Turtle Rock

Junior high school consisted of grades 7 through 9. Mrs. Weathersby was my English teacher in the 7th grade. Explaining that everyone has a story to tell, one of our first writing assignments was to write our autobiography and bind it with a homemade hard binding. My initial reaction was that she didn’t know how unextraordinary my life was at such a young age. I was just an average guy! I get up in the morning, eat breakfast, go to school, go back home, have dinner, clean up, go to bed and start all over the next morning. Chapter 1 First Grade. Chapter 2 Second Grade. So on and so forth. What could I possibly have written that would be so different than any of my classmates?

There’s very little I remember about my composition, except that I gave one chapter the title of “Yuk Stew!” about the time my dad made stew when we were camping at Prosser Resevoir near Truckee, California, where we spent our annual summer vacations. Geno always came with us so I had someone to do things with. I don’t remember the grade I received for my work, I never even received any royalties for it! There ought to be a law, right? Her hand written comment, however, did stick with me over the years. It stated that she believed I was a good writer and that I should never stop writing. While wondering how many others she said that to, I also have more recently wondered what she would have thought had I written what I know now.

The truth is, I never had much to say and I despised writing except for a little poetry which wasn’t for anyone else to read. I closely guarded my personal, affectionate feelings and how lonely I felt growing up an only child, however, I must admit that the loneliness seemed to wane as my friendship with Geno and his family grew. Whenever we were assigned to write fictional short stories, my subject matter and story telling style was often influenced by the Twighlight Zone TV series. All the while, I continued to clown around a lot with my friends, doing a lot of loud, demonstrative stuff that Robin Williams became famous for, years later. I was sure that no one ever imagined that I was truly a lonely boy under that happy facade.

Geno and I received an invitation to go swimming at a local woman’s house across town by one of our mutual friends. I don’t recall that the woman was married nor did I ever witness any of her family around while we were there. With a gorgeous and beautifully maintained home, she also had quite the setup in her back yard which was mostly cement around a built-in pool and very little grass. What impressed me most, nevertheless, was the large red coke machine in her covered patio adjacent to the pool. I never knew anyone else with their own Coca Cola machine! We had so much fun that we returned a number of times for a summer cool down and clowning around in the pool until one day, Dolly came out while we were enjoying a break in the shade, sipping our cokes. She had obviously been watching us from inside her house and proceeded to suggest that we try out for some of the live stage productions at the nearby MIRA Theatre, assuring us that we would fit right in with everyone else there. Unfamiliar with it then, that changed over the following years. That’s when we first learned she was the theater group’s President or CEO. When we declined, she added that she thought we would have a lot of fun there. Speaking for myself, I had such a fear of public speaking that it controlled any desire I may have had to get up on stage and perform in front of a live audience. I mean, there’s nowhere to hide if you bomb! After all, it took every nerve I could muster to even speak before my classmates in a classroom setting. Geno, on the other hand, had enough to keep him busy as he was an exceptional trumpet player in the school band. It was obvious that he was going places!

It was in the 8th grade as I recall that a cute girl in school caught my eye. When I learned she lived around the block from me, I started going over to her house to get to know her better. A few weeks later, she introduced me to her younger sister. That was the beginning of the end of my initial infatuation with the first one. I found myself more attracted to the little sister although I don’t think she felt the same attraction for me then. After all, she was in the 6th grade and probably unaware of boys at that age. Now in junior high school, it felt somewhat uneasy having feelings for anyone in elementary school. I waited patiently until the following year when she had done some growing up and seemed ready for a relationship. A 9th grader going out with a 7th grader seemed much more appropriate and we ended up dating off and on throughout junior and senior high school.

Geno and I had so much in common. We both shared a love for music, sports, movies and of course, girls. Not necessarily in that order, but I’ll let you figure that out. We especially enjoyed the sword and sandal movies such as Hercules. So inspired, we even started working out together in his garage when his dad bought him a small 110 pound weight set. He was tall and lean and I was nearly as tall but just the opposite body type. His gains were realized faster than mine but we both achieved some pretty satisfying results. Long before Arnold Schwarzenegger arrived on the international bodybuilding scene and becoming a household name, Steve (Hercules) Reeves was our inspiration.

I began to spend more of my weekends with Geno and much less time in the movie theaters. With an affinity towards those low budget strongman movies on TV, we probably spent as much time watching the low budget horror films whenever they were on. Hammer Productions was relatively new then but we loved them as well. Horror was suddenly in living color, a welcome contrast to the black and white films that we normally watched. Edgar Allan Poe was also at the top of our list. American International Studios produced a series of films that made his stories come to life with the prince of macabre, Vincent Price. What a time to be a young teenager in America!

While we both enjoyed a natural talent for sports, I was never going to be a star athlete by any means. While in junior high school, Geno convinced me to try out for the track team with him. We had played a lot of softball and touch football together on the street in front of our houses but I was pretty nervous about the thought of trying out for any organized athletics. I wasn’t a runner and I felt like a lead balloon when it came to the high jump and long jump events. Geno suggested shot put and discus. Much to my surprise, I not only made the track and field team, I even lettered while not being very good at it.

Dad convinced me to try out for the basketball team just to stay in shape, if for no other reason. Surprisingly enough, I made the team, albeit not as a starter. Despite not being very good, I did, however letter once again.

Only the ninth graders were allowed to be on the school’s flag football team. After making the team, I earned a position on the starting team and went on to earn a letter for football as well, making me a three-sport letterman. My greatest achievement, however, came on the field, scoring three touchdowns in a single game. It was a record that held for several years.

At the end of the season and the school year, the football coaches from the local high school paid us a visit to explain their top rated football program to those students who were interested in becoming a Vallejo High Apache, a proud nation rivaled only by the school spirit. They had built quite a reputation throughout Northern California as they had just completed their third consecutive undefeated year and were ranked number 12 in the entire state of California. Unlike most of the others who would be trying out, I had no experience playing organized tackle football. Many, if not most of the others, had played on youth football teams prior to high school. That would be my greatest challenge, but I felt I was up for it.

The spring semester ended and it became a very busy summer for me. To this very day, I don’t know how we fit everything in. Geno’s family was planning a month-long trip back to Ohio and Kentucky to visit family. Geno had spent the last two or three summers on our camping getaways so his parents decided that I should go along with them on this very special family vacation. Mowing lawns and performing a couple other odd jobs in the neighborhood provided me with some spending money to take with me. When the time had come, the seven of us filed into their station wagon and off we went. Dad Shepherd and Geno’s older brother did the driving for the most part. Mom Shepherd didn’t drive. Dad Shepherd took the first shift at the wheel. A somewhat experienced driver by that time, Geno’s older brother was second in the rotation. We drove straight through until reaching Colorado at which point Geno, with his learner’s permit, drove that last couple hours to the motel under the watchful eye of his dad. I seem to recall that it was in Denver, but I can’t be sure of that. We all had time to clean up and get a good night’s sleep. Well rested and fresh the next morning, we then drove the remainder of the trip straight through to Dayton, Ohio where Dad Shepherd’s family lived. After a week or so in Ohio, we drove south to Kentucky to visit more family there. Almost instantaneously, I fell in love with Ohio and the hills of Kentucky. I never felt more at home as I did there in the bluegrass state. Unable to explain it, I truly felt like it was where I belonged and did not want to leave. After returning home, I presented Mom and Dad with a few souvenirs I had picked up along the way. It was then that I told them about the special connection I felt with the mountain people and country of Kentucky but was unable to explain it. They got rather quiet and never offered a reason why I may have felt that way, but once again, I now can only imagine what was truly going through their minds.

More than 50 eager and able guys tried out for the high school junior varsity football team. More than ever before, we were told. My chances of making the team seemed miniscule at best after the three rounds of cuts that the coaches promised would happen before the final roster was complete.

The rigorous training began with double sessions in a very hot spell that we were having. I didn’t let that slow me down and gave it my very best. When the first round of cuts was posted on the bulletin board in the hallway, everyone rushed to see if they were going to make the second round of training. Everyone, but me, that is. Not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t know how I might react to seeing I got cut. Waiting until the list had been posted for a while and feeling sure that everyone else had seen the list, it was now my turn. The hallway was vacant as I slowly approached the bulletin board. Taking a deep breath, I nervously looked the list over. There it was! Ted Haskins. I was still on the team but the road ahead was long and increasingly more difficult to survive. Although jubilant, I managed to remain calm and copecetic on the outside as I walked away like I expected to make the team in case anyone was watching. When the second list was posted, I followed the same routine before and after learning of the results. A couple more weeks of rigorous workouts ensued followed by the third and final cut. With even more trepidation, I began the long-mile walk down the hallway to the bulletin board. Hardly able to contain myself , I not only made the roster, but I subsequently became an alternating starter in the line up. I was already liking high school before attending my first class!

Following the end of our successful football season. I got a job at the local Taco Bell where Geno had already been working for a young female manager. During the job interview, I told her that my work hours would have to coincide with his because I wasn’t old enough to drive yet. She said she was alright with that and just like that, I had my very first real job.

One Saturday afternoon while Geno and I were at work, a customer came to the window and ordered frijoles among a few other items. The manager was back in her office. Geno was preparing the food on the stove in the back. I was the one who took the customer’s order. That customer mispronounced frijoles as “freeholes.” Hardly able to contain myself after he left with his order, I went to the back and told them what he said. They both broke out in laughter, but what surprised me most was when she said that I should have told him that he’d have to go around back because we don’t serve those up front. That was the moment I felt that I had been accepted as a member of her team.

When the high school football season began, the Taco Bell manager rewarded me with a sabbatical of sorts and said I was welcome to return to work after the season ended.

Following the end of my junior varsity season, I reported back to Taco Bell only to learn that she had been replaced by a new manager who wouldn’t honor the agreement. I never worked one hour under the new manager, but he told Geno and the few other employees that he fired me because I ate too much. I didn’t take it too hard, but I didn’t like hearing how he explained my firing to the others. I would however settle the score later, but for the time being, I sought employment at McDonalds only a block away. They were glad to have me, and gladly gave me space to continue playing high school football. The management there was all about their employees, their education and whatever else went along with it. I enjoyed the atmosphere of working there and ended up working there five months after I graduated.

I continued to struggle academically but managed to keep my GPA high enough to stay on the team. Football was the only reason I stayed in high school. Having enough credits to graduate mid term my senior year, I expressed that desire with my parents. After several conversations with them, they convinced me to stick it out one more semester and graduate with the rest of my class as they put it. I honored their request, however, my heart truly wasn’t in it. My GPA suffered as a result and I was absolutely miserable during that spring semester. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I really wasn’t smart enough.

More to come.

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