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My Real Memoir
Something was wrong with me. True, I was happy when I was writing–songs, plays, poems. But ever since my on-stage meltdown a year-and-a-half before, I’d been living with a lid on my heart, “unable to feel anything,” or so it seemed to me. I was a colossal romantic for whom a life that wasn’t epic wasn’t a life. And so, with Frodo-esque conviction, along with my former bandmate Jeph and another friend Michael, I’d conceived an epic musical fantasy that would change the course of modern culture!
But then Jeph got busy at his new college, and Michael contracted a heart condition from which he would never recover. Meanwhile, I too had classes, a play to perform, The Imaginary Invalid, and a fling with Gail, “my Summer of ’42” muse. But the moment she left, I bought a typewriter, and started work on a more personal musical, one inspired by my first I love you Martha, and narrated by a character based on Gail.
Then another distraction appeared. Kay, a former homecoming queen, played the unobtainable “Bitch Goddess” in an otherwise forgettable play. I chatted her up, joking that, since I was considered a “Super-Stud,” we were meant for one another. Somehow, this lame quip worked and she actually agreed to go out with me.
We had nothing in common, but hotdam was she gorgeous. I was an anti-establishment liberal and she was the god-and-country-daddy’s-girl of a Brigadier General. She was saving herself for marriage and I was spending myself in advance. But hotdam she was gorgeous–and, like most good girls, she poured all that stockpiled passion into kissing. We teased each other—my nickname was now “Stud-Goddess” and hers was “Super-Bitch”—but we never got too personal…
Until I flunked a class. All college profs have their shortcomings, but I’d had a few whose lack of objectivity was outright pathological. This very semester I’d scored an “A” in Oral Interpretation from a notoriously tough professor, by repeating all of the same speeches a previous Oral Interpretation prof had failed me for.
But Shakespeare, of all things? (Eight years later I would teach with members of the Royal Shakespeare Company and write a text on Shakespeare.) Nevertheless, my Shakespeare teacher was giving me an “F,” he explained, because everything I said and wrote was, “Wrong, wrong, wrong!” And now, in all sincerity, he told me after the final class, he owed it to me to explain, in simple language I could understand, that I had a very low IQ and would never graduate from college. And so, out of sheer compassion, he offered to get me a less intellectually challenging job doing road crew work for the city.
I banged on Kay’s dorm room door like the burly road crew worker I was, and when she opened it, stormed inside and shouted everything at 11. Then I smashed my hand against the brick wall so hard it had every excuse to be broken. For the first time I was treating Kay like a real girlfriend, letting her see me at my angriest, my lowest, my “hurtest,” as low-IQ-me might say. But she didn’t know how to handle this side of me. She was embarrassed and uncomfortable and, well…she simply wasn’t Gail.
During mid-semester break, I drove to Lompoc near Vandenberg Air Force Base where Kay’s father worked. Kay and I walked beside the fog-covered sea and, ironically, in our most intimate moment ever, said good-bye. Then I drove home and went back to work on the only thing that made me happy…
My musical.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
You certainly were a young man sowing his wild oats and full of passion. You still are-but somewhat aged like Pepsi Cola in a glass bottle. 🙂
;>)
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Hard to recall being that passionate.
Wow! Just wow!
OK, what the prof said was not very nice but OMG what a funny story it makes! Unbelievable! Sometimes things are so outrageous (like the comment about a job with the city, too much!!) you just have to laugh even though you were upset at the time. Once I took a Chaucer class (why? who knows) and the prof broke her leg. We were up on the third floor of the University of Toledo tower, and she had almost a full leg cast. She would come in huffing and puffing and lift the cast on her desk. We would stare at her toes peeking out. She didn’t teach much, just told us to read Chaucer, then we had an exam. I ended up with a C, one of the only Cs I ever got in English, if you could call that English! But it was kind of funny, I just couldn’t concentrate and frankly, it was summer school and hot as heck in that room, so I marked it off as a learning lesson. Those memories are priceless!
I’m grinning from ear to ear, Martha!
He failed you because everything you did was wrong. Hmmm. Sounds like one of my teachers.
He was a history prof (American History 1865 to present) and very politically motivated. He was VERY Democratic, and switched his party affiliation to Republican to get elected.
He was also a MONOTONE. (Horrors!!!) His lectures were so boring…(how boring were they?) I had to tape them. Then I’d take the tape back to my room and listen to his lecture and about the time I started hearing soft snoring on the tape, I fell asleep listening to it. He’d lecture from his notes which didn’t coincide with the assigned reading. There were no questions allowed from the students. And if, perchance, there was 10 min to go and he had 4 pages of notes left, he wouldn’t stop, he’d just read faster. Then when he tested, the questions could either be answered based on his lecture or the book, and sometimes the answers were at odds with each other.
On Fridays, we had a different reading assignment…someone’s OPINION of history. I wouldn’t even read the material; I’d just rephrase what he said. I got A’s on the Friday activities, and Ds on the lecture/book activities. He said great minds go into details, and that I wouldn’t understand, being a music major, this complex subject. He coudn’t flunk me, but he gave me a B-. It was one of the lowest grades I got in college, and I took 3 semesters of Calculus!
It seems I’ve turned on the Exasperating Professor Stories tap, Rebecca, and now they’re beginning to flow! Yours is a classic.
I have 3 words to say, Mitch–“Right, right, right!” It all led to your happiest, even at your hurtest. 🤍
;>) <3
🤍😊
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