Before I begin, there are many, many, many songs I relate to. I could probably list at list a thousand here that could tell many different aspects of my life in music. But I'll choose just one that best captures the essence of  my journey. It's an under-rated song from Disney's "Hercules" called, "Go the Distance". Those of you who are familiar with it, you can surely hear the powerful accompanying music in your head that drives the lyrics home.

(I prefer Roger Bart's character version [vocals] as opposed to Michael Bolton's version. Actually, my favorite, and the most powerful version can be found on Erich Kunzel's [And the Cincinnati Pops] Magical Musicals album, which covers a collection of modern Disney film songs. The lyrics in this version are performed by Rick Logan, who sounds incredibly like Roger Bart.)

"Go the Distance"

I Have Often Dreamed

Of a Far Off Place

Where a Hero's Welcome

Would Be Waiting For Me

Where the Crowds Would Cheer

When They See My Face

And a Voice Keeps Saying

This Is Where I'm Meant To Be

I'll Be There Someday

I Can Go the Distance

I Will Find My Way

If I Can Be Strong

I Know Ev'ry Mile

Will Be Worth My While

I Would Go Most Anywhere

To Feel Like I Belong

Down an Unknown Road

To Embrace My Fate

Though That Road May Wander

It Will Lead Me To You

And a Thousand Years

Would Be Worth the Wait

It Might Take a Lifetime

But Somehow I'll See It Through

And I Wont Look Back

I Can Go the Distance

And I'll Stay On Track

No, I Won't Accept Defeat

It's an Uphill Slope

But I Won't Lose Hope

Till I Go the Distance

And My Journey Is Complete

But To Look Beyond the Glory

Is the Hardest Part

For a Hero's Strength

Is Measured By His Heart

I Am On My Way

I Can Go the Distance

I Don't Care How Far

Somehow I'll Be Strong

I Know Ev'ry Mile

Will Be Worth My While

I Would Go Most Anywhere

To Find Where I Belong

I Will Beat the Odds

I Can Go the Distance

I Will Face the World

Fearless, Proud, and Strong

I Will Please the Gods

I Can Go the Distance

Till I Find My Hero's Welcome

Right Where I Belong

                CHICAGO and CHILDHOOD

                            HINTS of FATE?

First point of interest: my mother wrote in my baby books when I was just four months old that I seemed to be attracted more to Mickey Mouse and Disney toys than ANYTHING else!

    I grew up in a suburb of Chicago called Mt. Prospect. Since the age of about five, though, I've felt incredibly drawn to Southern California. Even though I was only a child, I understood much about the entertainment industry and how the world seemed to work. I wanted, since then, to be a performer. As a baby, I began a pattern of surprising people. My mom's best friends daughter, whom I will call T.,got me more than started walking. Her daughter, T., who I grew up calling cousin, was nine months older, and could already walk. We both wanted to play with this pickle car, from what I was told. After awhile, T. just picked it up, and walked away. I, never having walked before, stood up, and RAN after her to get it! You'll notice this pattern throughout my life! I was adopted. I know nothing so far about my natural parents, but I'd like to find a way to discover all this someday. My parents - the ones who raised me - were former up-and-coming Chicago opera stars. They had given up on their dreams, though - something I REFUSE to do! My mother devoted all her musical talents to the Catholic Church singing, directing the choir, choosing and playing all the music. My father was a butcher for a meat-packing company. At age four and a half, my sister, J., was adopted, born, and brought home. She has been my everything since.

      It was also at age five that I began to do things that were early signs of my future path. One day, I got this idea in my head to gather my neighbor friends together, put on nursery rhyme shows in the backyard, and charge parents and neighbors a nickel, dime, or quarter to see it. Even though I directed and produced them, since my first love has always been performing, I always made sure I acted, too. One of our neighbors would never let me forget one of the first show rehearsals. It was "The Three Little Kittens Who Lost Their Mittens". It came time for us kittens to lose our mittens. The other two kittens threw their's up in the air, and shouted, "Oh, our mittens are lost!" I turned into the director again, and said, "You can't do that! No ones going to believe it! You have to really lose them!" During fourth grade, I finally got to be in a SCHOOL play, and, even though I was very shy back then, I got the lead role. The character was VERY strong inside, had a lot of charisma, and ambition and drive even though he was mouse! This all came out of me quite naturally, and it surprised me and everyone else. The standing ovation I received got me forever hooked on performing.

     During that same year, I discovered the first clues of other future interests of mine. Every year, the school had a Halloween story-writing contest. I had noticed that each story that had won always had certain elements to it - certain things always happening. The winner always had his/her story read by the principal over the intercom. After reading the story, he would announce who had written it. This particular year, I decided to give it a shot. Later on, there I was, sitting at my desk, listening to the announcements. After a few sentences, I realized that the winning story was mine! I nearly fell over in my chair! I wouldn't write like that again, though, until later in high school.

      Later, still in fourth grade, I visited my grandmother, Little Grandma, as I called her. She was Mom's mother. My mom's father had died when I was two years-old. J. was everyone else's favorite, because she was a girl. I was Little Grandma's favorite, though. She always called me "The Apple of [Her] Eye". She was great! She let me drink coffee when we stayed whole weekends by ourselves, with LOTS of cream and sugar. Can't drink coffee ANY other way now, though I hardly ever DO drink it. She also taught me how to waltz to Austrian and German waltzes. It was also at her apartment that I was first introduced to Peter Pan via a Disney music, dialogue, and narration record album. It used to belong to my mother from when the film was originally released. She had a whole bunch of other such Disney albums. But THAT one was my favorite! That was mainly because I flew in my dreams all the time. Still do. And I loved the swashbuckling parts of the album  - Peter's duels with Captain Hook, and the battles with the pirates! I would listen to it on that old-fashioned record player over and over again! This began my life-long connection with Peter Pan. Eventually, of course, I saw the movie during its re-releases in the theaters.

      On this particular weekend, I was digging through another old trunk in one of her closets, and found a Peanuts book that had also belonged to my mother.

Even though, I was already a Disney fan through and through, something captivated me about this book. I got incredible, unexplainable urges to try to DRAW the characters myself. After awhile, I had gotten them down pat, and started getting on kicks drawing other cartoon characters. My art projects in school began to get better and better, and started to get some attention. This was when I first learned I could draw and had it in me to be an artist.

    Also in that same breakthrough year fourth grade the school orchestra began recruiting. I loved all the sounds the instruments made, but was most impressed with the rich sound of the cello. The MAIN deciding factor for me, though, was KNOWING FULL WELL what the reactions would be from everyone once I announced that I wanted to play it. I am still a short guy now, but back THEN, I was outright TINY! I KNEW everyone would go on and on about how there was no way I could play it, because it was three times my size, etc., etc. And it was THIS that REALLY made me want it all the more! Sure enough, that was EXACTLY the reaction I got from them. But I stood my ground. I didnt want to play anything else in the orchestra but the cello, and that was the end of it. I took to it right away. I later got first chair, first prize at all my solo contests, and wound up studying privately under a former Chicago Symphony cellist. This continued until I started high school because they had no orchestra there, and I had to live in the city in the school dorm. More on that later.

                            CHILD  ABUSE

    I will first try to describe my parents as best as I can using people / characters that should be familiar to most of you.

    My Father:

Looks:

A little like Curly from "The Three Stooges" with a bit more hair, though, and a rather square shaped head. Heavier. Actually, he looked like a combination of Curly and Archie Bunker with dark hair.

Personality:

The views, prejudices, and tendencies to mispronounce things of Archie Bunker throw in a German disciplinary style and bad, German temper.

Voice:

Bass opera singing voice, and bellowed whenever he spoke - even when he was NOT yelling.

Usual Wardrobe:

White T-Shirt that barely covered his huge stomach. Black or dark navy blue polyester pants that he couldn't fully close. White socks with some holes in the toes. Brown criss-crossed sandal shoes.

Charm and Table Manners:

Jabba the Hutt

My Mother:

Looks:

A combination of Walt Disney's Queen of Hearts from "Alice in Wonderland" (Give her glasses and take a LITTLE weight off her.). Disneys Fairy Godmother from "Cinderella" (Give her brown hair and put brown-framed glasses on her.).  Leia Thompson's appearance in the original "Back to the Future". Both old, frumpy and young, beautiful versions. When she was younger, she looked and dressed just like Lorraine (the character) in the 1950's.

Personality: The views and crabby attitude and over all demeanor of Bea Arthur's "Maude". The bad temper and need to always be right of Disney's Queen of Hearts. The uncontrollable rage and abusive tendencies of Joan Crawford. The fragility and misery of older Judy Garland.

Voice:

Very beautiful, mesmerizing, talented opera soprano singing voice. But when she shouted, which was alomost all the time, she sounded EXACTLY like Disney's Queen of Hearts. She'd even do the lip - raspberries thing (I have NO idea what else youd call it!) the Queen did during the croquet game. I know I keep using the Queen here to describe Mom, but she was SO much like her in too many ways! In fact, when I began collecting Disney bean bags a few years ago - for when I had my own children in the future - the Queen of Hearts bean bag had a voice box in it that shouted when you hit it. I showed it to my sister when she visited, and said, "Look, Jeannie! A Mom doll!" She agreed completely!

Wardrobe:

Much like Maude's. Othertimes, it was much like the older, frumpy Lorraine McFly we first see in the original "Back to the Future".

Charm:

Can't think of an exact person / character here. But my mother had the charm of a very active PTA Mom.

    This is funny, I know, but accurate nonetheless. If you could imagine a German Archie Bunker being married to Maude, you'd have my parents' relationship with each other. My father felt women should wait on men hand and foot. My mother wouldn't have any of that, and wouldn't do anything to rebel and make her point. So, the housework would never get done, and then they'd make ME do it all.  

    My parents were both extremely strict, and unable to control their anger. Thusly, we went through a lot of child abuse in every way EXCEPT sexually, or any due to alchohol or substance abuse. I got beatings on usually more than a daily basis with belts, wooden boards, shoes, brooms, whatever was handy. They dragged me around the house by my hair, through things at me, made me kneel in corners without support for hours on end and more.

     My mother strangled me to near unconsciousness three times. The first time was when I took her rings to show and tell. During recess, I playfully lent three girls a ring each for the day saying that I would marry them on the playground. By the time I walked home for lunch, one of the girls' mothers had already called my mother and told her about the ring I had loaned the girl. As soon as I walked through the door, my mother grabbed me by the hair to the center of the room, threw me down, sat on my chest, and began to fiercely strangle me - banging my head on the floor all the while. Just then, to my luck, Michele's mother, Mrs. Poteracki, called to talk - taking Moms concentration on me away until I had a chance to explain. I still got beat again for it later.

    The second time occurred when Mom found a faded ink spot on the bottom of a living room couch cushion. I had not done it. It was a complete mystery to me. It turned out later that my sister, Jeannie had done it, but was too afraid to admit it. Who could blame her? In the meantime, we were beaten silly, then sent to corners of the family room to kneel for an hour. At the end of the hour, the oven timer buzzer would go off. If whoever did it had not yet confessed, we would both get more beatings, and sent back to kneel again according to the same pattern. During one of these beatings, my mother lost her patience with me convinced that I had done it. (I almost ALWAYS got blamed for everything even though most often I hadn't done what I was accused of.) She strangled me until I was able to get loose. When she found out later that I hadn't done it, as usual, there was no apology.

    The third and final time was due to the fact that I had nerve to be a half an hour late coming home. I had gotten caught up in playing soccer with a neighborhood friend around the block. There we were, kicking the ball back and forth on my friend's front yard when my father drove up. He bellowed at me to get into the car. Embarrassed, I said good-night to my friend, David, and got into the car. The second we pulled away, Dad began to pound on me with his free hand - shouting at me about how stupid I was to lose track of time. He dragged me by the hair into the house and threw me at my mother. They began beating me with the belt that always hung threateningly over

one of the oven handle bars. I broke free for a moment and ran into the dining room. My father came around the other side, and they cornered me as they usually did. (Sometimes, I was able to get down and quickly crawl through the bottom of the dining room table and chair legs and get away. But not this time.) Once I was again in my mother's grasp, she began to strangle me again demanding to know who I thought I was to be home late. I kept thinking, "I'd be glad to answer you if you would JUST LET GO OF MY THROAT!!" I tried to pry her hands free, but was unsuccessful. I felt myself blacking out. It felt like I was down to the last few seconds of my life before she finally let go. I began gasping and heaving. I looked up at her with a look that I suppose made her feel guilty. She began to cry this time, giving me a flurry of apologies. I said nothing to her. I just looked at her again, turned,  and headed to my room - wheezing and clutching my throat.   

    My father, being a butcher, used to have my mother drag us over to him. Then he'd he slam our hands down flat on the kitchen table, and raise a large knife or cleaver in the air with his other hand, and convince us, in full temper, that he was seriously going to chop our fingers off. Obviously, he never actually did it. But he sure had us scared that he would. He WOULD beat us, though, and good. (Well, not really good!) I remember one time he threw everything he could at me from across the room including a set of knives. Luckily, he had terrible aim. Only the bigger things like the broom actually got me.

    Back when I was ten years old, after getting beaten to a pulp again, I tried to keep up my optimism as usual, and remember that deep down, I knew that things would turn completely around to the opposite end of the spectrum. But that particular day, it wasn't working. I felt so trapped that, for the first and LAST time in my life, I actually tried to commit suicide. I used my bicycle chain to do it. I didnt have an ordinary padlock. I had a chain that had its own locking mechanism on it. You only had to line up the numbers to a horizontal line off to the side. Even when I locked my bike up, I only moved one, maybe two of the numbers on the end. Not this time. I wrapped the chain around my neck as tightly as I could to the point where I could feel myself start to choke. I then screwed up ALL the numbers.

    I changed my mind REAL fast! It was working all too well! I ran to the mirror in the blue bathroom and tried to see the numbers on the lock under my chin. But it was hopeless. I couldn't. I felt myself start to black out. I gave up trying to see what I was doing, and began to randomly, desperately scramble the numbers to get the lock open. Just as I felt my time was seriously up in this world, somehow, someway, the lock opened, and my neck was free! I took in huge breaths of air. I still believe that was a miracle. I vowed then and there, that no matter how difficult things got, no matter how much I should EVER despair, I would NEVER try to kill myself again. NEVER! And I haven't even thought about it again to this day. Death is NOT the answer!

     Then there was the housework. I was made to single-handedly do all the chores in the house and with the lawns - with the exception of cooking. I even had to clean my sister's room - the filthiest room in the house - when she was more than old enough to clean it herself. They made ME do it because they knew that she wouldn't.

    My chores were timed by the oven-timer. If I was not done by the time the buzzer went off, I got a terrible beating, and was sent to do it again. My mother used to take particular pleasure in bursting into my room, taking her arm, and sweeping everything off my dresser and desk tops onto the floor for no apparent reason. A lot of times, she was mainly just in a bad mood. She would then pull and dump out all my drawers. My father did this sometimes, too. Then they'd go start the oven timer

    There were also times when my mother would wake me up in the middle of the night. She'd scream at me to get up and find things that SHE had lost or misplaced. If I didn't find it within half an hour, I'd be made to kneel in the corner for the next half hour. It didn't matter whether or not I had school in the morning. Sometimes, if I couldn't find it, she'd lose her temper and I'd get beaten.

    The second to last time there was an episode, I was home for the weekend from the dorm, as I was every weekend. Fall was starting to kick in. I had a slight nose cold. Michele came over while my parents went out for something. We sat on front porch and talked. This was our usual place to do everything through the years: talk, joke around, listen to music, etc. My parents soon came home and were furious that I was outside with a cold. Michele knew that was her cue to leave. Once inside, we started to argue. It wasn't that big of a deal to me. It was a simple little cold. I had had bronchitis as a child, but that disappeared when I was around eight years old. History repeated itself as they began to chase me around to try to beat me. I ran out the front door. The outer glass door shattered from the speed, but I didnt even notice. I reached the bottom of the driveway before I noticed that my wrist was bleeding profusely. The flying glass had cut it in a diagonal angle. If the cut had been any straighter! What was strange was that I hadn't even felt it until now. I happened to have a bandana in my pocket. I pulled it out, remembered what I had learned about injuries in school and Boy Scouts, and wrapped it around my wrist. My parents appeared at the door screaming at the top of my lungs. I held up my wrist. "See what you made me do?!! Trying to kill me again??!!" They didn't come out to check. So I went inside. I pulled back the blood-soaked bandana back to look at my wrist. What later turned out to be a blood clot looked a little too much like an exposed artery to me at the time. I was also still heavily bleeding despite the pressure I had been trying to put on it. I almost went into shock, and suggested that I be taken to a hospital. They nearly laughed in my face. So, I went into the green bathroom to continue to treat it myself. I washed it off. Eventually the bleeding stopped. After awhile, I figured out that I didn't have an exposed artery, though it sure had looked like one at the time when the cut was fresh. I still have that scar across my right wrist to this day.

    Speaking of my former bronchitis, I'd be coughing like a barking dog sometimes. My parents had no patience for that. It wasn't my fault. Yet I'd get screamed at and beaten senseless for having to cough. I began to be afraid to cough. I'd have to, though, so whenever I could, I'd bury my face into a pillow or the car seat, or whatever was handy that could muffle me when they weren't looking. Thankfully, as mentioned above, that disappeared at around age eight.

        The physical abuse finally ended one day - just after the start of my high school sophomore year. I had begun to interfere more and more with my sister's beatings. I refused to let my parents hit her anymore. All she had to do was call me in fear and I'd be right there in a flash. I would stand between Jeannie and them. They usually gave up. One time, though, I had to grab my mothers wrist in mid-swing and hold it, looking her square in the eyes, saying, "Don't!", until she agreed not to hit her. I began to threaten to call the police on them whenever they were about to get violent. Eventually, that last day came.

    My mother was on her way home from the evening Christmas Eve mass, and was headed home before going back to play for the Midnight Mass. We would also attend this one as we did every year. The little girl across the street was over playing with Jeannie. Jeannie, meaning well, invited her to join us if she wanted to. Their family never went to mass, even though they, too, were Catholics. You'd think this was a nice gesture, but for some reason, it sent my father into a rage. He began screaming at Jeannie for it right in front of the girl, who also began to cry in fear. He chased my sister around the house. I was about to go after him to stop him when Mom walked through the door. Being that Mom was so religious, I thought it would make her happy that a girl from a family who never attended church would want to go and shed be pleased with my sister for inviting her. To my utter shock, she sided with my father, and also flew into a rage! She helped him chase her around the house. I quickly went over to the girl and reassured her that I would make everything okay, because she was crying again. I had her stay on the living room couch while I went to intercept my parents. Mom locked the green bathroom so that Jeannie couldn't get back out that way.  (We had two bathrooms. We referred to them as the green bathroom and the blue bathroom. The green bathroom had two doors. One led to the family room, and the other to my parents' room. The blue bathroom was in the hallway between my bedroom and my sisters on the other side of the wall not connected to any rooms.) Mom began to go all the way around the whole house to get to the other side of their bedroom. (That led to the hallway. My room was right behind their's.) However, I got there first. Dad had Jeannie in cornered in the back of their room. He began to raise his shoehorn. It was on the end of a long metal rod. Jeannie screamed for me. I ran in and stood between them before he had a chance to swing. I warned him that if he didn't back down and tried to hit her, this time I'd fight back physically. Now even angrier, he shoved me out of the way, and went to swing. But I got back in the way before he could.

    All in a second's time, I grabbed his shoehorn out of his hands and threw it across the room with my left hand. With my right, I threw a hard punch right into his mouth that sent him staggering backward. His glasses flew off his face and nearly across the room. He looked at me in shock. His mouth was bleeding and his lips began to swell. My mother arrived at the opposite door just in time to see it happen. She couldn't believe her eyes.

    I turned to them both half crying, and half still in rage. I remember basically what I had said."I warned you! The next time, not only will YOU (Looking directly at my father) get it again, but I WILL call the police and have you BOTH arrested for child abuse something I should have done long ago! If there is ANY retaliation tonight, I'll do it right now! I know you'll try to lie your way out of it, but I think they'll believe US! Plus, there's a little girl crying in the other room scared out of her mind who saw the whole thing! Let us get past without trying anything, and DONT talk to us for the rest of the night!" I turned to my father specifically as I pulled Jeannie up. "Now, get out of my way!" Nothing like that ever happened again.

                              ESCAPISM and

                GERARD THE PRANKSTER

    That's not to say that my childhood was so horrible that I never got to have any fun! You know the old saying, "When the cats away, the mice will play"! And THIS mouse had a blast! Before I get into that, what helped me really get through my early years was Disney. I totally bought into the films messages, the song lyrics, etc., about keeping the faith, knowing that EVERYTHING would turn around to the OTHER extreme someday. Yes, I often "wished upon a star", fully believed that "no matter how [my] heart [was] grieving, if [I kept] on believing, the dreams that [I wished would] come true". And I understood that "A Spoonful of Sugar Helps the Medicine Go Down". I knew all too well that "In every job that must be done, there is an element of funYou find the funand Snap! The jobs a game"! I bought it all, soaked it up like a sponge, and lived my life by it. I still do! Ironic that, for three years, until very recently, I worked for Disney while working on making MY OWN dreams come true on the side! I now got to give that Disney spirit to others from around the world on a daily basis! It's all summed up by the opening lyrics of the song, "American Pie" (Madonna recently did a great remake of this song.) "A long, long time ago

 I can still remember

How that music used to make me smile

And I knew that if I had my chance

I could make those people dance

And maybe they'd be happy for awhile"

It's the exact same basic idea.

    Okay, now for the REAL fun part! I would round up my sister, and my next-door-neighbor, Vanessa. She was a year and - a - half younger than me. The three of us did the wildest, most dangerous, but most exhilarating things together! That's why my parents didn't want us to play with each other. I would put the patio furniture cushions out in certain spots in the backyard. Then, I'd put on adventure-film soundtracks like "Raiders of the Lost Ark", and turn the volume up high enough to hear from outside. That was our cue. The three of us would then climb up onto the rooftop via the front porch railing. We'd take running starts off the roof landing on the cushions! Man, was that fun!

    Other than that, we'd ride our bikes to the nearby forest preserves to go exploring. We climbed trees (I spent MUCH of my childhood in trees! Both there and at home!), ride our bikes along the trails, cross the river and creeks over fallen logs, and more. But our FAVORITE thing to do was to play on the rope someone had tied high up in the trees just over the river. We would spend HOURS swinging back and forth over the water doing all kinds of acrobatic tricks! After "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom"came out in theaters, we were so taken by it, that we all pitched in and bought a little, yellow, rubber raft. We took it into the Des Plaines River. We lost all track of time. It got very dark all of a sudden, and we had gotten very far downstream. Paddling back, we discovered that a hole had somehow appeared in the middle of the boat! We had to take turns putting our fingers over it the whole way back so that we didn't sink!  Eventually, we found our bikes, deflated the boat, and got home. Later, we heard that river was FILLED with leeches! Boy, what could have happened!

    We had just as much fun INSIDE the house when my parents were gone. Somehow, I came up with the idea of taking the couch cushions (Cushions AGAIN!) and sledding down the basement stairs with them! That became my favorite indoor thing to do. I also loved turning over all the furniture and making little caves and forts out of them. Then there was our own version of tag. The person who was "it" had this certain pillow. The rest of us would run rampant all throughout the house trying to avoid having the pillow being whipped at us, and becoming "it". I also used to, being the prankster that I was, have a lot of fun with my dads deer head. Of course, loving animals as much as I always have, I felt very sorry for the deer, and wished my father hadn't gotten him. But, alas, it was too late, and now too much of a multi-method prank NOT to use! One example: our other neighbor friends would come over when my parents were gone. When they rang the doorbell, I would grab it, run to the door, stand behind it, open it slightly, and stick just the deer head out. It always made the boys jump, and the girls scream!

     But, our fun wasn't necessarily limited to when my parents were gone! We would have Vanessa sneak in through our bedroom windows - especially Jeannie's because it faced the side of Vanessa's house. We'd close and lock the door, and do things like use a tape recorder to tape ourselves spoofing Dr. Ruth's sex-talk radio show. My sister did the best voice impersonation of Dr. Ruth, and Vanessa and I would be the callers with the most RIDICULOUS sex problems! (And the most ridiculous voices!) Jeannie/Dr. Ruth would always cop out of solving every problem by saying, "Alvays uss contlacepshen (contraception)!" We had our own version of hide-and-go-seek, too. Whoever was "it" put the pillow over his/her head. We'd shut the lights off, and the other two would hide somewhere in the room. Keeping the pillow on, "it" would have to find the others in the dark. Our TRADEMARK "Jeannie's Room Thing To Do", was get packs of those Easter marshmallow bunnies, three buckets of water, and a LOT of old newspapers. We'd spread the newspapers all over Jeannie's room, choose our spots complete with some piece of furniture we could use as a fort, place our buckets next to us, dunk pieces of the marshmallow bunnies into the water, and have an all-out "Wet Marshmallow Bunny War"! When the pieces hit you in the face, they'd just ooze down! It was great! And it was hilarious watching the girls cringe, and go, "EEEEW!" each time they got hit!

                    QUIGLEY NORTH

                 SAVED by the SCHOOL

    We went to Catholic grade schools. Then came time to choose a high school. One came along that was PERFECT for me! It was in the heart of downtown Chicago, and even though I had yearned to be in or near LA throughout my life, Downtown Chicago was the next best thing at the time. I desperately NEEDED to get out of the suburbs, and experience life in the Big city or at least a big city for the time being a training ground, if you will! It also had a separate dormitory for suburbanites to be able to commute that wasnt very far from the school. So, I would ALSO be able to get out of the house and away from my parents and be sort of on my own! I was always very independent. I wasn't a trouble-maker by any means! I just had a very clear vision of my future at a very young age, and I just wanted to get on with it as soon as possible! I could tell and feel from the slides that it was very community-oriented. It gave off a very home-like kind of feeling. I instinctively sensed that I'd be very comfortable there. I just KNEW that was where I was destined to go! Right then and there!

    The building itself was incredible, too. It was one block down the street from the famous Hancock building, and literally surrounded by other tall skyscrapers, famous larger-than-life hotels, the hustle and bustle of the city, and more. But there it was - very old and in its own little world appearing to be from another time long ago. It took up an entire city block (That's really large in Downtown Chicago!) It was built in 1905 becoming alma mater to generations of men many of which became priests, bishops, and even cardinals. Their class pictures past to present lined the halls inside. Their faces peering back at you from ages ago. Outside, the school looked like a cross between a medieval palace and a European cathedral. Its chapel alone was bigger and more grand and majestic than most entire churches. The courtyard was complete with gargoyles on the rooftops. There were winding, three-story, marble staircases. The building was full of foreboding secret passages, underground tunnels, and creepy attics - all just waiting to be (secretly and mischievously) explored! It also housed the first and coldest (!) school swimming pool in Chicago history.

BIG-CITY-EXPLORING and the DORM

       The school was everything I knew it would be! It was very strict, of course, but I was used to that at home. I wasn't a troublemaker anyway. But I WAS / am an adventurous spirit who couldn't be held down, and THAT got me into a lot of trouble! Not at school, but at the dormitory! I was SO fascinated by the city, that I went exploring all over downtown and the surrounding areas wealthy and run-down, dangerous areas alike. I wasn't afraid! Most often, I did this with friends, but there were plenty of times I went by myself. I wasn't worried about getting lost, because no matter where I wandered off to, I could still see the famous John Hancock building, which was just across the street from my high school, and a block and a half from the subway station that would take me back to the dormitory.

    This is how I've seen achieving my goals ever since! I compare the two experiences. My goals are like that Hancock building. I can see exactly where I'm going. It is in plain sight. It's just that its off in the distance, so I don't know exactly HOW I'm going to get there. Sometimes, I'd have to zig-zag, cut through alleys, back-track a little now and then, but I KNEW for CERTAIN that I'd get there!

    The only catch to my Big-City exploring was that I would get SO caught up in it, that I would lose track of time! We were supposed to be at the dormitory named St. John Vianney Hall by 5:30pm (17:30pm) for dinner. We'd then have until 6pm (18pm) to finish it, and be upstairs in our bedrooms. This was our homework time. We were not allowed to LEAVE our bedrooms between 6pm to 8pm (18pm to 20pm) unless we absolutely HAD to use the restroom. Next was Chapel time. We had a little prayer room down the hall. We all gathered there at 8 (20)pm to pray for 15 minutes. After that, it was recreation time until 10 (22) pm. We had a pool table downstairs in the recreation area (It was the same room we had our meals in.). Next to it was a ping-pong table. There was a stereo-tape and record player (Remember those?!) also in the room. There was a stash of board games in the stereo cabinet. No computers back then! Off to the far side was a little TV room. One TV - 14 guys! (VCR werent common yet, so we didn't have one. Otherwise, being the movie buff that I am I would have been in THERE a LOT more!) A couple of chairs and a couple of couches, and an end table filled the room It was also where the only available telephone was! One phone - 14 guys! Out of those 14 guys, there was only ONE who was nice to me during my first two years. He indirectly, and unknowingly, helped me start to open up, and live, and be myself. After that, he graduated, and I lost touch. The others either picked on me, or didn't deal with me at all. But there was ONE guy there who became SORT of my arch nemesis, for lack of a better way of putting it. He gave me a LOT of hell my first two, and his last two there. But years later, I unexpectedly got my chance or gave him HIS chance to make amends. He was further proof to me that people can and DO change! My life-long friend and neighbor, Michele and I noticed that Robert Frost, the first PUBLIC school we went to, was having open house. We thought it would be interesting to go check it out for memorys sake. To my surprise, who had become one of the teachers there of all areas of all places but my former arch-enemy?! But we were both very cool about it! In fact, we were able to joke around with each other about those old high school and dorm days. I, laughing, reminded him of how much of an "asshole" he was. He, also laughing, admitted that, deep down, he had always thought I was a pretty normal - even cool guy - regardless of how hard he had tried to convince me otherwise at the time! It's funny how life will arrange things so that you can fix old situations like that!

    But, back to me and my exploring! I would get home late. Not meaning to, of course, but it often happened that way regardless. The disciplinary system at the dorm was points as they the two priests that ran it with the help of two college guys who were our monitors called it. A point was a chore like scrubbing toilets and urinals, for example, during your next evenings recreation time. Those monitors gave me so many points that I don't think there was ANY kind of chore imaginable that I DIDN'T do there at least ten times! Not just for coming home late, though.

    We were also supposed to be PHYSICALLY in bed with the lights out by 10:30 (22:30)pm every night. I just wasn't tired until about midnight.  I tried and tried to lay there and let or make myself fall asleep, but it just wouldn't work! So, I'd be up writing (fictional stories I was working on, or drawing listening to music on my headphones. I wasn't causing anyone any harm. Actually, I was being quite productive! But, unfortunately, UNLIKE with the crazy things I did back at home, HERE I very often got caught. And, of course, given points!

    The final straw came toward the end of my sophomore year. I was in the schools annual musical, "South Pacific" that year. At this point in life, I was only given a supporting, ensemble role. They wanted me in the sections that involved the most dancing. I was turning out to be quite a good dancer, thanks, in part, to a Latino friend of mine who taught me a lot of street dances. Break dancing was brand new and very big at the time! I had / have a lot of rhythm for a white boy as I was / am told!

    Well, one night, play practice was canceled, and it was my cousin, Terri's birthday (The Terri I had mentioned earlier that I had grown up so closely with). She and her family - Aunt Frisbee, Uncle Joe, and her younger brother, Gary Russo - had always meant SO much to me (Still do), that I just couldn't miss it. I had to go visit them. I mistakenly took advantage of the fact that play practice was canceled, figuring that the priests in charge of the dorm wouldn't know since they were not the least bit involved in the show. Well, I came home late to discover that I had been VERY wrong about that! What was my punishment for this one? They expelled me not from the school, but from the dormitory for the rest of the year! I was now going to have to commute an extremely long distance from the suburbs by way of commuter train every day until the beginning of my junior year. My parents were furious! I was grounded for the rest of the year, including what was to be my very first concert the popular classic rock band, Styx!

MISFIT FRIENDS, SECRET PASSAGES, and GHOST-HUNTING

    I still continued to attend Quigley North, though, and later graduated there in 1986. Along the way, I had made a small band of close friends. I have remained friends with them to this day! Like me, in some way or another, they were all considered misfits. Big, loud-mouthed, funny, obnoxious Rich, outrageous, yet determined Monty Python fan, Jim (Jim, by the way, was the ONLY one from our entire class who actually became a priest!), Dan, the rebel, Kevin, the sarcastic cynic, Joe, the ultra-laid back, Mike, the strange and Gothic, Chris, the break-dancing, Latino ex-gangster, and Jeff, the philosopher. Then, of course, there was me - the dreamer! At the school itself, the ONLY trouble I ever got into was when my friends and I were caught carrying out MY idea exploring all the secret, age-old, closed-off passageways! Each time, I got a demerit on my demerit card (I only got a few every year.), and had to write lengthy essays on why I shouldn't and wouldn't do it (Which, of course, I would!) Luckily, I wasn't ALWAYS caught doing that! Most of the time, I wasn't. But, how could I resist?!

    I got involved in EVERYTHING in high school! The school newspapers as both a reporter and an illustrator/cartoonist, I was on the Tennis Team, the Bowling Team, the Ski Club, intramural sports, soccer, and I managed the basketball team alongside Rich and Jim all four years, and managed the swimming team alongside Rich for my last two years. But there were many other things, too. The Art Guild, the Choir, the Movie Club, the War Games Club, the Dungeons and Dragons Club, the Math Club, the Liturgy Team, in which I helped plan out our student body religious ceremonies and masses, and I was an Extraordinary Minister, meaning I was authorized to distribute communion (hosts / wafers) during our masses.  I volunteered for the bike-a-thon that benefited charities, I was in the annual school musical EVERY year (Unfortunately, they didn't have a drama club during my years there!), I helped plan our bi-annual retreats to gorgeous, spacious St. Mary of the Lake Seminary in Mundelein, Illinois. Our secret, fun thing to do there was find the boarded-up room that, according to legend, was boarded up because it had been demonically possessed since the sixties or maybe it was the seventies. The legend was, that the priest who lived in that room was studying demonology and exorcism, so that he could become educated in performing exorcisms. During his studies, the crucifixes on the walls and the bed and furniture began to spin, the walls themselves began to bleed, and numerous, strange, unpleasant voices could be heard. The room has been boarded up ever since. Our teachers upon arriving, warned us NOT to go looking for that room, insisted that the legend was NOT true, that there WAS no boarded up room to find, and that anyone caught trying to investigate would be in SERIOUS trouble!

    Well, of course, we still investigated! We discovered that our teachers had lied to us! It took us awhile, but eventually we FOUND the boarded up room! We couldnt hear anything going on in there at the time, but the room DID in fact exist! Our other favorite activity there was to go ghost-hunting! MANY true ghost stories came from that place! Again, our teachers and the other priests who resided there denied it all before we even got a chance to ask anything about it. We saw no apparitions, but found MANY cold-spots! These were meant to be SPIRITUAL retreats. I don't think our teachers had THIS particular meaning of the word spiritual in mind when they planned these weekends for us! However, despite our adventurous tendencies, our retreats still had the desired effect on us. We couldn't leave, however, with my buddy, Rich putting his black "Blues Brothers" fedora and sunglasses on a statue of Jesus. And I don't remember where we got the cigar, but we put one between his fingers. (The statue's fingers) We had to show, after all, that Jesus really is one cool dude!

MOMS SELFISH TRICKS

    Well, it came during junior year to choose colleges. Shortly before, I stuck to the plan I had made back in seventh grade. I finally announced to my parents that I was no longer interested in pursuing priesthood. (If youl'l remember, I had mentioned earlier that I never really was!) She wasn't too happy with that idea. But, as I knew years earlier, by this period in time, we'd all be too comfortable with the situation for her to try to pull me out this late in the game. Plus, she wanted me to continue anyway just in case I'd change my mind again. Little did I know she had a much more elaborate hidden agenda than that!

    It was college mania time in high school! We were getting all kinds of recruitment gimmicks thrown at us from every school imaginable. We were even offered two college course to take during senior year of high school that would count in college credits. These were psychology and anthropology two subjects I found fascinating, and did very well in the following year. But back to the year at hand junior year.  Just as I had with high school, I knew EXACTLY which college I wanted to go to Columbia College. It was / is a School of the Arts college. It didnt have a campus, really. It, too, was in the heart of downtown Chicago. (That was great, because I wasn't about to leave big city life after four years of it!) It had three separate buildings each a few blocks apart. And, best of all, it catered to everything I was really interested in.

    We were given financial aid forms to fill out. I filled out everything I needed to. I saved only the part my parents had to fill out. Then they'd mail it, and it would be done. I put Columbia College down as my first choice, of course. I remember Princeton and Harvard being on my list as well. In the meantime, everyone began getting letters of acceptance from various colleges and universities. Strangely, I wasnt getting any except from Niles Seminary College - the next level up in the seminary system. My mother had been pushing and pushing me to go there instead. (My father didn't know the first thing about colleges, and stayed out of it completely except to back my mother up completely, though just because it was something I didn't want.) I refused to accept going to Niles. I began wondering if I had suddenly gone from being a great student to being considered an idiot by other colleges. I did very well on the tests. It didnt make any sense. Until one day

    I happened to be home early enough to get the mail myself one day. I sifted through everything, and found my copy of the financial aid form. Eagerly, I opened it. Glancing over the section where I had listed my choices of schools, I noticed that THEY WERE GONE!! Whited out! All that was there in the top line, in my mother's handwriting, was Niles Seminary College! I had been tricked!! Now I wouldn't get financial aid for any other school!! I realized that now, I had NO CHOICE but to go there, or not go to college at all! I was FURIOUS!!

    I went in and immediately confronted my mother. Upon my discovery, instead of being embarrassed, or the least bit sorry, she got very smug, and proudly announced that was not all she had done! I HAD been accepted to SEVERAL schools after all. But SHE had opened, read, and immediately thrown out each and every letter of acceptance!! As livid as I was, I felt there was nothing I could do. I had to accept treachery and defeat, and go to the appointed meeting with the rector (principal) of Niles.

    Now, as good as an actor as I can be, I HATE the idea of having to act in real life. When I went in to see him, I tried very hard to seem interested in going to Niles. But my heart was not in this AT ALL, so my performance was not convincing. He saw right through me. He knew I had been up to this. He probed, and broke down and told him everything my mother had done. He wound up being on MY side! In fact, he wrote my mother a very stern letter about what she had pulled, and wrote that it would be on her conscious if she didn't let me go where my heart told me to go Columbia College. She got the letter, and finally realized that she wouldnt win the battle. Though she agreed through gritted teeth, I would attend Columbia after all. The catch was that, because of what she had done, we would now have to pay FULL PRICE for me to go there.

DAD GETS INJURED ON THE JOB

    On top of this, my father got injured at work stepping backward into an open manhole while signaling a machine. He fell, and ripped several ligaments and tendons. My mother's theory as to what happened from there is that his boss had bought out my fathers own lawyer behind his back. He got screwed out of his workmans compensation. After nearly a year out of work, he was allowed to come back to work by the judges order, but they immediately found some lame excuse to fire him after twenty years of blind loyalty to the company.

LITTLE GRANDMA FLASHBACK

    As if enough werent happening, my parents were running out of funds to keep my grandmother. Little Grandma, that is. A couple of years before, she had developed Altzheimers Disease. They took her out of her home, which had been in my mother's family since she was an infant, and sold it. Then they put her in a very run-down nursing home. It was heartbreaking to me. To say that my mother never got along with her own mother was an understatement. My father's relationship with her was even worse. They yelled at her constantly as if she were an unruly child. I remember she'd always wind up crying, and begging them not to yell at her anymore. I loved her dearly, and I couldn't bear to think her in a place like that. Aside from all the wonderful times I had had with her, I'll never forget the night she really stood up for me. My mother was combing my hair in the bathroom very hard digging the teeth deep into my head, as she always did. I couldn't help but moan in pain. She warned me to shut up. I tried hard not to make any sounds, but it was just impossible not to. She reached her very short fuse, and began beating me - hitting me all over - especially in my face, holding me by my hair, and shoving me hard against the counter. My grandmother, who was visiting for a few days, came running in, demanding to know what Mom thought she was doing. This made Mom even angrier, and as she screamed at my grandmother to mind her own business and get out, she beat me even harder. At this, my grandmother shocked me by suddenly grabbing my mother by HER hair, shoving me to safety, and hitting HER face! She screamed back at her that she better not even THINK of harming her grandson again - especially not in HER presence! If I weren't as stunned as I was, I might have started applauding her! I had NEVER seen my grandmother stand up for HERSELF, much less for me! Of course, both my parents did as they pleased time after time, but, as I mentioned earlier, I wound up putting a stop to all THAT myself later on in my life. Well, getting back to the time period in question!!  Mom and Dad began tapping into my college funds both to support us, and to help pay for Little Grandma's nursing home bills. Like I had much left after having to pay full price for that first year!

GRADUATION FROM QUIGLEY NORTH

    Senior year in high school went by so fast, it made my head spin! Next thing I knew, it was graduation time, and it hit me that I wouldn't be coming back there anymore, except to visit. (And, of course, I have.) Although I had always been anxious to move on in my life and goals, it was sad to leave everything here behind. Attending Quigley Preparatory Seminary North had changed my life so much on so many levels. (For the better, of course)  Though I would keep my friends all these years, I remember walking through those doors as a student for the last time with many mixed emotions. But I was incredibly excited to get to the next level!

COLUMBIA COLLEGE

    Columbia College was great! True, I wasn't getting to experience real campus life, but I was pursuing my interests, and I was still in a big city. And THAT made me very happy! I took courses in theater, film, music, writing, art, and more! I also remember an entire course based on the Old English author, Chaucer. His writings were very - um - spicy for his day - even by todays standards!

    A fellow student in one of my acting classes was an elderly woman. She was very nice. She inspired me. She was living proof that it is NEVER too late to go after your goals! I remember our teacher lining us up one day. He would go up to us one by one, and have us say, "F--k you!" to his face, and he wanted to feel that we meant it. I was very amused by the sight of this older woman cussing at our teacher. She hissed it at him, and it was very convincing, because he seemed taken aback by it as well! We did some plays both in and out of class. One of them was Neil Simons "Barefoot in the Park". I played the role Robert Redford portrayed in the film version, and the elderly woman played the mother-in-law. I remember the scene in which I had to carry her up some stairs! Not easy! She was a little heavy set! But it made the scene THAT much more real!

    Another fun assignment by another acting teacher involved created a spoof soap opera. He split us up into four groups, and gave us a few rules. One all characters were to have a hidden goal that we were to reveal to NO ONE until the actual performance. Two all characters had to have slept with everyone else at some point. And three in the end, we had to discover that somehow, all characters would wind up being related to each other. Talk about a fun assignment!

Our group started our first huddle, and I was afire with ideas, AND names they loved. They decided to go with them. I remember a few of the names I came up with Marsha Fields - the wife of the owner of a chain of department stores. She had married him for the money, and was having many affairs n the side. Ah, yes! HE had been murdered, and she was one of the main suspects! There was the male model, Manna White, and others I can't remember. My character was James Mean - the town teenage rebel who was also, (wrongfully) one of the main suspects. I wound up being Marsha's son even though we had had a brief affair awhile back not knowing, of course, until the end. We had a BLAST!!

    One of the students in this class was a film major. They were making a lot of student films. After this assignment, he began introducing me to other film classmates of his, and the next thing I know, I'm barraged by offers to be in their student films!!

A few of them included a role as an unfortunate individual whose soul was the prize in a poker game between God and the Devil. Another was an assistant to the general who decides he has no choice but to start a nuclear war. Another was the president of a professional School of Theft. We spoofed those cheesy career institute commercials. I also played a homeless teen, and a gay character in love with a passionate kissing scene in bed and more. In an onstage skit, I played a troubled teen back in the 1800's who can't handle the fact hat he is developing a sexual appetite due to the very strict society and day he lives in. I enjoyed performing the controversial scene in which he is reading suggestive material off of a scroll by candlelight. This passage arouses him, and I had to mock masturbation and orgasm under the nightshirt I wore as a costume. But he is so conflicted that he later kills himself. I wish I remembered the title! I'd like to perform that role once more when my theater company is up and running again! I'll have to research it.

    Alas, my college days were coming to a temporary end. We were running out of funds. And I had heard too many horror stories concerning student loans! There was some glitch that prevented me from getting enough future financial aid as well. I took a job with friends doing telephone surveys. But I hated bothering people. The one thing that was good about that job was that I got one of my life - long gimmicks from it. It was so boring and tedious, that it made our day when we came across an unusual or comic answering machine message. We'd write the umber down, and pass it along for everyone to call. I determined then and there that I would ALWAYS have something fun and / or interesting on MY machines or voicemail when the time came! Thus, my tradition of using film clips or bits of music as outgoing telephone messages was born!

ADVENTURES IN SNEAKING OUT

   While the physical abuse had long stopped at home, the emotional abuse more than continued. Here I was college age, and having to be home by ten, for one! Getting screamed at and called every name in the book if I was so much as a minute late! I was denied use of the car regularly for no apparent reason. Many nights I just didn't feel up to the arguments I knew I'd lose anyway. So, I would do one of two things. Most often, I would have my friends park down the street and wait for me. I'd lock my door, and fill up my bed to look like I was in it just in case. Then, after making sure I could hear BOTH my parents snoring, I would simply hop out the window, and join my friends. Either that, or I'd do most of the above, and sneak OUR car out instead putting it in neutral, and steering it so that it would coast down the driveway, and turn down the street. Then I'd wait until I was far enough away from the house, and started it up leaving the lights off, though. I'd turn them on when I was further down the street. I would circle the block, park away from the house, climb back in my window, and made sure I could still hear my parents snoring. I'd circle the block one final time and repeat this. Finally, Id be satisfied that I was safe, and head to visit friends and so on.

    One such time, I had a VERY close call! Remember the movie, "Ferris Buellers Day Off"? Well, I LIVED that movie a good few times! There are too many to mention, but I'll tell you about ONE such time for now!

    One night, a pair of twins, Maurice and Chantal, and their friend, Michelle wanted to go to a party in Waukegan, Illinois, and needed a ride since their car was in the shop. They invited me, and asked if they could get a ride. We'd been good friends for awhile, and I was happy to drive them, but in order to do it, I'd have to sneak the car out. So, I did my usual routine, and we went down there. They didn't get good directions and they also forgot to bring a phone number with them, so we wound up getting lost. After awhile, we decided not to go to the party since it was getting too late. I had to get the car back before 5am because that was when my father left for work in the morning. I also needed time to let the car cool down before he got into it, so he wouldn't know that I had taken it!

     We couldn't find our way back, either! We wound up on residential streets. I had never seen one-way streets in any suburban residential area before, and neither had anyone else in the car. So, we didnt realize it when we were on one! The next thing we knew, we were being forced to turn and pull over by a cop! We didn't understand what we were being pulled over for, but I was glad to have someone to ask directions from! I was very polite about the whole thing when he walked up. I explained that we were lost, and asked him to tell us the way back. But he was throwing major attitude, and was obviously on a huge power trip. He gave me a ticket, and when I nicely asked him for directions, he yelled at us again, and gave me another ticket for PULLING OVER the wrong way on another one-way street! Regardless of the fact that he had MADE us pull over that way! He refused to be any kind of a help, and now we were REALLY in a race against time! In our attempts, we wound up somehow going further AWAY from our destination much further out into the boonies! We wound up in Zion, Illinois. If that weren't bad enough, we discovered that we were somehow going in circles, because no matter what we did, we kept winding up in the SAME SPOT in Zion! After about the fourth or fifth time, to say we were running out of time was the biggest understatement possible! At that point, I just gave up on trying to use logic, and taking any more advice from the peanut gallery, and went on my own pure instinct. It worked! FINALLY we had gotten to an area that I recognized.

    It was almost 5am now, though! I still wasn't even close to getting home on time! I didn't have time to drop everyone directly at home. Luckily, Michelle lived right near the twins. I had to drop them off just NEAR their homes, were they had to cut through other peoples back yards to get home. There was no traffic in my lane except for the car just ahead of me. But lucky me I wound up being stuck behind the slowest driver in town! I couldn't pass the car either because there were too many cars going the opposite direction in the other lane. Needless to say, I screaming at the top of my lungs at the driver (Not that I could be heard outside my own car!) Finally, I got home at 5:30!! Fearing the worst, I pulled up, readjusted everything the way it was before I had gotten into the car (I had this down pat by now!), ran to the back of the house, vaulted over the fence, jumped into my window. Just then, I heard noises that made it obvious that my father was running late that morning himself! Just as I was beginning to settle in, he was just leaving! I waited awhile before allowing myself to relax just in case he happened to touch the outside of the hood of the car! If he did, he would feel the heat, and come running in bellowing at me any second! My father was NEVER the silent type! He would gt angry right off the bat, and would let you know right then and there! I waited and heard him pull away. Nothing had happened! He didn't find out! Good thing I had kept the heat off, and the windows open most of the way back, so that the INSIDE of the car would stay rather cold, at least, to match the weather! I never heard anything about it. We had somehow made it back without getting caught!

THE POPEYE GIG

    I was getting more and more desperate to get out of Illinois, and move to Southern California. I was at my wits' end with just about everything! I did have SOME fun during this time period, though, thanks to doing a lot of community theater, and a fun side job. This side job was to be my first gig as costumed cartoon character! It would HARDLY be my last! A new shop in the nearby, usually INCREDIBLY boring shopping mall, Randhurst. The only shops I liked there were the music, video, and novelty shops. This new shop was dedicated to selling all cartoon-character related things. Since I loved performing, I HAD to apply! I wound up playing Popeye! My job was to walk around the mall interacting with people, taking pictures with them, and signing autographs to promote the new shop for about a month. I had a BLAST doing it! We were not supposed to talk as the characters, but I had his voice and his laugh down pat, and did it anyway much to the kids' delight! I danced around just like him did that walk - hop thing he often did in the cartoons. It was a lot of fun! I couldn't believe I was getting paid for this!

COMMUNITY THEATER

    As for theater, my parents were against my doing it all the way. I think it had something to do with the huge contract my mother had been offered in opera when she was a teenager. She had said she turned it down to marry my father and that it would give them too much control over her personal life, but I always felt there was more to that than she was telling me. Something much more deeply disturbing to her had to be in there somewhere to make her as against my getting into entertainment as she was. As for my father, he felt that it wasnt practical, and I shouldn't even TRY to do anything that wasnt practical, or the least bit risky. To him, doing theater, even as a hobby, was a complete waste of time (despite the fact that he had done it once before in the opera, which was how he had met my mother in the first place!) He believed in being the ostrich and burying ones head in the sand. Not ME!

    As usual, I went behind their backs and went to auditions anyway! Instead of being proud of me when I got called and offered a role, theyd be really pissed off! But I'd tell them that I'd already gotten cast, and it was too late for me to back out. I also threw it back into my mothers face that they had BOTH had their time in Chicago opera, and that my mother was CURRENTLY in charge of all the music for the parish musicals (At St. Rosalies the church she had been devoting her talents to since before I was born). In fact, when they were doing Oliver, which I had done myself in high school, they pushed my mother to not only do the music, but to play the play the part of Widow Corney, and tried to get even my FATHER to play Mr. Bumble feeling that it would be PERFECT casting. And it WOULD have been perfect casting!! Too bad I wasn't young enough to play Oliver himself anymore, because if they did their scenes with ME, they would have been almost biographical!! They were almost considering it, but I think to prove a point to me, they didn't do it. As if that were going to stop me doing shows anyway!

    Some of the shows I did were "South Pacific", "Sugar", a musical version of Marilyn Monroe's "Some Like It Hot", "West Side Story", "Leader of the Pack", "Anything Goes", "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" (Both community theater AND with a group that performed it along with the movie at the movie theater), "Little Shop of Horrors", "Grease", "Babes in Toyland", "Peter Pan", "The Prince and the Pauper", "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat", and "Amadeus".

The roles outside of ensemble / dance roles in these were Ling - one of the Chinese characters in "Anything Goes" (How I got cast in THAT role being blonde-haired and blue-eyed, I'll never know unless it had to do with my goofing off with a very funny, China man voice during auditions that may have been overheard!)

Little Boy Blue in "Babes in Toyland" for children's theater. The title character himself, "Peter Pan", also for children's theater about as basic a production as you could get, but it was still a personal fulfillment for me. Rocky in "The Rocky Horror Show" (theater version), and Rocky in "The Rocky Horror PICTURE Show" in the movie theater as a result of landing the role in COMMUNITY theater! The Prince in "The Prince and the Pauper".  Another title role as Joseph in "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" (a somewhat prophetic role, and also fitting in that, technically, my first name really IS Joseph! I have been going by my MIDDLE name, Gerard, since 1990, and using my newer Catholic confirmation name, Christian, as my new middle name.) And the best role of all the title role of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in a community theater production of "Amadeus"!!!! I played some of these roles during this particular time period, and some later in the future.

RUNNING AWAY TO LA (MY FIRST TRY) WITH $1.25

    Again, aside from all the performing I was doing, my yearning for California had gotten too great to put off any longer. Not to mention that I felt more and more restricted and repressed at home. So, I decided to just do it, and move down here. I knew, though, that everyone, especially my parents, would do everything in their power to stop me, and I did not feel up to dealing with all that at that time. I just wanted to go, and without any hassles or complications. So, I secretly bought my one - way plane ticket, and then went to the bank to pull all the remaining money out of my trust fund. I was utterly shocked to find out that my parents had used up all of it! I knew this was to pay for Little Grandmas nursing home bills, but they had never told me they were still doing this all this time! What to do now? Well, my patience at home, and with everything, and with feeling still trapped in Illinois had reached its end. I HAD to go through with it whether I was broke or not, or I was going snap!! I just HAD to find a way to make it work! A co-worker of mine at the telephone survey job had gave me the phone number of a friend of her's, and had already asked her to start looking for a place I could stay for awhile when I got there. She said that by the time I arrived, she should have something for me, and that I should call her when I got to the LAX airport. By the time I took care of all the necessary arrangements, all I had left was LITERALLY $1.25. Well, I was going to have to keep faith that everything was going to work out!! Despite all setbacks, there was no turning back now. This was it! It HAD to work! One of my high school friends, Mike, let me stay at his place the night before I had to leave, so that it would be easier for me to get to the airport by bus. The twins, Maurice and Chantal, offered to give me a ride to his place in the city. Knowing that my family would surely harass my sister, Jeannie, and all my closest friends that they KNEW how to get a hold of, I had to, regretfully, keep this a secret even from them. It broke my heart to have to do it that way, but the less they knew, the safer they were from my parents until I felt ready to contact them all again. I even felt sorry for my parents, but I knew they would stop me, and I HAD to follow my destiny. This was, after all, MY life not theirs, as they seemed to think.

    So, the night before, I smuggled two suitcases into my room, and packed everything I could into them except for the bathroom supplies. That would have to wait until I was SURE my parents were both asleep for the night, because if they had noticed THOSE gone, it would have been a tell-tale sign. Meanwhile, Maurice and Chantal parked their car down the street and waited for me. Finally, everyone was asleep. I got my bathroom supplies, and tossed the two suitcases out my window. I wrote a quick note explaining what I was doing, and why, and promised I would call them once I was firmly settled in California. I didn't tell them, of course, who was helping me. I then made sure my door was shut, turned off the lights, jumped out the window, and made my way down to my friends car with my suitcases. We took off for Mike's place in the city, and I waved a secret "Good-Bye" to my family and neighbors.

    When it came time to go, I thanked Mike for all his help. He gave me enough for a long distance call, and he made me promise him I'd use it to call him when I arrived at LAX to let him know I was alright. I then  dragged my very heavy suitcases on a few buses and trains to the airport. Eventually, I got on the plane, and I got lucky enough to get a window seat! We took off, and as I looked down at the hometown I was leaving, I thought about the fact that I had no definite destination when I got there, no real arrangements of any kind, and that all I had was $1.25 and refused to let myself fear ANYTHING. Somehow, I was not the least bit afraid. I was being put to a great test here. I was going to have to trust my instincts, trust myself in every way. I had been brave enough to do MANY things completely on my own throughout my life, and smart enough, and adaptable enough to make it all work before. This would be no different. I wouldn't LET it be!

    Unusual things started to happen already on the plane! After awhile, the businessman next to me started talking to me. Eventually, I realized he was hitting on me! He was saying how a pretty boy like me could make it out there easily with the right people, and he could help me, etc., etc.,  I wanted to find some stable ground as soon as possible once I got there, but not that way! Plus, my instinct said not to trust him anyway! Something didn't feel right about ANYTHING he was saying. So, I thanked him for his advice, and said I needed to take a nap. When the time came to switch planes half way there, I made sure I lost him in the crowd.

    On the next plane, I was by myself, and he was nowhere to be seen. I later found myself in a conversation with one of the female flight attendants. For some reason, I felt comfortable enough opening up to her about what I was doing. She was amazed that I wasn't afraid, and, to be honest, so was I! But she was very encouraging. She wished me the best of luck when I got off the plane. Again, I made sure I was not seen by the guy from the previous flight.

  It was 2am when I arrived. It turned out that only ONE of my two suitcases had made it, and that the other would arrive sometime the following day! I called Mike to assure him I had arrived in one piece, and that I would keep him informed along the way. Then I called my co-worker's friend. She had not been able to find a place for me to stay after all, but would keep working on it. I couldn't stay with her because her parents wouldn't allow it. I told her I'd come up with something, and would keep in touch. "Off to a good start", I thought to myself, and made my way to a bus route map. There was an elderly man looking at it next to me. I guess I seemed extremely focused in studying it, because he asked me where I wanted to go. The only thing I knew well about Hollywood, was that the Chinese Theater was in the heart of it. I figured that if I could get there, I'd be in the thick of things, and could find SOMETHING to go on from there. The elderly man said he could personally show me how to get there. He was a senior citizen, and could ride the bus for free, and that he enjoyed taking advantage of that and spent his nights riding everywhere. I could tell there were no hidden intentions in his offer, so I accepted the help.

   After the phone call, I didn't have quite enough for the bus. I explained things to the bus driver as politely as possible, and he let me ride. He even gave me a transfer to the next bus. The elderly man got on the next bus as well. He was telling all kinds of stories about old Hollywood. Finally, we reached the Chinese Theater. The man stayed on the bus and he wished me well. I thanked him and stepped out into the world I had dreamt about my whole life!

    I already knew it wasn't going to be all glamorous. I saw all the tacky souvenir shops along the way. I got a feel for it instantly. During the day, it was tourist central, and at night, it was the same as certain areas in Chicago all street people, etc. I hadn't been off the bus five minutes before I was being asked if I wanted to buy drugs. They didn't scare me, though. I had seen it all already back home. I just politely turned the offers down. Despite everything, I was still excited. I walked up and down the area looking at all the stars on the sidewalk. I went back to the theater, and put my hands in the all the handprints. Each and every set didn't matter who's they were, whatever. Funny the ONLY set my hands fit perfectly were Marilyn Monroe's.

    Then it was time to think. I sat down on a bench in front of the theater to sort out what to do next. A heavy-set, middle-aged Phillipino prostitute came over and made offers to me. Even if I HAD money, there was NO WAY I would go for it. But she sat down and started telling me about her life. All of a sudden, she started laughing. She got up, went across the street, and kept laughing. And then, wouldn't you know it? It started to rain! I had heard it hardly ever rained here, and hoped that wasn't an omen. "Okay, this is definitely a challenge", I thought. I looked around, and noticed the Roosevelt Hotel. I had heard much about this place back in the Old Hollywood days, so I was curious right there. On instinct, I went into the lobby.  I walked around, browsing for awhile. I found a bowl of free apples on a desk. I picked one up, and ate it. Then, exhausted, I sat down on one of the lobby couches. I was surprised that no one had said anything to me sitting there with a suitcase and not checking in. The next thing I knew, I was waking up late in the morning. There were people sitting on the couches all around me. Some were looking at me, but most of them were talking to each other not even seeming to notice that I was there. It was very surprising.

    I realized I was very hungry. But most importantly, I had to get the ball rolling here. I walked down the street, and got water, and a pie or something at a McDonald's. Then I found a place called The Teen Canteen. It was a place for homeless teens on Hollywood Boulevard. It has relocated since. I was assigned a counselor. It turned they didn't let anyone stay overnight, but they had activities during the day and gave out free food, bus passes and referrals to various organizations that could help us.

    I was told where the welfare center was. I went there that afternoon, and they gave me a voucher for a hotel in a ghetto near downtown LA. In the meantime, they would investigate my background, and I was to report back the following week. On the way there, I made friends with a few others that got vouchers for the same place.

WELCOME TO LA!

    The place wasn't too bad. Just your basic cheap hotel, but, to me, who was surprised to have a free place to stay, it was just great to be here. The next day, I couldnt wait to get out and about! Job-hunting never seemed so exciting! It was a lot of fun. Although, I think nothing happened because I didn't have a real address to put down on the applications.

CELEBRITY FOR A DAY

    During the second afternoon, I had some fun looking around. I wore a pair of jeans, a colored T-shirt, black blazer and dress shoes, my favorite hat at the time a plain, black policeman-type hat propped back a bit, and my shades. A funny thing happened in one of the shops I was browsing. I was just looking at the music section when a little girl started staring at me. After awhile, she pointed at me and whispered to her mother. Then her mother started staring at me squinting. Then some of the people near them started staring at me. I had no idea why. I got a little uncomfortable, and tried to avoid the stares ducking behind shelves of tapes, etc. It didn't work. They seemed to be following me around now. What the hell was going on? Did they think I took something? I had no bag with me, and there was no room in my pockets for anything. The people working there didn't seem to be paying attention to me. That couldn't be it. So, what was it then? Whatever it was, it started getting worse! The more people kept staring and trying to get a look, the more it got others doing it, too. I had never felt so self-conscious in my life. Then it hit me! With the suit jacket, the hat, and the shades, they thought I was somebody famous! And my attempts to throw them off had only driven that idea further! I had no idea who they may have thought I was, but I decided to have some fun with this now, and play it up! I started covering my face with my hands, and made even more of a point to look down. Whenever someone got near me, I'd dash over to another area. When they all started getting too close, I ran out the door! Now that I had realized what had happened, it was a lot of fun! And I vowed that one day, that experience would be real!

SAYING, NO! TO DRUGS!

    One of the new friends I had made at the hotel told me about donating plasma for money. Well, I definitely needed some money, so I went there, did it, and sure enough, I got paid. It wasn't much, but enough to get some food supplies for a next few days. When I got back, the very same guy that told me about the place, asked me to loan him the money so that he could get some drugs. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I said, "No! I need this money to eat and survive!" He couldn't argue that, but he got all pouty. Oh well. I wasn't about to start doing stupid things! And DEFINITELY not during a time like this!

RETURN TO THE WELFARE OFFICE: FURTHER AID REJECTED

WELFARE HOTEL FRIENDS LET ME STAY IN SECRET

SUCCESSFUL SCREEN TEST WITH FACES INTERNATIONAL

LEAVING THE WELFARE HOTEL TO AVOID GETTING SUCKED INTO FRIENDS DRUG SCENE

THE LONG BEACH RESCUE MISSION HOME

LOCKED OUT!

Never soak your contact lenses in Visine! I learned this lesson while at the Long Beach Rescue Mission Home! And it led to much worse than ruining my contacts! Since I hate wearing glasses as much as I do, I carried them around with me in my pockets to wear only when I really needed them. Somehow, while exploring this new area, they had fallen out. I realized this later that evening, and tried to retrace my steps. Unsuccessful, I went back to the Rescue Mission home only to find that that the doors were locked! I read a sign reading that no one would be allowed back in after 7pm. I knocked and rang bells to no avail.

MY FIRST - AND LAST - ABDUCTION

    I began to roam around trying to think of what to do. It was, of course, dark by this point. A beat up old van began to follow me. I pretended not to notice it, hoping its driver would just go away. Nope! Didn't work! After awhile, it pulled up and the driver got out. He was a skinny, middle-aged Arabian. His hair was long, though he was balding at the top. His clothes were scraggly. First, he tried the polite approach, but I got a very bad vibe from him, and I muttered a mild - mannered acknowledgement as I continued to walk away. But he jumped in front of me, and quickly flashed a gun at me before hiding it back in his coat. He told me that if I didn't get into the van, he'd shoot me.

HIGH SCHOOL MUGGING FLASHBACK

Within a few seconds, I remembered the time I had gotten mugged in high school. It was my junior year. There was a couple of hours between the end of the school day, and the start of play practice. There was an arcade down Rush Street near Division. This was in the heart of downtown Chicago, and the area was very ritzy, but not too far away were the projects area called Cabrini Green. Now, I am far from being a racist of any kind, but the chase led me to that area, and to say that it had a high reputation for violent crime is an understatement.

    I went to the arcade to play my favorite video game Star Wars which I was very good at! A  guy came up next to me and watched me play for awhile. He was black and was dressed very much like a gangster type. We exchanged some conversation about the game. He then moved directly behind me. I felt the jab of a knife in the middle of my back. "Stop playing the game, walk out the door, and come with me now", he said. I was definitely startled, but surprisingly not scared. I thought calmly, "Obviously, if I don't do this, he'll quickly stab me and run. Not on my agenda to get killed today." So, I did as he said.

    Once we were outside he told me that if I did anything funny to attract attention, he'd kill me. He stayed close behind me, and directed me into a maze of alleyways. Along the way, I quietly tried to plan a getaway that wouldn't get me killed. We got right next to the Cabrini Green area before we stopped.

    He then demanded that I give him my wallet and my watch. I did so. He took the five dollar bill that I had and left the single I had in there (How gracious!), and handed my wallet back to me. Then he noticed my class ring. He told me to take it off and give it to him. For some reason, that meant enough to me to refuse. I had just gotten it, too, after a long wait! He kept insisting, but I kept refusing. Finally, he grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms behind my back, and took it off himself. Then, to my OWN surprise, I got him off me by kicking him in the balls. Instead of doing anything further to me, he ran off with my stuff. I didn't care about the money or my watch. But I wanted that ring back! Without any thought, I chased after HIM! I kept up with him for awhile, but he turned a corner and lost me. I was PISSED OFF!

    After awhile of searching, I had no choice but to give up. At this point, I found myself actually IN the Cabrini Green area. I then went back to Quigley North my school. I told everyone still in the office what had happened. They were stunned that I stood up to the guy and chased him. So where the police when they arrived to have me fill out the report. It was only THEN that I realized the danger I had really been in. At the time, this automatic calm courage had kicked in. I don't know where it came from. Nothing else had happened to me. Not until 1987 in Long Beach, where that same automatic calm courage came back.

BACK TO THE ARABIAN IN LONG BEACH

    I got the impression he really would shoot if I didn't get in. So, I did already trying to think of how to get safely out of the situation. He tried to get into some small talk. I only listened. He called his van "Bessie". He kept telling me how attractive I was. He boldly announced his plans for me for the night. First, he was going to make me be his lookout when he drove into trailer park home areas. He'd crawl into open windows and steal things. Then it would be on to a rock house where I would be left to look out for him again while he bought his drugs. Then later, when we got to his hotel, he was going to drug me, tie me down to the bed, and rape me. He'd then leave me there if I was good and took it without trying to fight it. If I did try to resist, he'd kill me. I don't think so!

I thought to myself. "Great! What a night Im in for!"

THE JINX ESCAPES!

Well, we did ALMOST everything he had planned. We went into the trailer park areas. He'd pull up to them, and sneak in through open windows. I would be just about ready to get out of "Bessie", and get away when hed come back out. Later we pulled up to the rock house. There were people coming in and out obviously higher than a kite. He left me in the van with another threat if I tried to get away. After I saw him get in, I was SO tempted to just drive off. I almost did. But I thought about the situation. Here were all these druggies mulling around. Surely, at least some of them would be armed. Also, if the guy came back out, hed probably start shooting at the van. I got a gut feeling that a real chance for escape would present itself.

    Sure enough, thankfully, it did. He pulled into another trailer park area on the way to the hotel. Suddenly, he ran out of gas. He began yelling at ME for it saying I was a jinx and that it was all my fault. He was still cussing at me when he got out of the van, and began to walk down the street to see if anyone had a portable tank of gas he could steal. When he disappeared around the corner, I instinctively knew that NOW was my chance. I opened the door, got out, and quietly pushed the door closed. Then I cut through yards until I found myself out of the park area. I had absolutely no idea where I was. All I knew was that I was now very far from where I had started. I had no choice but to rely on my instinct as for which direction to head in. I picked one, and stayed away from any main roads in case he came back looking for me. After two hours, I finally got back to Long Beach and the Rescue Mission home. I went around the back of it, and stayed there until the sun rose.

TURNED AWAY

    Finally the Mission opened its doors. I went in and explained to the chaplan what had happened how I didn't make it back the night before due to losing my glasses. He very coldly told me that their policy did not allow me to continue to stay there. He said that once a person doesnt make curfew no matter what the reason that person is turned away, and not allowed to come back for two weeks. He didn't care at all what I had been through. However, the guys who ran the shower and the laundry understood. I was allowed to go to the back and get my things. I told them what had happened, and what the chaplan did to me. Since I had been very friendly towards them, they offered to sneak me in during morning hours, save me some breakfast, and let me take showers and shave. They'd also do my laundry for me and let me pick it up the next day. They even let me keep my suitcases there in secret.

AN ACT OF A GUARDIAN ANGEL?

      That was very kind of them. But where was I going to sleep? I went around scouting for a place, but couldn't find one. All the while, I kept a sharp eye out for the Arabian guy and his "Bessie". Luckily, they never turned up again. After dark, I was just about to give up and head for the beach when I noticed a lit - up cross on top of a building off in the distance. While I now considered myself spiritual as opposed to religious, I still somehow felt mesmerized by it. In fact, I felt strangely compelled to walk towards it. It took me a good while to reach it. It turned out to be a hospital. Next to / connected to it was an office building. It had long been closed for the day, and was empty. But, mysteriously, I felt drawn to open the main door. It was open! I'll never know why. No one was in there! I looked around and found a bathroom that locked from the inside. I locked myself in, put my two coats on the floor, and had a place to sleep for the night! When morning came, there was surprisingly no trouble. No one had tried to get in. No one unlocked it. I just got up, freshened up, unlocked the door, and walked out of the building unnoticed. I headed for the Mission home and, as promised, I was secretly let in to take my shower, shave, and drop off / pick up my laundry.

MY CONTACT FINALLY COMES THROUGH!

    That day I again called my former co-worker's friend. She finally came through for me! A couple of friends of her's said I could stay there for a couple of nights until their third roommate came back. Meanwhile, she and a group of her friends would meet with me at their school, The University of California, Irvine, to try to figure out where to go from there. So, off I went to Orange County for the first time! The bus ride took me along Pacific Coast Highway. I was right along the ocean for most of the ride. It was beautiful!

NEW ACQUAINTENCES AT UCI

MORE TO COME

SKIPPING AHEAD WITH A PROMISE TO GO BACK AND FILL IN THE BLANKS

Today, I am going to jump ahead a bit to an experience I feel strongly up to writing about for some reason - my mother's death. I promise I will go back and write about the events between running away to California and this very soon.

MOM'S LAST CHRISTMAS

    Around Christmas time, Mom came down with the flu. At the time, it was no big deal. We had all gotten the flu several times before. I was spending a lot of time with the person I was dating, spending many nights away from home. It was sure more fulfilling than staying home and being yelled at and put down all the time! I wound up spending Christmas Eve over there. Mom was very upset that I didn't stay home on Christmas Eve. But I had planned to come back in the morning. Unfortunately, due to staying up most of the night, and car problems, that didn't happen. I wound up returning late Christmas evening. Mom was very emotional and hurt.

SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG

    Two weeks later, she still was sick. We thought it was odd that a bout with the flu should last this long, and suggested over and over that she see a doctor. Mom had no problem taking us to the doctor, but she would never go herself. She had a very unnatural fear of doctors. In fact, she hadnt been to see a doctor since she had to in order to get her marriage certificate. Of course, she refused to see a doctor. Shed be fine soon enough. One of a number of things I had picked up from my mother was a tendency to be in denial of being sick. But this time would cost her and all of us dearly.

    To make matters worse, the secondary church meaning the church she did the music for on the side as opposed to the one she had been with since before I was born suddenly didn't need her anymore, and the pastor, whom she had greatly respected, let her go. This was a tremendous blow. She had worked with him at St. Rosalie's, the original church she was still with, and agreed to continue to work with him when he was transferred and promoted as pastor to his new church, St. Mary's. For over a year, she had managed somehow to work for both churches. Until now. This couldn't have come at a worse time, for she needed to keep her spirits up now. Feeling let down and worthless could and did only work against her. She began to stay in bed more and more. We all continued to try to get her to see a doctor, but she continued to deny that anything was seriously wrong. She would tell us she was going through a rough time with menopause, and that it would pass soon enough.  We had doubts, but for all we knew, it could be true. Nevertheless, we pressed her to get help anyway. Even her friends and neighbors, especially her best friend, Auntie Frisbee, made special visits to persuade her to get medical attention.

    She took a leave of absence from St. Rosalie's, and eventually got to the point where she didn't come of bed at all except to use the bathroom, and eat very little. Most of the time, she would have one of us bring her food to her. She wouldn't get up to answer the door or even the phone. This was definitely out of character, because she loved to talk to her friends on the phone.

THE FIRST REAL SHOCK

    I hardly ever got to see her out of bed because I always got home late from my job at Leo Burnett - a well-known advertisement company in downtown Chicago.

    Close to Easter, I finally saw her out of bed to get some of her frozen raspberries - one of her favorite treats. I was shocked and appalled at how much weight she had lost. It was frightening. Her skin was just hanging there off of her bones. I now realized this was something very serious, and pleaded with her all the more to see a doctor. She would get more and more defensive. But, oddly, she wanted to do something we hadn't done since early childhood decorate Easter eggs. I wondered what made her want to do that all of a sudden. Later that week, on the eve of Good Friday, I overheard a heart - shattering argument between my parents in their bedroom. It was similar to many recent arguments they had about her refusal to get help. But there was something haunting about this one. My father was yelling that the next day, he would MAKE her go to the hospital whether she liked it or not. She began to cry and plead. He would have none of it. She broke down and agreed to go, but pleaded for him to wait until after Easter. Even though she had been unable to provide and coordinate all the music this year due to her illness, she still at least wanted to ATTEND mass. He shouted that if she didn't go, she might not make it till Easter. She just continued to cry and plead. It was both shocking and eerie to hear that, and it saddened and frightened me.

THE DAY IM GLAD I MISSED

    The next day, I wanted to stay home. Something told me to. But Dad wouldn't let me. He said I had to go to work, and my sister had to go to school, and was very adamant about it. I later found out why. He was trying to spare us the scenario that was about to take place. (I heard all about it later.) True to his word, he called the paramedics on my mother, and didn't tell her. He then secretly called Auntie Frisbee and Mrs. Poteracki, my life-long best friend and neighbor, Michele's mom, told them what he had just done, and asked them to come over right away. When the paramedics arrived, she was terrified, and furious. At first, they weren't sure what to do, because she refused her permission to let them treat her. She then called the police on Dad for calling the paramedics on her. Auntie Frisbee and Mrs. P. arrived in the middle of this fiasco, and tried to help Dad convince her that she HAD to go. Eventually, both the paramedics and the police determined that she must be taken to the hospital even against her will. By this point all the neighbors were outside our house watching the whole thing. As my mother was carried out to the ambulance - strapped down in a stretcher - she was screaming at my father, Auntie Frisbee, and Mrs. P. that she would NEVER forgive them for this, and that she wanted a divorce from my father after it was all over.

THE FALSE CALM

    I was horrified to hear everything that had happened when I got home. Needless to say, we all went to the hospital to see Mom. What happened when I stepped into her room will stay with me forever. I walked in and there she was - all tubed and wired up - looking pathetically weak, but at peace, in a way not at all like what she had been earlier that day. I had never seen her look that weak, and suddenly, I realized that this was not a dictator - bitch - from - hell lying there. This was a real person my mother. Suddenly, all the resentment I ever held against her my whole life fell off me like an incredible weight. I silently finally forgave her for EVERYTHING right then and there. I thought of all the good times (Yes, there actually WERE a lot of those on and off.) all the things we had in common and loved to do together: we both loved roller coasters, staying up late to watch scary movies, playing Broadway songs and singing along to them, we both had the habit of sucking on ice cubes, eating half-popped popcorn kernels, having all our meat well-done, lime Popsicles, and an appreciation for Opera and classical music to name a handful of things. Yes, this was my mother, and the thought of losing her now especially when we finally had hope of getting along - was unbearable. The second that incredible weight of resentment fell off me, tears suddenly flowed from my eyes like never before. In the middle of my sobbing, I managed to somehow babble out to her how sorry I was for my part in all the fights and struggles we had had my whole life. She looked up at me tears in her own eyes, weakly took my hand, and barely whispered, "Please don't cry." There she was suffering and weak, and she was the one telling ME not to cry. That was it. Those words and the emotions behind them had the very opposite effect. I excused myself and literally ran to the nearest restroom. The second the door was shut and locked behind me, I fell to my knees on the floor, and let twenty one years - worth of tears come pouring out. I was crying so hard, I felt like all my insides were contorting, and I was almost in actual physical pain. I was in there for nearly twenty minutes. Jeannie had to come and knock on the door looking for me. I finally managed to pull myself together and return to Mom's hospital room. The doctor said that they were still taking tests to determine what was wrong with Mom. She said she was being well taken care of, and that she would cooperate with the staff so that she could try to make it home for Easter. She did seem very calm, so we were filled with hope. Mom was a very determined woman, and we began to believe that she would be alright fairly soon. We visited her often over the weekend, and she seemed to get better and better. They didn't release her in time for Easter, which she wasn't happy about, but she understood the need to restore her health. We visited her late Monday night. She was watching "Hunter" on TV - a show she usually couldn't stand, but she seemed in decent spirits. She asked me to get her some candy from the vending machines. I checked with the nurse. She said it was okay. It felt good to do this tiny, little errand. However, when I came back, it had turned out not to be the candy she had wanted. I know it was only a candy bar, but I felt badly about it. I offered to get the right one, but she said not to worry about it. Then we kissed her good- night, and went home.

THAT TERRIBLE MORNING

    The next morning, I awoke to a strange noise resounding throughout the entire house. I looked at the clock. It was 4am. It was still dark. Was I still dreaming? What was that horrible noise? It sounded like some kind of creature howling. I knew it couldn't be little Benji, my loveable little miniature schnauzer. It got louder. I finally got out of my bed to investigate. When I took my first step into the hallway, I heard not only the strange sound, but my sister freaking out as well. It was coming from the family room near the telephone, and I realized the howling sound was coming from my father. He was crying something I had NEVER seen or heard him do before in all my life. It was actually worse than crying. It was more like hysterical wailing. I hadn't made it halfway down the hall before I figured out what had happened. The most God - awful feeling came over me. I walked out into the room to confront the confirmation of what I already knew. Mom was dead.

    She had died peacefully in her sleep. If it had to happen, I was glad it had at least happened that way. It turned out that around that last Christmas, she had gotten a sudden burst of cancer that quickly spread throughout her body over the last few months. The real heartbreaker was that if she HAD seen a doctor right away, it could have been removed, and it would have been stopped, and she would have still been alive and healthy. That made it obvious that she must have known that she was dying, and had been lying to us all along. But, knowing my mother, aside from her terrible fear of doctors, she probably felt that she could WILL herself back to health on her own.

MOM'S WAKE

    Over the next couple of days before the funeral, my father was a wreck. I wasn't sure how to take this. Throughout my whole life, he had never shown any real emotion outside that of anger. He was just a pure German disciplinarian. Now, all of a sudden, he was almost suicidal with grief and regret. Jeannie was taking it hard as well. Meanwhile, I realized I had to put aside my own grief and be the strong one here. I had to hold my family together. This was why my path had taken me back from California for the time being. I had to be here for this.

    We went to the funeral home before the wake started. At our first sight of my mother in her casket, my father lost it completely. He rushed over, and feel onto his knees with such force that it shook the whole casket threatening to knock it over. He sobbed and kept saying, Why? over and over. The whole sight was such a shock for me that I couldnt let myself lose it like I wanted to. People from our family, neighborhood, and both churches began to pour in. Auntie Frisbee had said that on her first visit after Mom had been let go from St. Mary's, she felt like no one cared about her. How wrong she had been! There were so many people that came to see her and pay their last respects, they had to open up two more rooms at the funeral home to accommodate everyone.

    Everyone came up to us and told us how sorry they were. I can't count how many times I heard, "If there is ever anything I can do...". I deeply appreciated that, but I couldn't think of anything they COULD do. I handled myself with as much grace as possible just like Mom would have wanted me to.

A GHOSTLY SOUND

    The night before the funeral, I couldn't sleep. I got up and watched TV. Of all things, I was amazed at the only thing interesting that on - "Poltergeist II". Part of me thought that was a pretty inappropriate thing to watch, but there was nothing else on, really, and I remembered that Mom and I enjoyed staying up to watch such movies. If she were alive, she and I WOULD have been watching it anyway. So, with that thought, I continued to let myself watch it. About halfway through the movie, I heard a sound coming from the basement that sounded like a vacuum cleaner being run. At first, I figured it was just some house noise I had never noticed before. Then it began to get much louder. Though I am not easily scared, it gave me the creeps. It kept getting louder by the minute. Finally, I ran to wake up Jeannie. Because of all the pranks I had pulled on her before, she thought it was yet another one, and she yelled at me - telling me how sick and twisted I was to be trying to scare her at a time like this. That upset me, actually. I WASN'T pulling any kind of prank, and I would NEVER do that now. By this point, the sound was nearly shaking the house. Even Dad woke up, and asked me what the hell I was doing. I told him the sound had started in the basement. When the noise finally stopped, we went down there, and checked all the appliances, the pipes, pumps, and everything else. Absolutely nothing was wrong. We all had a hard time falling asleep after that. We never did figure out what that was.

MOM'S FUNERAL

    Once again the folks at the funeral home had to open up more rooms to fit everyone. It was a good thing they had no other wakes going on the past couple of days. Aside of my fathers grief, the most heartbreaking thing was Little Grandma's reaction. We had taken her out of the nursing home for this. But, having Altzheimers Disease pretty badly, she thought she was seeing Mom dead for the first time about every ten minutes. Thusly, she reacted like she was seeing her dead for the first time every ten minutes. She would go up to the casket, put her hands on Mom's hands, and cry, "My daughter, my daughter".

    Finally, it was time to go to the church. Dad, Jeannie, Little Grandma, and I got to go up to see her one last time. She looked beautiful. Her hair was permed, her face was made up well, and she had on a fancy pink dress. Though, unlike Little Grandma, I never had any inclination to touch a dead body at any wake I had attended before. But this was Mom. I couldnt just walk away. I was the last one to leave the casket. Before I left, I finally began to sob a little. (I had made such a point to hold myself in check throughout the past two days for everyone elses sake.) I kissed her on the forehead. It was such a shock to feel the cold of her skin. Maybe it hadn't quite hit me that she really was dead until that moment.

THE FUNERAL PROCESSION

    After the mass ended, we put Moms casket into the hearse. I gave it the last push. I guess that was the first REAL sign of finality for me. All I can say is thank God Michele happened to be right behind me at that particular moment. I just couldn't hold it in anymore. I turned around and buried myself in her arms, crying like a baby for at least five minutes non-stop.

    When I finally regained my composure, I looked around. It was amazing to see the amount of cars in the funeral procession. I had never seen anywhere NEAR that many for any funeral before. To anyone not in the procession, we must have seemed never - ending. Indeed, the sight of all of us heading to the burial ground after mass inspired one woman to try to beat the line while she still had the chance. She darted out so quickly, that she ran right into the hearse! That pissed me off. Total disrespect for the deceased! Poor Mom! She couldn't even have a peaceful ride to her grave! The entire procession had to stop while the driver, my father, and the woman got out of their cars to settle the dispute. My father was screaming at the woman. I wanted to go out there and yell at her, too, but I was stopped. The police showed up, and we took up the entire street and more for quite awhile.

    I lost it again when Mom began to be lowered into the ground. It was then that I realized that every once in awhile for the rest of my life, I was going to see, hear, or even smell something that would remind me of her, and cry for a few minutes. Then I would feel better. That made it easier to accept from that point on. Then we all went to the luncheon.

THE DREAM THAT WASN'T JUST A DREAM

    When we finally got home, it just didn't feel the same. There was this foreboding emptiness and gloominess about the house. Even Benj (What I called him - short for Benji) seemed to know what had happened. In fact, though he had been a perfectly healthy, playful puppy, full of boundless energy and enthusiasm throughout his entire fourteen years, he now seemed to be depressed and even began to take sick. Little did I know that within two weeks, he too, would suddenly and mysteriously die.

    But that night after the funeral, when I finally drifted off to sleep, I had what I still believe, was a real visit from Mom in my dream. I dreamt that I came home to find her in the house, looking like she had when she was a beautiful teenager, and happier than I had ever seen her. We had the greatest time, talking and laughing. Jeannie was there, too. All of a sudden, I remembered that she had died. It dawned on me that she had no idea that she was dead. She was so playful. I had NEVER seen her like this before, and it was what I had always longed for - to be able to spend time with her like this. I hated to ruin the experience, but I knew that I had to be the one to take on the awful task of telling her that she was dead. Not knowing was keeping her from moving on. I had to tell her. I couldn't do that to her make her hang around and later discover the truth and be lost and miserable. Finally, I got up the courage to tell her. She was stunned, but then she shrugged it off not believing me. "Mom", I said again, "I'm SO sorry, but You ARE dead. You died a few days ago in the hospital. God knows I hate to have to tell you that, but it's true, I swear." This pitiful look of shock and sadness came over her face. She sat there stunned for a few minutes before she reluctantly nodded her head in acceptance - seeming to remember now. She took our hands and slowly got up. We all walked outside and down to the bottom of the driveway. She turned to us and told us that she loved us. She gave Jeannie a long hug, then me. We couldn't seem to let go of each other. "I forgive you, Mom", I said. "I love you." She smiled, stepped back, and put her hand under my face. We hugged each other again. All three of us cryed our eyes out. She again, told us she loved us, and stepped off the driveway. Instead of stepping onto the street, she disappeared. Jeannie and I mournfully looked at each other, took each others hand, and walked back into the house.

LOSING BENJI

    Again, Benj was acting strangely all of a sudden. He had no energy. He stayed under my parents' bed nearly all day and all night. He seemed very sick. I argued with my father to take him to the vet. He kept insisting that he just wasn't used to not having Mom around, like the rest of us, and that he was fine. I wasn't comfortable with that. I worried about him everyday when I went to work. I'd get onto the floor every morning and every night to check on him. I'd reach out and pet his head for long periods of time, assuring him that I'd get Dad to bring him to the vet, and to hang in there - whatever was wrong.

    One night, I felt a sense of desperation about the matter and begged and pleaded with my father to take him to the emergency vet's. He still  refused. I checked on him the next morning. He seemed to still be generally okay. I had determined to myself that I would take him to the vet's myself that night if I had to. It was another typical day at work. People were still offering me their condolences over Mom's death. It had been two weeks since she died at that point.

    When my dad came to pick me up at the train station as usual that evening, he told me he had bad news. My heart fell into my shoe. I was hoping he wasn't going to say what I suspected he would. But he did anyway. Benj had died earlier that day. He said he came home to find him lying on the floor. He went to tap him awake. He was stiff as a board, as Dad had put it. I began to cry. Dad said he had already taken him in to be examined and cremated. He didn't want me to see him dead. He felt it would be too much for me. The vet had said that Benj had suddenly developed some strange condition. (I don't remember the term.) I was very angry with Dad for not taking him to the vet in time. Hadn't we learned what could happen that way with Mom? I didn't want to talk to him for several days, but I had to because he would break down about Mom about every half - hour, and I had to talk him through it.

    Not two days later, and one of my high school best friend's mother also died. (Jim's mother. Remember, Jim was the only one of our class to eventually become a priest.) I had been close with her, too. What was going on? For awhile afterward, I kept wondering who ELSE was going to die! It would turn out that I'd have at least a year before my dad's father and Dad's sister's oldest son would go. My grandfather would die from old age and diabetes, and my cousin, Robert, from a head-on car collision.

RESEARCHING MOM

    I began to understand my mother from every angle now - good and bad - though I focused on the good. Yes, now it was too late. But I developed an intense interest in her life. I began asking everyone questions about her to find out anything I didn't already know. I thought about someday writing a book on her life. It wouldn't be vengeful. It would have to tell the truth about things she had done, yes, but it would, like me, wind up understanding and forgiving her in the end. I haven't done it yet, but it has always remained in the back of my head.

AUNTIE FRISBEE'S ENCOURAGEMENT

    I visited Auntie Frisbee often - especially after Mom died. We would always have lengthy conversations that I treasured. On this particular day, we eventually wound up on the subject of my natural parents, and my previous unsuccessful attempts to uncover any information on them whatsoever.

    I told her that throughout my life I had asked Mom and Dad, in the most diplomatic ways possible, for any imformation on my natural parents. They always took it personally, and refused. I had even just recently asked my father using the medical reasons approach. He had told me that he remembered I didn't have anything to worry about but conveniently didn't remember anything else! I had called the hospital I was born in as a child. They told me to contact them again after I turned eighteen. I did so. I was then told to contact them after I was 21. I did so. This time, they told me it wasnt their policy. I went to Chicago's city hall. The man I wound up being directed to there said that I had to have both my adoptive parents' signatures before he could release anything. I argued that I was now an adult and that my adoptive mother was deceased. Like a robot, he kept repeating himself. This went on for a couple of minutes. Finally, I shouted at him, "For the last time, I am over the age of 21, am an adult, and my mother is deceased! What do you want me to do? Dig her up, put a pen in her hand, and make her sign?!" He again, repeated himself verbatim. Outraged, I stormed out. I again tried the hospital. According to them, I don't exist under my adoptive name - only my natural mothers name. Since my birth certificate does not include either of my natural parents names, (It just says, "Adopted" on it.) I have had nothing to go on.

    I had only one hint from back in the summer of 1983. My sister, Jeannie, our next-door-neighbor, Vanessa, and I rode our bikes to the mall to pick my "Star Wars" masks from a novelty shop there. The company that my parents were expecting had arrived in the meantime. I didn't want my parents to know yet that I had bought the masks (I still have my Darth Vader one!). So, when I got back, I snuck through my bedroom window to drop the masks off and hide them before going back out and making my entrance through the front door.

    I overheard one of the people ask my mother why she hated her cousin, my godfather, so much. I was just about to crawl back out my window when I heard my mother reply that at a party celebrating my birth, he had gotten drunk, and kept running around shouting that my parents had adopted a bastard. I was definitely affected by that announcement, but not shocked by any of it. My godfather had ALWAYS been a jerk, and I never liked him, either.

    Many times, I looked through ALL of my parents' things when they werent home to try to find my adoption papers. My parents kept every single document, every copy of every check they had ever written, every receipt, everything possible. (My mother was in charge of all that, and was extremely organized at least as far as THAT went.) We found my sisters adoption papers. The names of her natural parents WERE on them. But she never cared to find anything out on her end - at least not at that point yet. (Remember we were adopted from different families, and were four and a half years apart.) MY adoption papers were NOWHERE to be found. I found that to be very, very strange. There was NOWHERE I hadn't looked - not an INCH of that house that hadn't been searched. And NOTHING turned up.

    So, I was telling Auntie Frisbee all this. She told me she didn't remember much, but she believed that my parents were young and that I was an accident, but that she thought she rememmbered that at least one set of my parent's families considered me to be a scandal in their family, and they all but forced my natural mother to give me up for adoption. That's all that was "remembered". Auntie Frisbee, from then on always encouraged me to try to find them.

BIZARRE DREAM #1

    Yes, I know, it's another dream. But I pay attention to the ones that I remember and that stick out in my mind. This took place shortly after Mom's death. I was running through this seemingly endless mausoleum. (Mom was buried in a cemetery, though.) It was a straight corridor all light marble - with short steps in sets of three or four every few hundred yards or so. They led nowhere. Just a few steps to run up and right back down. Off to both sides were stone platforms. On top of these platforms were bodies in sleeping bags. Many of them would turn over as I ran past them - as if there living people sleeping in them. I just kept running and running and getting nowhere.

    The next thing I knew, I was in a graveyard in the deep of night. I was with a group of live skeletons, and we all had shovels in our hands. I was helping them dig up coffins out of the ground for reasons I did not know. We got to one grave in particular that was unmarked or at least I didn't remember seeing a name on it. There was something about it. The skeletons began to put their shovels into the ground to start digging again. I blocked them with mine. "No", I heard myself saying. "Stop. Not this one. Leave this one alone." They obeyed me. Then I woke up.

BIZARRE DREAM #2

      This happened sometime later. But nonetheless, my mother was in it. It was in the strangest way, though. She showed up wherever I was in the dream. I dont remember exactly where I was supposed to be. But I DO remember that when she appeared, she knocked on the front door, and when I opened it, I saw HER head as I knew it growing up, on a younger, svelte body in a sky blue / white, flowing, sparkling gown. She was very comforting. We got into many conversations at length. I found myself telling her all about my life even though she knew much of it. I suddenly got this feeling that this was NOT Mom, but everything about her still felt like mother, and more so than even my good moments with Mom. I felt even closer to this woman with Mom's head. There was a much deeper connection somehow. In that instant, I looked up at her again. Her face and head changed before my eyes. Now the head and body matched. This was a very young - looking, woman. She had blue eyes and a beautiful face. She had light ash blonde hair that ended at the top of her shoulder blades. She never revealed who she was, but she commented that I had special abilities that were getting stronger. She said she would teach me something. She walked a distance away, faced me, and closed her eyes. I heard her speaking to me without her lips moving. I started to respond, but she told me to close my mouth and say it with my mind again without her lips moving. I thought my response. She answered me without speaking. I responded in the same manner. We began to have an entire conversation without a word actually spoken.

    Eventually, we stopped. She walked back to me, and hugged me in congratulations. She looked at me and said, "Now you know all you need to be able to reach me until we meet." She never told me who she really was. But I think I know.

UNCLE AL'S BITTER BETRAYAL

    My mother's other cousin (Not my godfather, but my second favorite uncle - besides Uncle Joe, my first favorite.), Uncle Al Reidel suddenly began telling everyone that it was MY fault that Mom had died. I had indirectly driven her to her death because we didn't get along. I knew this wasn't true. But I had been so close to him and his family growing up. Our families did almost as much together as we had with Auntie Frisbee's family. In fact, sometimes all our families did things together. This was a terrible shock to me and it hurt me deeply that he would say such things. Then he began to say that Jeannie, my sister, was a druggie. That was not true at all. She was rebellious, yes, but she did not do drugs. I was sure of that. He loaned my father $2000.00 to help with Mom''s funeral telling him he could pay it back by the end of the year. (Dad was suffering financially due to Mom's medical bills.) All of a sudden, he demanded it back immediately. We felt utterly betrayed. Dad gave him the money back as requested. We went through a very tight financial period for months afterward. Uncle Al left my father alone after awhile. He also stopped badmouthing my sister. But he still insisted that I had killed my mother. We never spoke to the Reidel's again. The Russo's (Auntie Frisbee, Uncle Joe, Terri, and Gary) also broke away from them.

THIS NEW UPDATE JUMPS AHEAD IN TIME FROM JUST AFTER MY MOTHER'S DEATH IN 1991 TO 1994 WHEN I JOINED THE ARMY. IT TAKES YOU THROUGH DETAIL MY RATHER UNIQUE EXPERIENCES IN THE ARMY TO MY MOVE TO PHOENIX TO MY MOVE TO LAS VEGAS WHERE THINGS GOT REALLY INTENSE (I HAD GOTTEN A TASTE OF MY DREAMS COMING TRUE THERE)! THIS UPDATE THEN TAKES YOU THROUGH ALL MY EXPERIENCES THERE TO MY UNEXPECTED RETURN TO CHICAGO TO AID MY FATHER IN HIS RECOVERY FROM A STROKE. FROM THERE, IT GOES INTO MY PREPARING TO FINALLY SETTLE HERE IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA, WHERE I HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN I WAS MEANT TO SETTLE! BASICALLY, IT IS IN THIS NEW UPDATE THAT THINGS REALLY GET INTERESTING AND FULFILLING!

AS FOR THE GAP BETWEEN 1991 AND 1994 AND A FEW OTHER MINOR ONES, I PROMISE I WILL SOON GO BACK AND FILL THEM IN! I JUST NEED TO CONTINUE FINISHING THE BRIDGE IN TIME I AM PRESENTLY WORKING ON - MOVING TO LA AND ON UP TO THE PRESENT!