(When we played our charade
We were like children posing
Playing at games, acting out names
Guessing the parts we played)
***********************
There I was, 48 years old, sitting in my office overlooking the azure waters of the Pacific, weighing whether I should accept the offer I received for my company. If I did I would net around 24 million, give or take a few thousand. I would be wealthy beyond my wildest imagination. I would be able to buy and do whatever my little heart desired, within reason of course. So why was I feeling so shitty. Professionally I was a success, I had made it, but personally I felt my life was totally fucked up.
My name is Jerry Ford, that's Jerry with a J for Jerome, not Gerald, like the President. I came from a lower, middle class, blue collar family and I was a total fuck-up in high school. One reason, I believe, was that I found it so totally boring. I'm pretty sure that I was the only student that my guidance counselor advised to quit and go find a job. I think that she was getting really tired of seeing my rump in her office all the time. I admit it, I was a royal pain in the ass.
Miracles happen, I graduated high school (although I kind of think that they just wanted to get rid of me so badly that they let me pass). The Vietnam war was still raging and was becoming more and more unpopular, but I was a gung-ho kid and I wanted to make the world safe for democracy. (Shit, I didn't even know what the word meant.) Anyway, I enlisted in the Army for a three year hitch. My dad wanted me to learn a trade (he was an electrician) and he agreed that the service would be a good idea. It would give me an opportunity to mature as well as teaching me something with which I could earn a living.
Funny thing happened, I thrived on the Basic Training. For some ungodly reason the rigid discipline, the demanding physical activity, the attention to detail, etc. were things that were alien to me, but really appealed to me at the same time. Maybe it was because I was so good at what was required. I made it through Basic at the top of my unit, which maybe wasn't so good an idea. Yeah, I was so good that they talked me into volunteering for Ranger training.
So I spent the next two months at Ft. Benning, Ga. going through the hell of a intense, uncompromising period of physical and psychological preparedness, in other words, for Vietnam. You have to understand, I was not a heroic physical specimen. I was just shy of 6 foot and weighed about 170. (I keep in good shape, primarily by swimming laps, and I weigh only about 5 pounds more at the present.) But they honed my body and gave me the skills necessary to survive. Two months later found me in Vietnam which, let me tell you, is no Palm Springs.
If the Gods ever decide to give the world an enema, Vietnam will get the nozzle. I spent over a year and a half in that hell hole until I was wounded by some shrapnel which did a number on a couple of vertebra as well as some internal damage to my bladder and surrounding area. After spending a couple of months in a Veteran's Hospital stateside, I was discharged. No, I was not incontinent (thank the Gods) and my limp was hardly noticeable, even today. That was the good news - the news that I would be unable to sire children didn't make much of an impact at the time. What was of much more concern to me at the time was that I wasn't impotent, My inability to sire children would come back to haunt me later in life.
So there I was, 20 years old, out of the army and still without any real skills (if you discount the ability to disable or kill almost anyone quite efficiently.) I was living at home, not quite sure of what to do with myself. My dad did some research and found that there was counseling and career services for returning vets given at Drexel University and was sponsored by the VA. I figured, why not. An appointment was made and I spent the entire day being tested and interviewed. I still remember the psychologist's name, Dr. Cypress, he told me to call him Al.
To make a long story short, the tests showed that I had an aptitude for the technical and he suggested that I attend college and study engineering. I roared, now that was really funny. I told him that I barely made it through high school. He said he had examined my high school records and despite the less than impressive reading, the tests that I had taken in the army and the results of the battery of tests I had taken with him, indicated that I would have no problem in college. He really had me believing him. He made an appointment with the Dean of the School of Engineering at Drexel and before I knew it my ass was in college. My dad was proud as punch and my mom now could brag a little. Remember, I had mentioned that my dad was an electrician which led me to major in electrical engineering.
Coincidentally, it was just about this time that I got a call from Ben Klein, a buddy from my days in 'Nam. "Jerry, Jerry, it's Ben, you sonofabitch. I'm out, Jer, I'm out of the Army."
"Damn, Ben. It's good to hear your voice. How come you got out early? Where are you? How are you doing? How did you get my number?" I realized I was blabbering, but it was good to hear from him.
"I lost a fucking leg, Jer. I stepped on a fucking mine, would you believe it? Jeez, such a goddamn rookie thing to do. But it's ok, I lost the leg below my knee and the prosthesis is great, I get around almost as good. I called your folks, they gave me your number. Jer, I'm in California and guess what. You won't believe this. I"ve been admitted to Cal Tech. I'm gonna be studying architecture. I'm gonna achieve my dream, Jer. I'm gonna be a fucking architect."
I roared with laughter. Ben may sound like a gangster, but he was probably the smartest guy in the outfit, including the brass. I knew he had the ability and I knew that he wanted to be an architect since he was a kid.
"Ben, that's absolutely great. I'm really happy for you. I guess my folks told you what I'm doing?"
"Yeah, that blew my mind. Hey, Jer, how about that. Guys like us becoming professionals - you an engineer and me a fucking architect. Can you believe it?" and he erupted in laughter along with me. We chatted for another half hour and ended the call, promising to keep in touch.
I sat for awhile, just shaking my head, digesting what Ben had told me. Life is strange, I concluded.
I didn't like the idea of commuting to school from home and since I now had the GI Bill, a small medical pension from the army and the money my folks had saved from what I sent home each month, I was able to afford a studio apartment close to school. I'm exaggerating a
little when I call it an apartment. It was basically one room which contained my bed, a couple of easy chairs, an old sofa and a closet kitchen. Oh yeah, a bathroom in which I was just able to turn around. But for me it was ok. I had a study area there for my desk and a used computer and I devoted as much time as I could to the books. I knew that this was it for me; I would either make this work or my future would be really bleak. I didn't need a car, I could easily walk to class and take the streetcar to visit my folks.
The first two years went quickly and I was amazed to discover that I didn't flunk out after the mid-term exams, in fact I did rather well. I was deadly serious about accomplishing my goal to become an engineer, a professional, so I hit the books hard which, of course, left little time for any kind of social life. I had made some casual friends in some of my classes and we would get together occasionally for a beer or pizza or both. One Friday, one of the guys (Carl) mentioned that there was going to be a get-together at a sorority over at Penn which was only a few blocks away and he talked me into going with him. I figured, why not. It was the weekend and I was pretty well caught up.
That evening changed my life - I met Kimberly. Jeez, Kimberly, who names a girl Kimberly? It's got to be the Main Line. She looked like a rich bitch, with the stylish jeans, top and too cute little diamond earings. My contempt showed I guess. (I know, I know, it was totally unfair, but don't forget my background.) She sensed it when our eyes met, and she flushed. I turned away quickly and went to get a beer.
A sharp tap on my shoulder caused me to turn around, and there stood Kimberly, eyes blazing. "Okay, buster. What gives you the right to turn your nose up at us, or is it just me? You think that we're all just spoiled brats, here only because Mommy and Daddy have a lot of money?"
I stood there, mouth agape, but she wasn't finished with me. She again poked me, this time in the chest. "You know something, buster. I think that you're pretty stupid, you judge people without even knowing them." She then turned and flounced off. I was totally stunned, helpless under her onslaught and struck dumb even after she had finished raking me over the coals.
Carl then sidled up to me and chuckled. "I guess you've just met Kim Van Horn. Nice girl, huh?" and he laughed at my discomfort. "C'mon, Jerry. I think that you've had enough for the evening. Let's get out of here."
We stopped at a local watering hole for a couple of beers and I had the opportunity to quiz him about this broad. "Shit, Carl. What's with her? I didn't say one word to her; she didn't have any call to lay into me that way," I complained.
Carl chuckled. "That's Kim. I guess she's really sensitive about coming from money. She hates it when people think that she's just a dumb blond without any ability. She's my girlfriends best friend and I've learned to get along with her. As long as you treat her with some respect she's fine; she only gets pissy when she suspects that someone is looking down their nose at her."