The film The Summer of 42 is the story about a teenager who experiences a watershed summer. My watershed summer was 1963. My father had died 8 months ago, my mother was hospitalized with her second nervous breakdown and I was totally out of control. I was still dealing with how my father could die without "saying goodbye" when he had to know it was going to happen. My mother had checked out for the second time in 6 months. I was drinking, dating and being the teenager who didn't have to abide by parental controls cause there were no parents around.
Then as my junior year in high school ended Mark and I were sent off with our Aunt Peg until our mother recovered. Peg and her husband Sy had to make major sacrifices to accommodate Mark and I. It seemed like the rest of our family either turned a deaf ear or were otherwise unable to help. I think that's when I decided that since my extended family wasn't available there wasn't any need to keep in touch with them (maybe my father was right). In any event I wound up in Johnstown , PA having no idea how long I might be there. The prospect of finishing high school there instead of Danville was not something I looked forward to.
So here we are living in a different city with an aunt, uncle, and 2 cousins (Mike & Gretchen). Mark remained rebellious while I decided the best course of action was "surface compliance". That meant I didn't make waves, got the trust of Peg & Sy, and then did what I wanted to do under the radar. I spent most of my summer walking over to Northfork Country Club where I would pick up money by caddying or lifeguarding. Other days I would hitch hike(which I wasn't allowed to do supposedly) into Westmont and play basketball and then get a ride home with my uncle (Sy).
Two memorable experiences made it a watershed summer. I had my first sexual experience with a blind date from Rockville, MD. I guess it was a conquest for her, but it was not much of a conquest for me. After it was over I was just glad not to be a cherry any more--and glad I would never have to face her again in my life. The nicest thing about first time sex is you never have to experience it a second time. Seems like sex and getting laid occupied my thoughts a lot. Trouble was it was mostly fantasizing, chasing and fumbling compared to very little action.
The other memorable experience involved "borrowing" a car. This one was a lot more exciting. Since almost everything I did that summer revolved around the desire to find girls, get laid or do something crazy, a friend and I decided to hang out all night together. We each told our family we were staying overnight at the other's house so we were free for the entire night. However, without a car we encountered serious limitations. Also teenagers in PA had Cinderella drivers licenses which meant they could not drive after midnight. But my friend had a plan: since I had a Virginia license I could drive all night so all we had to do was take one of his parent's cars after they went to bed. All this desire is driven by a slumber party on the other side of town. So around 10:00 we take the car, head to the party, pick up dates and head to the greens of Northfork Country Club. Also managed to pick up plenty of beer. Lot's of fun, drinking, but no real sex. Dropped the girls off around 3:00 and decided to see how fast the car (1963 Mercury Monterey) would go. I floored it on a straight road while my friend (Jim Pappas) watched the speed odometer. We passed some parked police who started after us but never found us. According to Jim we hit 115 mph. Got back to his house and realizing the car was muddy as hell decided to wash it. And that's what we were doing when his mother came outside to find out:
1. Why were we there instead of at my aunt's?
2. Why are we washing the car?
Here's our story: we were hitch hiking out to my aunt's and the guy giving us a ride had car problems. We got a ride back into Westmont and decided to sleep on the Pappas' porch. While we were sleeping some guys drove by and threw mud balls on the car. Since we were where we weren't suppose to be, we figured we'd be blamed for the mess so that's why we were washing the car. Not a very believable story--BUT--I looked his mother straight in the eye and did not deviate an inch form the original version no matter how many questions she asked. I also admitted to the venial sin of hitch hiking to avoid the mortal sin of car theft. I don't think she believed me, but she couldn't break me. Sometimes if you adopt the strategy of "that's my story and I'm sticking to it" you can escape (OJ, President Bill, etc). I escaped because Mrs Pappas never called my Aunt Peg so I continued my "surface compliance". Not my proudest moment but it was another survival lesson.
A third experience that summer also shaped my life. As my senior year started I decided to play football. I was a 143lb end who wound up playing defense because I was too slow to play offense. Wound up getting clipped in a scrimmage which damaged my left knee and required surgery. It kept me out of the military but I've suffered through 40+ years of arthritis and now face the prospect of knee replacement. When the pain becomes intolerable I remind myself that I could have perfectly good knee joints and be lying in a casket with my name inscribed on the Vietnam Memorial Wall.
In retrospect I wish I had been more pro active in thanking Peg & Sy for the sacrifices they made to accommodate Mark & I during that time. Recently I spoke with my cousin Mike who mentioned how much I had been like a "big brother" to him that summer. He said it in a very complimentary manner--I had no idea I had been anything expect a major inconvenience in his life that summer. At 17 I thought I saw the big picture--years later I reflect and realize I missed some special moments.
One experience I missed that summer of 63 was the escalation between blacks and whites. Danville was a town with a black majority, completely controlled by the whites and it was a prime battleground. MLK showed up there and demonstrations were occurring frequently. I wondered what all the fuss was about since everything was suppose to be "separate but equal". Then blacks demonstrated outside the white public library. I decided to check out the black library just to be sure things were as advertised mainly because the library was a place that was important to me. I don't even have to tell you how different the libraries were. Being as out of control as I was at the time it was probably a good thing I spent that summer somewhere else.
42 years later I look back on a watershed summer. I learned a lot about life, missed many other opportunites to grow even more as a person, but I survived. And so far that pattern has continued.
