let's move on." At least, that's the subtext I got from him. He may not have outright said it, but silence, as Br. Raygun knows, is golden.
Br. Raygun, if you chance to ever read this, thanks for being a terrific person and looking out for me in high school. You're a living example of what it means to be a man for the students of the school and you have my perpetual, unblemished respect.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Tales from High School X - Mr. Manicotti: King of the VCR
As can be inferred from the name, St. Francis High School is/was a Catholic school. As such, students were required to take a religion course each year. While over the course of four years I experienced increasingly strong theological disputes with course material (a foreshadowing of my future agnosticism), I generally liked the teachers I had for religion. For the first two years I had Mr. Corey Cycle, a pretty young teacher and a fairly cool guy. He would joke around with us but still was good at presenting material in an engaging way. My senior year I had Dr. Albert Focaccia, a Greek Orthodox deacon and a phenomenal person. He was intensely knowledgeable yet easygoing and genuinely cared about students. But my junior year, ah my junior year, that was the year I had Mr. Joseph Manicotti.
Mr. Manicotti, or "Average Joe" as we referred to him as occasionally, seemed like a legitimate average Joe. Generally genial and sporting a moustache, Mr. Manicotti was prone to saying bizarre things or explaining complex ideas in oversimplified ways. For example, to try to teach us about how environmental factors can affect behavior, he explained to us that "Arabs are shifty because they live in the desert." The scarcity of water leads to shiftiness. It's just science, clearly. He truly did not believe this was a racist statement, and said it with no malice, but it was indicative of the kind of skewed or not-thought-through viewpoints he'd periodically present.
Mr. Manicotti was a funny guy, in part because he seemed to lack some of the professional boundaries of conversation that many teachers maintain. While at a retreat before our senior year, Mr. Manicotti told the epic tale of his wife's four pregnancies and childbirths ("two of my kids were accidents!") complete with quoting the phone call from his wife about the fourth pregnancy, which for some reason was quoted in a deep, masculine voice. The spectacle was so outlandishly hilarious that another teacher, Mr. Saismost, had to run out of the room laughing. Other times Mr. Manicotti would attempt to be funny on purpose, usually less effectively. Each of his classes watched the film Romero about the life and assassination of Archbishop Oscar Romero as portrayed by the late, great Raul Julia. From talking to other students in other sessions of the same class, apparently Mr. Manicotti scripted a gem of a comment for the climactic assassination scene when Oscar Romero is shot to death with an automatic weapon while performing mass (spoiler? it happened in real life, so...): "Now that's a mortal sin!" Each of the three junior religion classes got to experience that zinger.
Romero was not the only film we watched with Mr. Manicotti, however. No sir. In fact, as the class progressed through the year, my friends and I were convinced that each class session would be a 50/50 chance of watching a movie. We weren't complaining about this by any means, but it did seem strange to us. The films started out very relevant to course material. We watched films such as Romero as discussed above, or Peter and Paul about the early church after the death of Jesus Christ. Schindler's List was a bold choice, and one I enjoyed. Lorenzo's Oil was a bit of a stretch to tie to the material though. At Christmastime, Mr. Manicotti was surprised to discover that some other faculty were actually going to show movies as well and did not reserve a Christmas film in time before they were all grabbed up. Our holiday treat was a random entry from the Eyes on the Prize PBS documentary series about the civil rights movement. A fine series, but How the Grinch Stole Christmas! it ain't. One time we had Mr. Manicotti substitute teach for another class and got to enjoy a documentary about the 1980 USA vs Soviet Olympic match dubbed the "Miracle on Ice."
Things got ludicrous by the end of the year. We watched Deep Blue Sea. You may be familiar with this film. It is about genetically altered "super sharks" that systematically hunt and kill the scientists responsible for their creation. You may know it as "that one movie where Samuel L. Jackson gets eaten by a shark that leaps out of the water behind him" (spoiler? The movie isn't really good enough to merit discretion). The tie to religion class may be the fact that LL Cool J plays a master chef who is also a preacher who manages to defeat a shark by stabbing it's eye with a crucifix (spoiler? Who WOULDN'T see that coming?). Somewhere along the line, we started to suspect that maybe Mr. Manicotti just didn't own a VCR at his home.
The most bizarre movie we watched and the strongest evidence for the "this is the only VCR readily available to Mr. Manicotti" theory cannot be found in any video rental stores. You cannot buy a DVD of it. Youtube does not offer any clips. That is because this movie was a home movie. One morning, we walked in to see the TV/VCR cart set up and ready to go (coin flip came up heads today? Great!). We took our seats and waited for today's entertainment. The image came up on the screen: a girl between 11-13 years old riding a horse. Not in a show or anything. Just like, at a horseback riding lesson. I thought that maybe Mr. Manicotti had taped over this with something we should see, and the real show would begin momentarily. But it did not. "What is this?" asked someone. "That's my little angel!" replied Mr. Manicotti, a proud smile on his face and his eyes fixed on the screen. We watched for like five solid minutes until some less than classy student proclaimed, "hey, she's kinda hot!" Mr. Manicotti was aghast; "Hey, she's only 12 years old!" he chided. "Whatever man, give her a few years," the anonymous commenter shot back. Mr. Manicotti declared movie time over. But the memory would live on in our hearts for years to come.
Mr. Manicotti, or "Average Joe" as we referred to him as occasionally, seemed like a legitimate average Joe. Generally genial and sporting a moustache, Mr. Manicotti was prone to saying bizarre things or explaining complex ideas in oversimplified ways. For example, to try to teach us about how environmental factors can affect behavior, he explained to us that "Arabs are shifty because they live in the desert." The scarcity of water leads to shiftiness. It's just science, clearly. He truly did not believe this was a racist statement, and said it with no malice, but it was indicative of the kind of skewed or not-thought-through viewpoints he'd periodically present.
Mr. Manicotti was a funny guy, in part because he seemed to lack some of the professional boundaries of conversation that many teachers maintain. While at a retreat before our senior year, Mr. Manicotti told the epic tale of his wife's four pregnancies and childbirths ("two of my kids were accidents!") complete with quoting the phone call from his wife about the fourth pregnancy, which for some reason was quoted in a deep, masculine voice. The spectacle was so outlandishly hilarious that another teacher, Mr. Saismost, had to run out of the room laughing. Other times Mr. Manicotti would attempt to be funny on purpose, usually less effectively. Each of his classes watched the film Romero about the life and assassination of Archbishop Oscar Romero as portrayed by the late, great Raul Julia. From talking to other students in other sessions of the same class, apparently Mr. Manicotti scripted a gem of a comment for the climactic assassination scene when Oscar Romero is shot to death with an automatic weapon while performing mass (spoiler? it happened in real life, so...): "Now that's a mortal sin!" Each of the three junior religion classes got to experience that zinger.
Romero was not the only film we watched with Mr. Manicotti, however. No sir. In fact, as the class progressed through the year, my friends and I were convinced that each class session would be a 50/50 chance of watching a movie. We weren't complaining about this by any means, but it did seem strange to us. The films started out very relevant to course material. We watched films such as Romero as discussed above, or Peter and Paul about the early church after the death of Jesus Christ. Schindler's List was a bold choice, and one I enjoyed. Lorenzo's Oil was a bit of a stretch to tie to the material though. At Christmastime, Mr. Manicotti was surprised to discover that some other faculty were actually going to show movies as well and did not reserve a Christmas film in time before they were all grabbed up. Our holiday treat was a random entry from the Eyes on the Prize PBS documentary series about the civil rights movement. A fine series, but How the Grinch Stole Christmas! it ain't. One time we had Mr. Manicotti substitute teach for another class and got to enjoy a documentary about the 1980 USA vs Soviet Olympic match dubbed the "Miracle on Ice."
Things got ludicrous by the end of the year. We watched Deep Blue Sea. You may be familiar with this film. It is about genetically altered "super sharks" that systematically hunt and kill the scientists responsible for their creation. You may know it as "that one movie where Samuel L. Jackson gets eaten by a shark that leaps out of the water behind him" (spoiler? The movie isn't really good enough to merit discretion). The tie to religion class may be the fact that LL Cool J plays a master chef who is also a preacher who manages to defeat a shark by stabbing it's eye with a crucifix (spoiler? Who WOULDN'T see that coming?). Somewhere along the line, we started to suspect that maybe Mr. Manicotti just didn't own a VCR at his home.
The most bizarre movie we watched and the strongest evidence for the "this is the only VCR readily available to Mr. Manicotti" theory cannot be found in any video rental stores. You cannot buy a DVD of it. Youtube does not offer any clips. That is because this movie was a home movie. One morning, we walked in to see the TV/VCR cart set up and ready to go (coin flip came up heads today? Great!). We took our seats and waited for today's entertainment. The image came up on the screen: a girl between 11-13 years old riding a horse. Not in a show or anything. Just like, at a horseback riding lesson. I thought that maybe Mr. Manicotti had taped over this with something we should see, and the real show would begin momentarily. But it did not. "What is this?" asked someone. "That's my little angel!" replied Mr. Manicotti, a proud smile on his face and his eyes fixed on the screen. We watched for like five solid minutes until some less than classy student proclaimed, "hey, she's kinda hot!" Mr. Manicotti was aghast; "Hey, she's only 12 years old!" he chided. "Whatever man, give her a few years," the anonymous commenter shot back. Mr. Manicotti declared movie time over. But the memory would live on in our hearts for years to come.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Tales from High School X - Señor Golbez and the Mysterious Writing
At the request of a reader, this chapter has been voluntarily removed. It may or may not reappear again at a future point in another form that addresses certain concerns. To those of you who read it before I took it down, I hope you enjoyed it! To those who didn't get the chance, my apologies.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Tales from High School X - Señor Golbez Goes to Ray Ohn's
This tale from St. Francis High is one of my all time favorites. At this school, there was a program called Senior Service. Every Wednesday, seniors would spend the morning at an off-campus site doing community service of some sort. For example, my senior year, I helped out in a 1st grade classroom at my old elementary school. Other seniors helped out at nursing homes, etc. A secret benefit of senior service was that juniors taking a senior-level class were effectively granted a free period on Wednesdays when their senior-level class fell during the morning. I was a year ahead in French, taking French IV as a junior, and the Spanish IV class also met at the same time. This meant that the two juniors in my class (myself and Craig Biscuitzka) often joined or were joined by the handful of Spanish IV juniors, such as my friends John Gozer and James Draco. This was already a good situation when we had an easy period with Madame Maroon (a wonderful educator and a good person), but was even better when Craig and I would get to join the Spanish IV juniors for a free period/study hall with Señor Golbez.
Golbez wasjust as prone to even more prone than any students to getting bored and wanting to chat during this time. Sometimes he would want to pass the time by playing "Would You Rather?", a game which consists of Golbez describing two or three situations, then asking you to choose which you would rather do. The most notable involved choosing between being a hideously ugly man with living in poverty but with an enormous penis and lots of sex, being a man of average-looks, divorced, two kids, with a middle income, average penis, and normal amounts of sex, or a beautiful man (like a model!) with lots of money but a tiny penis and lackluster sex life. Don't most teachers talk to their students about these options?
Perhaps the greatest time-passing chat we ever had with good ol' Golbez in these study halls was as follows. Please note that I cannot verify his story, I can only verify that this is the story as it was told to us. Oh, and it should be noted that Bellido had a twin brother (so he says), Alejandro Bellido Golbez. He himself is Bellido Alejandro Golbez. True? False? Again, only he knows. From here on in for this entry, quotes mean it is Bellido Golbez speaking:
"I want chu guys to know someting about me. I never drink, and I never fight."
...
...
(Like 15 seconds of silence)
...
"But this one time I went to Ray Ohn's [a nightclub] in [Name of state capital] and I got SOOOOOO drunk! And there was this girl there and she was like 'woo woo!' [breast-juggling gesture] so I was like 'grab!' [breast-grabbing gesture]. Den she got like SOOOO mad but I didn't care because I was like laughing, but then her boyfriend came up and wanted to fight so I called my brother Alejandro over and then we beat him up and then we were thrown out for fighting and never allowed back for two years."
...
(At this point, we are in a bit of a stunned silence. Didn't he preface this story by saying he never drinks and never fights? Oh well, maybe this was the one exception.)
...
"And this weekend was the end of two years, so we went back."
...
"Now we are not allowed back ever again."
Truly, a role model.
Golbez was
Perhaps the greatest time-passing chat we ever had with good ol' Golbez in these study halls was as follows. Please note that I cannot verify his story, I can only verify that this is the story as it was told to us. Oh, and it should be noted that Bellido had a twin brother (so he says), Alejandro Bellido Golbez. He himself is Bellido Alejandro Golbez. True? False? Again, only he knows. From here on in for this entry, quotes mean it is Bellido Golbez speaking:
"I want chu guys to know someting about me. I never drink, and I never fight."
...
...
(Like 15 seconds of silence)
...
"But this one time I went to Ray Ohn's [a nightclub] in [Name of state capital] and I got SOOOOOO drunk! And there was this girl there and she was like 'woo woo!' [breast-juggling gesture] so I was like 'grab!' [breast-grabbing gesture]. Den she got like SOOOO mad but I didn't care because I was like laughing, but then her boyfriend came up and wanted to fight so I called my brother Alejandro over and then we beat him up and then we were thrown out for fighting and never allowed back for two years."
...
(At this point, we are in a bit of a stunned silence. Didn't he preface this story by saying he never drinks and never fights? Oh well, maybe this was the one exception.)
...
"And this weekend was the end of two years, so we went back."
...
"Now we are not allowed back ever again."
Truly, a role model.
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