half-time scores of inconsequential high school basketball games. Americans had come to see so much horror that the horror was gone. Unless, of course, it affected you, or somebody you loved, or worse yet someone you had loved.
Naturally, my family's relief was immense when my brother, Sylvester, completed his twelve months at DaNang that September. He had come out of there unscathed and was now finishing up his hitch at Homestead Air Force Base in sunny south Florida.
With Sylvester finally safe, it was now time to worry about myself. And isn’t that the worst? Isn't self-worry the most intense, most devastating form of that cruel emotion? Of course Theresa was by my side, always sharing this worry, but she was sharp.She tried to play down its potency by not talking about it. And, as alienated as my parents and I were, they too were worried to death. We constantly heard on network TV, or read in The Daily News, about places previously unknown to us. Dangerous, faraway places with death-rings to their names like Keh San, Phan Rang, Ple Coup, Cameran Bay and many other places we had no business being in.
I didn’t want any part of such a fiasco, but ideals didn’t count for anything unless you happened to be rich or famous. Unfortunately for someone like myself, there weren’t many options, only blue-collar choices; the draft, Canada or jail. Every day was shrouded with fear – fear that my draft notice might arrive in the mail.
When summer ended I left my part-time job at the rectory for a full-time gig on Wall Street. Every day I'd ride the subway into Manhattan to this nothing job at a brokerage house. For eight hours a day l sat at a long table, inside a windowless room, hand-counting giant blocks of other people's stock certificates. Other than Fridays at five o’clock, the only highlight of this arduous, mind-numbing sentence was going on the coffee runs. As you can imagine, the days were very long, especially when you factor in the twenty minute walk to the subway and an hour and a half train ride – both ways. That’s almost twelve hours! On top of that (thanks to Theresa’s coaxing), three nights a week after dragging heels out of the subway I had to grab a bus out to Queens College. I'd screwed around so much in high school that my four-year average was a dismal 69%. You needed an 85 average to go full-time, free, to the city colleges. The only other way for flunkies like me was to go nights, get fifteen credits with a B average or better, and then you could matriculate and go during the day for free.
It was a pain in the neck but I was carrying nine credits and doing well. When the first term ended in December, I had a B+ average. Just two more courses and I'd be going full-time, days, which would make me eligible for a coveted college student deferment. But time was working against me.
Chapter 11
To celebrate my excellent grades, Theresa wanted to take me out, Dutch, anywhere I wanted. With little deliberation I decided on a basketball game. So we went to see the Knicks play a rare afternoon game at Madison Square Garden. We watched the home team take a close one from their perennial rivals, the Boston Celtics. As usual, Willis Reed and 'Clyde' Frazier were terrific. So was Phil 'Action' Jackson who hit three baskets in the final ninety seconds to seal a two-point victory for the Knicks. Jackson's unorthodox style sometimes wasn't pretty to look at, but when he scored in the clutch, as he so often did, Garden fans went nutso. Throughout the game, Theresa did her best to appear interested, listening attentively as I explained every consequential detail taking place on the court. But it wasn't until the final three minutes--crunch time--that she really got into it. It was then that she got caught up in the mass hysteria produced by the thousands of fans scrunched inside the Garden. I realize today that such entertainment is nothing more than
Naturally, my family's relief was immense when my brother, Sylvester, completed his twelve months at DaNang that September. He had come out of there unscathed and was now finishing up his hitch at Homestead Air Force Base in sunny south Florida.
With Sylvester finally safe, it was now time to worry about myself. And isn’t that the worst? Isn't self-worry the most intense, most devastating form of that cruel emotion? Of course Theresa was by my side, always sharing this worry, but she was sharp.She tried to play down its potency by not talking about it. And, as alienated as my parents and I were, they too were worried to death. We constantly heard on network TV, or read in The Daily News, about places previously unknown to us. Dangerous, faraway places with death-rings to their names like Keh San, Phan Rang, Ple Coup, Cameran Bay and many other places we had no business being in.
I didn’t want any part of such a fiasco, but ideals didn’t count for anything unless you happened to be rich or famous. Unfortunately for someone like myself, there weren’t many options, only blue-collar choices; the draft, Canada or jail. Every day was shrouded with fear – fear that my draft notice might arrive in the mail.
When summer ended I left my part-time job at the rectory for a full-time gig on Wall Street. Every day I'd ride the subway into Manhattan to this nothing job at a brokerage house. For eight hours a day l sat at a long table, inside a windowless room, hand-counting giant blocks of other people's stock certificates. Other than Fridays at five o’clock, the only highlight of this arduous, mind-numbing sentence was going on the coffee runs. As you can imagine, the days were very long, especially when you factor in the twenty minute walk to the subway and an hour and a half train ride – both ways. That’s almost twelve hours! On top of that (thanks to Theresa’s coaxing), three nights a week after dragging heels out of the subway I had to grab a bus out to Queens College. I'd screwed around so much in high school that my four-year average was a dismal 69%. You needed an 85 average to go full-time, free, to the city colleges. The only other way for flunkies like me was to go nights, get fifteen credits with a B average or better, and then you could matriculate and go during the day for free.
It was a pain in the neck but I was carrying nine credits and doing well. When the first term ended in December, I had a B+ average. Just two more courses and I'd be going full-time, days, which would make me eligible for a coveted college student deferment. But time was working against me.
Chapter 11
To celebrate my excellent grades, Theresa wanted to take me out, Dutch, anywhere I wanted. With little deliberation I decided on a basketball game. So we went to see the Knicks play a rare afternoon game at Madison Square Garden. We watched the home team take a close one from their perennial rivals, the Boston Celtics. As usual, Willis Reed and 'Clyde' Frazier were terrific. So was Phil 'Action' Jackson who hit three baskets in the final ninety seconds to seal a two-point victory for the Knicks. Jackson's unorthodox style sometimes wasn't pretty to look at, but when he scored in the clutch, as he so often did, Garden fans went nutso. Throughout the game, Theresa did her best to appear interested, listening attentively as I explained every consequential detail taking place on the court. But it wasn't until the final three minutes--crunch time--that she really got into it. It was then that she got caught up in the mass hysteria produced by the thousands of fans scrunched inside the Garden. I realize today that such entertainment is nothing more than
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