Category: Life in Cambridge

Teenagers, boys much more than girls, often don’t known when to quit, and had we just a scintilla of knowledge about reasonable limitations, my 18th birthday party might have concluded nicely. But the evocative lure of a never-ending party and way too much beer led to a most common bad scene during my adolescence. Over this time period I often wondered why a black cloud always tracked my life course. With age and slightly more maturity, I finally cleaned up the mirror some to see the real cause of most difficulties. Interestingly, it’s been my experience it’s this very same but often illusive mirror nearly all dysfunctional people never find. Almost all of the troubled people I’ve known, and this is a pretty big number, had the same blindness about the real cause of personal problems, and consequently always blamed others or bad circumstances. It seems there’s not a whole lot of accurate self-reflection on Cellblock Six.

I did have enough forethought to know my old Corvair breathed its last gas fumes as it limped back home in a haze of oil smoke to begin crumbling completely into a pile of rust, rotted rubber and broken glass. We all knew the belt now holding the generator instead of my pants would let go any second, the car finally a dead issue. Sadly, GM’s Zombie Ride would no longer resurrect and move on its own power, and previously planning for the car’s imminent demise, I’d bought another fifty buck special, my second Corvair, this one a chalky white and not nearly as rusty. Still, the price reflected mechanical qualities, or more correctly, the lack thereof, most specifically what I called a “Mystery Shifter.” Continue reading “A Short Career as a Driver’s Education Teacher”

Well, I got a baby’s brain and an old man’s heart
Took eighteen years to get this far -Alice Cooper “I’m Eighteen”

I can’t think of a much more potentially dangerous condition than four teenage guys riding in a car with almost no brakes and then adding a case of beer to compliment the occasion, and that’s just what this story is about. It’s was my 18^th birthday, a time in 1972 when authorities deemed I was old enough to drink while still too dumb to cope with the many consequences. Today, just celebrating my official entry into Old Codger World, my 65^th anniversary on this planet, I thank God for his grace in allowing me to tell a story a lot of people never get to tell because they’re dead and long ago buried. This story could have easily ended that way for all of us and does for far too many teenagers who mix booze and gasoline.

To begin, we pulled a fast one on Alice Ashton, and this wasn’t easy as she was one sharp authority figure who wore two hats when were all seniors. Like a lot of professionals at small schools Alice had multiple major responsibilities, one as school nurse and the other as truant officer. Alice knew every excuse known to us for missing school and cut through bull like a spoon through yogurt. It took months of strategy to trip her up. Continue reading “How Not to Conduct an 18th Birthday Party”

Thinking someone with a formal college degree is somehow superior to a person who can build and tune a high performance engine is a great example of pure ignorance. The same can be said for failing to appreciate the rare individual who makes something out of almost nothing through the power of creative engineering. Although many mechanics do possess formal degrees, they all studied at the College of Experience, their diplomas awarded in steel and aluminum. Fortunately, in spite of cultural and class prejudice, Cambridge has been blessed with a well above average supply of truly gifted wrench wizards, many also talented controllers of the machines they put together. Most seriously, if we study American history carefully, we’ll see it’s people like these who greatly helped build our country into the powerhouse it became. Continue reading “The Mechanical Wizards of Cambridge”

Quite frankly, I am most limited in trying to find anything I liked about winter in Cambridge. As the temperature there hovers a balmy 18 and thick snow blankets the region, I thought positive winter memories might be a good idea, but I don’t have any. OK, this isn’t really true. We had all sorts of fun even when it was so cold it actually hurt to go outdoors. In fact, most of us regularly braved the deep freeze for a CCS basketball game. No matter what your involvement, from spectator to cheerleader, the excitement in the middle of Old Man Winter drew so many people weekly it seemed that just about anyone in Cambridge who could get up and walk went to the games, a major community event. I don’t remember what pittance was charged for admission, but as far as entertainment value goes, I’ve yet to find a better deal. Even the sideshows were a hoot, one in particular I’ll share in detail with fond memories of a great natural comedian. Chevy Chase’s got nothin’ on my pal Al, a superior physical comedian, far better than a lot of famous professionals, and a darn good verbal one too. Continue reading “Cambridge Basketball and My Pal Al”

When I first think of the Class of ’66 I get a tremendous headache. I can thank Don Hamilton for this. I’ll get back to Don’s vigorous and most spirited assault in a moment, and much more significant, Don’s great contribution to young people and the community, but first, here’s a tip of the hat to the CCS Class of ’66 as a whole, a group of people who were almost godlike to me when I first walked the halls of CCS. Continue reading “Spirit of 66 Part 1”

On a warm July evening the notes floated across Hedges Lake carried by a soft breeze to the ears of a 12-year-old sitting on a dock at one of Bob Craig’s camps, our first local residence. It was a magical time, but I didn’t know it, instead just another dumb kid with his feet dangling in cool water, fishing pole in one hand, the other tapping out the rhythm on a rough pine board. I hoped to catch “The Big One” and did, but it wasn’t a fish I hooked, it was a life-long love of live rock and roll.

“Louie Louie” was hugely popular in the summer of 1965 and even today most people can recognize the first five notes and easily name the song. No one will ever know how many local bands played the enormously popular rock anthem after a cover by the Kingsmen first cracked the pop charts in 1963, and most unusually, once again in 1966. A few years later Joe Vitello sang it at a CCS dance, I’m not sure which one, but it may have been my first, our seventh grade waltz into the dating scene, one marvelously introduced by two great teachers. Continue reading “The First Dance”