When I
went to college I had this strange idea that it would be like something out of
novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I wore a tie
and a jacket every day to class, because I thought it gave me class. When I
wasn’t wearing that I had a tan Izod cardigan that my high school friend, Ross,
gave me as a going away gift. I did not
engender myself well to the guys in the dorm who were normal people that did
not take themselves as stupidly serious as I did. I was a bit of a stuck up,
preppy, snob. My roommate didn’t get me. He spent a lot of time playing chess by mail
and staring at posters of the Who trying to have out-of-body experiences. I’m sure it was fulfilling for him, but, because
he rarely talked to me, I spent a lot of time alone. I went to the library, to
classic and foreign movies by myself, and I met my sister, Melissa, for
meatloaf on Wednesday afternoons. I
asked her once what I was doing wrong. She
very honestly told me, “Tom, I think you need to lighten up.”
The guys
on my floor liked to play pranks. They
once stole my bed. Another time they hung
my stuffed Kermit the Frog that was also a gift from high school friends on a
noose in the tree outside of my window.
I took it on the nose. There was
one day though that I lost it. I was
working on a story on my typewriter. I
went down to the big bathroom we all shared.
When I came back someone had vandalized my work. They had typed and
scribbled all over it. It had taken me
hours to get where I was on it and now it was completely ruined. I screamed, took the typewriter and heaved it
at the cinder block wall of my room. I left then to take a walk. When I came back everything was cleaned up
and no one was around. A guy named Dave
George came by my room and he said, “T.S., do you want to come play soccer tomorrow?
It’s just intramural but it’s fun.” I was staring out the window. I replied, “Yeah, that might be good. “ He
left me but as he closed the door he said, “You don’t have to go to the movies
alone. Any of us would go with you.” I said, “Thank you, Dave.” You know what? They did. Our group went to a lot of movies
that fall, everything from Fellini to James Dean flicks to really bad seventies
porn. I
stopped wearing ties and became friends with some of the greatest guys in the
world. Guys named Mike, Pat, Vince, who
we called Vern, Tim, Pete, and Bruno. We
met some girls too from the dorm across the way. Paula I knew from a leadership retreat in
high school. Sharon and Mary Jane used to walk into the bathroom to talk to me while
I was shaving and egg me on to go out to the bars with them.
The guy
who lived in the room next door to me was something of a character. His name
was Lenny and he was from Peoria. Lenny’s
room was an intentional mess. He had the
seat of a pick-up truck as a couch and a gutted TV as a wall hanging. Lenny had no inhibition. He didn’t care what people thought of him. It was not uncommon for him to place q-tips
in his black Lebanese hair when we went out. He’d bite the edge off of beer glasses. Sometimes
he would say things and get slapped, but he never seemed to care. He liked that
I often wore steel-tipped construction shoes.
One night at a party he stomped on my feet and declared, “Aren’t these
great?! He can’t feel anything!” I
pulled Lenny aside and whispered in his ear, “Usually very cool, Len, but I
just bought myself some new topsiders.” He
looked down at my feet and started laughing. He said, “Oh, this is so much
better.”
I used
to always sit in front of the room in class because that is who I am. In a political science course I was taking
there was someone who always sat in the back of the room and constantly
tortured the teaching assistant, with really intelligent questions that made you
think, but that the young teacher could not address. I turned around to see who this joker
was. It was Lenny dressed in shorts and
a yellow dress shirt sitting in the farthest row on the back of a theater seat
with his hand up.
One
afternoon I was sitting on a chair under an overhang beside the entrance to our
dorm, reading and watching the rain. Lenny came walking up with a big paper sack
full of apples. He asked me, “Do you
like apples?” I said “Yes, I do.” He handed
me one and then went inside. He grabbed a
chair from the common lobby and came back out.
For the next three hours we sat talking and eating apples. That day he taught me a lesson, the first of
many. He told me how he succeeded in
political science. “It’s all about
understanding the game, Tom,” he said. He went on. “Mark, the TA, does not read through
our two-page papers. He throws them down the stairs and whichever
go the farthest get good grades. Invest in
some heavier paper and do what I do. Keep a page of the Pledge of Allegiance or
the poem of your choice to attach to back of whatever you wrote in a paragraph
or two.” Lenny always got a good grade in that class and I never sat in the
front row again.
The girl
named Karen, that I now fondly call the lovely Mrs. Sharpe, shared her
apartment senior year with a girl named Robin who she grew to love very much. Ironically that Robin, who helped me to
finally convince Karen that we needed to be together, was deeply in love with a
man, who was my friend, named Lenny. Lenny had left Illinois and moved back to
Peoria to finish up school at Bradley.
Whenever he came back to Champaign, we would double date. One night
after a party the girls were complaining about how me and Lenny didn’t do
enough romantic things. Lenny was
driving my wife’s convertible. He drove
up on a curb and said to me, “Come on.”
He and I went into someone’s yard and pulled as many flowers as we could
handle from their garden. We threw them all over the back seat on the girls. They thought we were crazy but they smiled
and we never heard a complaint like that again.
The day
the Challenger shuttle went down was when I was still at school and Karen was back
in Chicago working. Lenny was in Champaign for a job interview. He was wearing
a suit and a long car coat. He came by
my place and asked me to go to lunch. We went to Murphy’s where we used to hang
out. As we sat eating hamburgers, drinking beer, and
silently watching the explosion over and over again on the TV, Lenny could
sense that I was stressed because I knew I had to write a story for the campus paper
about what happened. He said to me, “Tom,
even if you build a really great wagon, there is a chance one of the wheels
might fall off at some time. A wheel
fell off today.” That became the basis
of my story.
Robin stood up in our wedding. Karen stood up in Robin’s wedding when she
married my friend named Lenny. Double dates were replaced by weekend visits by
us to Peoria or visits from them to Chicago and then Naperville. Children were born to all of us and started
to grow. We lost Robin too soon to
cancer. Karen got a call from Lenny one
morning and then she and Ann, Robin’s best friend and neighbor from childhood,
got in a car and went to say good-bye. When
Karen called that night I asked her how Lenny was doing. She said, “He is fine. He is Lenny after all.”
Lenny is
a great man. The children are beautiful,
doing well for themselves and he has a lot to be proud about. He sent me a message the other day and he
reminded me that we both didn’t screw up one thing. We both married very good and strong women. Lenny
is a good friend to have. On certain days in the fall I think
about him and how he is doing. On days
when it rains I sometimes sit, just think about a bag of apples, and it makes
me smile.
No comments:
Post a Comment