At first the train ride was boring; mile after mile of wheat and corn and flatlands. Before long, though, we were in Wyoming and the Rocky Mountains. They were really something to see. I was pretty revved-up about the trip west and I only slept off and on in the train seats since they were leather and kind of slippery. We went through some really neat places I'd only heard about in Western movies. Places like Cheyenne and Laramie and Snake River. Too bad some of it was at night. I could get up and walk around and that helped a lot. I ate my meals in the dining car, and the food was pretty good. It seemed like a long three days and nights but finally on the morning of the fourth day, I arrived in Portland. I was tired but again the bus station was near the train station, so I didn't have any trouble finding the bus to Corvallis.
I guess I wasn't that good at planning because I ended up in the bus station at Corvallis at eight thirty on a Sunday night. I had no idea where the campus was and I was sure there wasn't anyone around there on Sunday night. I asked the only attendant where the closest hotel was and he said it was the College Inn, just a couple of blocks down the street. I set off in the pointed direction and while his "couple of blocks" turned out to be a lot more, I finally found it and dragged my two bags behind me into the lobby. As I approached the empty desk, I idly wondered what I would do if there weren't any rooms.
I caught a break and there were a couple of rooms left and I paid the incredible sum of $18 for one night in a bed. I couldn't believe anybody could charge that much for a bed and bathroom, but I had to sleep somewhere and I was too tired to argue or look for another place. I had hardly spent any money on the bus or the train, so it wasn't like I was broke or anything. When I finally got to my room, I was tired, but as I sat on the edge of the bed, for the first time I felt lonely. No Mom or Dad or Penny or even Jeanine ... no one. There would be time enough in the morning for regrets and to start the next day of my new life.
Chapter Two: Relocated and Stymied
The first week went by in a blur. I registered, found my dorm, moved my stuff in, went off to buy my books for my first year courses, met with the men's swim coach to and finally met my roommate. Zoltan Juhasz was a freshman like me, but he was on the wrestling team. When I first saw him, I though he was pretty small; probably only 5' 4", but the first time I saw him with his shirt off, I realized he had muscles right up to the eyeballs. He had come to the U.S. during the Hungarian Revolution in '56 when his parents made a run for freedom. He was only fifteen when he escaped, but he had seen a lot of death and blood and fear and he acted older than he really was. Apparently, he had seen his uncle killed by army troops in the streets in front of their home. He didn't seem too anxious to talk about those days and I didn't press him.
Zoltan was a great guy to have as a roommate. He was neat, quiet and not around very much. He took his studies very seriously and I think he must have written a letter to his parents every week. He had a certain way of being around without you really noticing him. We got along great right from the start. I told him a bit about my family and the troubles we had and he told me a bit about his family. His dad was an expert furniture repairer and refinisher and found a really good job in Portland almost right away. That took a lot of pressure off his mother and Zoltan and when he was awarded the scholarship to OSU, he accepted with their blessing. In a matter of three years, he had learned to speak, read and write very good English. He was obviously a very smart guy.
During the second week, we had a general meeting of the swim team to get our training schedule and the meet schedule. Since the men and women went to meets together, we would be traveling together and probably staying in the same hotels or motels. So, naturally, the first thing the men's team was told was to keep our hands off the girl's team. I'm sure the girls were told the same thing about us. Most of us snickered and gave them our assurances we would never think of such a thing and then promptly checked out the girls to see what they looked like. The best opportunity for that was a social they called a "meet and greet" party.
I was still thinking of Penny and I had been writing to her every week; telling her how much I missed her and trying to tell her about OSU and what I had seen of Oregon. I didn't see anyone on the girls swim team that attracted my attention which was probably just as well. It was all I could do to adjust to living in a strange place and adapting to both going to classes where no one took attendance or cared much if you passed or failed. I had no intention of "flunking out". With Zoltan as my role model, I knuckled down to my studies and let the swimming look after itself. I was in pretty good shape, but I wasn't really as good as I could be. My first set of time trials told me how much further I had to go.
I got through that first semester pretty well. By Christmas, I had figured out what it took to get by and I had upped my training to bring my times into line with the competition. At this point, I was still a "spare" in case someone was sick or injured, but I did travel to the meets and I got to see quite a bit of the western U.S.; most of it by bus. Since both the swimming and diving teams for both men and women travelled on the same bus, it was inevitable that some of the guys would get together with some of the girls. You always knew where to find them; at the back of the bus, necking. I'm sure the coaches new what was going on, but they pretended not to and always sat at the front of the bus. I figured that as long as no one rubbed their noses in it, they wouldn't interfere.
I had tried a couple of times to write a letter to my Dad. I was upset at what he had done to cause Mom to do what she had done. I wanted him to know how upset I was and I wanted him to know I didn't blame Mom any more; I blamed him and myself. I tried to write that letter, but it just didn't come out right. It took a really weird thing to help me write it. I had just sat down at my desk to try again to write the letter when I heard a big commotion out in the hall and some banging near my door. I opened the door just in time to see Barry Walston stagger away a few feet and puke all over the floor. He was obviously drunk and it wasn't the first time. Unfortunately for me, the house rule was that the closest freshman was always the cleanup man and I was "it".
I groaned and swore at Barry as he half crawled into his room. I didn't feel sorry for him a bit and I was swearing mightily under my breath as I headed for the utility closet and pulled out the mop and pail. I filled it with water and began the unpleasant task of cleanup of someone else's barf. I knew I wasn't going to be in a rush for dinner tonight. It took a bout fifteen minutes to do the job properly and finally I was about to clean the mop and pail when I let my anger get the better of me. I picked up the pail and mop and pushed open Barry's door and plunked the whole ugly mess down in the middle of his room.
It was in that mood that I returned to my room and began to write the letter to my father. I was in a bad mood and it showed in the letter. On the other hand, I finally had a letter that really said what I wanted to say.
To My Father: I have struggled to write this letter for a few weeks and I can't put it off any longer. I have to tell you how unhappy I am with the way you treated my mother. I know about your affair with Jeanine long before Mom had anything to do with Mr. Robinson. Mom wrote me a letter before I left home and told me that she thought you were seeing another woman, but she couldn't prove it. She also told me that you treated her badly but that you hid that from me. I didn't believe her, but now I do. If you don't already know, I was the one who wrote the notes to you that told you about her and Mr. Robinson. Now I'm sorry I ever did that. I don't think that would ever have happened if you didn't push her into it. I always thought you were a super Dad. You were good to me and you helped me a lot and I am grateful for that. But what you did to Mom has made me ashamed of what I did and also ashamed of you. I'm sorry if this letter hurts you, but I have to tell you how I feel. I will try and find Mom and try and make it up to her. I know she is very hurt by what happened and I probably can't make that go away, but at least I can apologize to her for what I did. I don't suppose we will see each other again for a long time. I hope you and Jeanine are OK and that you have a good life. Your son, Ron
I don't remember ever being quite as lonely as I was that first Christmas. I hadn't had a chance to go to Salem to look for my Mom and I didn't have any contact with my Dad. I was still writing to Penny, but not quite as often. I guess I had written to her a couple of times a month and of course I sent her a Christmas card and wished her a Happy New Year. She was sending me a letter once or twice a month, but I guess with my being gone, she might looking for a guy to keep her company. I couldn't really blame her if she was, but it would still hurt if that happened.
Since Christmas fell on a Wednesday, we had almost two full weeks off from December 24th to January 6. Zoltan headed home to Portland while I stayed at the dorm. I think I was only one of perhaps five or six people still there and it wasn't much fun. On the spur of the moment, I decided to try and find my mother. The last address I had for her was at my "Aunt" Hilda's address in Salem. I had the envelope with the address and Thursday, the day after Christmas, I took the bus to Salem and crossed my fingers that my search would be an easy one.
"Aunt" Hilda wasn't really my Aunt. She was an old friend of my Mother's family and over the years she had become an honorary Aunt. I had only met her once when I was a little kid and I had no idea what she looked like. It was only about fifty miles from the campus to the Capitol, but with three stops along the way, it took over two and a half hours by bus. When I got to Salem, I had no idea what part of town the address on the envelope would be, so once again I asked the attendant at the bus station for directions. This time it was a bit farther out of town and I decided I would take a cab. It was a short ride and only a $3 fare, so I tipped the driver 50 cents and walked up to the front door. There was a name tag under the bell and it read H. Davis. I pushed the button and waited.
