Sundance had become disciple of one
of these university tweed jacketed pipe-smoking gurus who carefully constructed
lessons about discovering balance in the universe. His syllabus was titled “The
Ying and Yang of Mystical Musings or How to let your authentic Buddha flourish
without really trying.” Sundance slowly showed signs of self-
flourishing. Flowers eventually blossom unless they get caught in an unforeseen
early frost. Individuation can also
be cut off by early frosts. Jake
drifted he here and there avoiding flourishing of any kind. Yearning really doesn’t equate to
learning and growing.
A fellow “Wanderer” Al Hendle, a big fan of Mark Twain, used
to say
“If you want to see something you
need to open your eyes. If you want to feel it …open your heart. If you want to
learn you have to let go. But never ever let school interfere with your
education.””
Wandering the learning landscape was much
like wandering a desert without any clue for Jake. Sundance’s own wanderings had brought
him to the shores of Long Island sound under the tutelage of Jesuits anchored
at Fairfield University. Jake washed up on the shore of a new retirement home
for McCarthy era Ivy-leagued exiles and unknown tier two beat poets in the safe
harbor of Fairleigh Dickinson University on an undiscovered estate on “millionaires
row” in Jersey. At their high school commencement a used car dealership owner
was keynote speaker and advised the inattentive graduates that their time is
given to spend and invest wisely. Coupons for the dealership were inserted into
the commencement program.
Sundance invested his time analyzing
Joyce and pounding out his own poems on his selectric until his ribbon dried
up. Jake, a dharma bum in waiting, pounded Millers until the bottles were dried
up. He was found singing “Louie Louie” at a dorm party before getting
notification of his academic probation. He never worried about his return on
investment of his time.
Jake informed their high school part counselor/Vice Principal/Latin
teacher/disciplinarian that he had no interest in attending any religious
affiliated institution of higher learning. Who needed college anyway? The black
robed celibate pointed like a Dickens’ living specter of death in a Christmas
Carole to a fat over used out-of date catalogue and said,
“I can’t help you. Use that book.”
It was Jake’s confirmation to agnosticism that day. Earlier, Fr. Adolph,
the off the wagon priest who was always ready to flirt with anyone with rose
colored cheeks, was an unwitting force driving young men from faith instead of
to it. He was the Master of Theology at the newly launched secondary school.
Some say Adolph was some type of student-fanatic of the Inquisition. It seemed
that he liked to make the most of his subject matter expertise. He directed his
captive charges to repeat out loud that the new pop icons, Beatles, were agents
of Beelzebub. Together the not quite subservient boys were ordered to chant.
“The Beatles are the devil. The Beatles are the devil.”
Jake’s heart screamed.
“Not true!”
Sundance said he ignored Fr. Adolph and couldn’t take him seriously.
However, being one who liked to be more safe than sorry, he requested Jake if
he could keep his new high heeled black Spanish shoes, better know as “Beatle
Boots”, at Jake’s place. He said
“ You know, since we practice our music there and all.”
Fr. Adolph reminded the boys that slow dancing with girls was a clever satanic
invention and thereby qualified as a venial sin. The boys all knew that there is
some secret number of venial sins that when added together would equal a mortal
sin and mortal sin meant eternal damnation in the fires of hell. Jake knew he
was in trouble as his venial sins were quickly adding up. At the time agnosticism
seemed a good alternative.
Jake liked to believe he learned more by observing nature than reading
scholarly texts. Crocuses bloom early and bid farewell as fast as they arrive.
Ivy carefully slowly and eventually coats everything it grows on. Wrigley Field’s
outfield wall is evidence of slow moving beauty. Trees grow stronger and rivers
run deeper over time. Demon Kudzu sprouts with lightning speed covering napping
senior citizens or anything standing still for more than an hour. Garden
flowers die, eventually. Even some young men grow and learn faster than others
and then some never seem to learn.
But, all things change. That’s all one really need to know.
In 1966 college acceptance letters may have well been titled “draft
deferment.” Some young boys were compelled to a sense of duty and put on the
clothes of war and headed east to red soaked rice paddies. Many never returned.
Others had another sense of duty and escaped north of the border to the land of
hockey and Molson beer. Different voices, different choices. Sometimes the
voice rings out like wake up call. Paying attention and being present is a
chore for some. Jake who had placed wax in his ears to escape worldly
temptations finally listened. He applied to colleges.
The feigned wisdom of the titans of higher education compelled eighteen
year olds to “declare” their journey to the future by deciding on a major
course of study. It was as if this was some realistic sorting point. More than
a few paths diverged in the road ahead that would have befuddled Frost. Ultimatums
usually do not facilitate good outcomes.
“Not to decide is to decide”
was a theological precept Billy Barrows had written in select yearbooks
of those who opted out of not continuing their education and who returned
emotionally wounded or not at all from their duty to serve a country right or
wrong. Billy wrote something else in Jake’s yearbook. Three flips of a coin,
two dart throws and a few Millers later Jake checked of “History” as his course
of study.
“Why not?”
It was Al, the secret muse to many of the Wanderers, who advised Jake
on a number of decisions who counseled
“When in doubt. …guess with confidence and don’t turn back!”
Basketball, banjo, books and blues harps all had one thing in common,
Al Hendle. During the high school years every morning Al would bounce, bounce
and bounce his basketball down the street to the school bus stop. Jake was
always late darting out from behind to catch up.
“Hey Al!”
Dribbling a ball was like breathing and without missing a bounce or breath.
Al would dribble - talk of books he’s devoured and recall obscure folk and
blues artists that shook his soul. Jake transfixed, soaked it all in. Al was
the one who sneaked Jake an old brown paper bag covered copy of “Catcher in the
Rye. “ Jake finally found the well he had been digging in the desert for, to
quench that long yearning thirst. He drank up every last word and became
addicted. Sundance and a few of the
“wanderers” saw Jake the “perpetual slow meandering caterpillar” begin
to change that day. He was unaware he was waking with wings. Billy would remind
Jake of that transformative moment years later. Billy had a great memory for
things like that.
Al continued to counsel and cajole Jake encouraging him to change his
mind and select “English” as a field of study. Jake wasn’t too sure. They say
that Jake’s eyes were just like Al’s. They often saw things the same way. ”One
Flew over the Cuckoos Nest” and “Catcher in the Rye” had become the texts for Lectio
Divinia for both boys. In senior English in high school Jake was found guilty
of sneaking a read of the “Catcher in the Rye ” tucked inside and oversized
binder. His penance for this sin was detention for not being attentive in
class. He also had to write down every word Father Adolph, who also taught English,
would scroll on the blackboard about “Understanding Poetry” by Dr. J. Evans
Pritchard. Jake’s learned lesson wasn’t exactly what the school intended.
Unanswered questions build pressure to the point of bursting. Sundance was
convinced that Jake was headed for day shift work after graduation. For Jake studying
literature or anything as a college major didn’t seem like a good idea at the
time.
Before books and music it was movies that inspired Jake. One of his
favorites was “The Great Escape.” Jake realized that in life great escapes need
great plans. Then again sometimes when you get the urge to go you just got to
go. He finally considered that college just might be his freight car, his eighteen
wheeler or his motorcycle jumping prison barbed wire to escape to no where. A
small nowhere college in nowhere Louisiana had accepted Jake and gave him a few
dollars as a scholarship. 1000 miles from home. It was perfect. An island retreat
from the busy-ness and temptations of the gods. Free at last! There was one-minute
detail he had selectively forgotten. It was Circe in the form of Mary Lou, who had
reeled in Jake on a no release barbed hook in high school. She was the Yoko
that really broke up the Wannabes and had become a barrier between Jake and
Sundance. She always acted is if she knew exactly who she was and where she was
going. She stayed north for college majoring in debutantism and if Jake really
loved her he would stay within a days driving distance from her. That’s how nymphs
measure commitment …access, driving distance and of course dinner at
restaurants where you had to make a reservation. Like most escape plans Jake’s evaporated
as Mary Lou left for her small girls school in the hills of Pennsylvania in
September. Jake complied staying a few hours away at a Jersey landlocked island
of Greek soothsayers. Mary Lou disappeared by the end of her first semester.
Jake didn’t hear her voice anymore and she appeared only in his darkest dreams.
Rumors spread about a pregnancy. He had lost his heart and almost his soul.
Jake said he didn’t think twice about it. Truth- lies, lies - truth, either way
something died.
In an attempt to rise above his collegiate Sartresque melancholy he
committed to escape into his “studies.” This was first thing he had done well
in a long time. Though he jumped into the rabbit hole of learning he panicked
and failed to make the first hurdles of English and History courses he had
taken. Redemption might be available for one who seeks it, so he sought to
repeat the challenges of both courses instead of sunbathing and bar hopping
that summer. The true end had not yet arrived and the true beginning was yet to
start.
Mother nature’s son was lured into a false state of security while end
of ordinary time. Leaves loosened themselves sooner than expected in the ninth
month. The constant chilled autumn rain encouraged the process along. Wet
yellowed- orange -red floaters drifted by the portal of the most difficult mentoring
in college at the launch of his second year. The one eyed one eye-patched professor
also known as Dr G, reared his head. He was the one professor of literature everyone
dreaded. When Dr. G spoke the passive pilgrims pre-occupied with prurient
possibilities perversely clasped onto their dictionaries praying to follow the
flow of the words without getting any more lost than they already were. It seemed that Dr. G’s single purpose
was to consume as many students as possible. Students in his English classes
were forced to repel deeper and deeper into the source and purpose of every
piece they read. There was no escaping from this dark deep classroom in the
basement of the former mansion. When fear replaces hope quick endings are never
guaranteed. Jake knew that unsheathing his pen to do battle would be a futile
defense but it was all he had.
Dr. G thrived on surprises. But it was no real surprise when he
assaulted the collect of demanding a paper to be written about the experience of
birth. Jake prayed for a quick painless academic death. He thought he might
assist the process by submitting only
Birth is the process
Of being released
From on box
Into another
In preparation
For the final one
Six feet under.
Dr. G bent his head forward to glare with his one good eye over his Ben
Franklined glasses hungry to devour his next student . Jake trembled to the
core as he was summoned for a private audience with Dr. G after class. Into the
dark underworld of the unknown he sweated slowly stepping into the inner sanctum of Dr. G.. Jake
knew he had finally gone too far in tempting the gods and was sure to be
expelled to Hades or worse. Dr. G asked,
“ Did you write this?”
Tears started to run up and down Jake’s breasts.
“Yes.”
“What’s your major?”
“History”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you like to read?”
“Yes”
“What?”
The safe answer
“Mostly historical fiction”
“What’s your favorite book?
Honesty was about to burst forth…
“Catcher in the Rye.”
Dr. G. reached inside to his chest
vest pocket and produced a completed form feeding it to Jake charging him to
make haste in its delivery to the registrar. Jake was convinced it was a dismissal form with a “We don’t
like your kind here, kid ” typed on top. Banishment! The end!
He looked at the paper and saw
something different above the doctor’s signature. It was the Doctor’s
prescription for what had been ailing Jake. The compass that had been spinning
uncontrollably finally pointed true north. Dr. G prescribed that Jake carry the
shield of a warrior English major.
Al ‘s intuition was proven right, again!
When Sundance heard the news he made
a list of the top 100 books for Jake to read. Jake just exhaled for the first
time in months.
No comments:
Post a Comment