The Night

From as far back as I can remember I always loved the night. To me as a kid it seemed the whole world becomes mysterious after dark. We lived in a newly built neighborhood with all young families so there were always kids around to play Hide ‘n Seek, Kick The Can or whatever other games we came up with at night. There were always kids running around and it was fun.

Early on, maybe 3^rd or 4^th grade age I went to a “sleep over” at my buddy Daryl’s house over on Cathann St. At some point that night we duct taped flashlights to the handlebars of our bikes (I would NEVER have a light installed on my bike because my motorcycle racing hero’s didn’t have lights on their racing bikes so no lights were going on my bicycle)! Then we rode our bikes over to the field where years later they would build The Treasury at Hawthorne and Sepulveda and rode around in that field. I remember that night really well because it was really cool to be riding out there! A little creepy, seemed a little risky but mostly cool.

That started an on-going habit with me of going out to those fields at night on my bicycle and racing around.

My dad worked two jobs so he was rarely home before like, 10:30 PM and that left me vulnerable to violence at home. Being the “Disappointment” in that house meant that pretty much anything could be done to me at any time. When violence was done to me after dark and I’d gotten the bleeding stopped, I’d disappear from the house on my bike and usually headed over to that field just west of The Union Bank building on Carson St. I’d leave the light off my bike on those nights because I’d become almost invisible. I liked the way that felt. Then when I got to that field I’d race up and down the trails there as fast as I could. It was exhelerating to be riding so fast on trails I couldn’t see very well plus I figured if I crashed and broke my neck, I really didn’t care.

There was a hill in that field that I could sit on top of and look out over Carson St. and the surrounding area and just think about things. On a lot of nights I’d pedal out to the back part of that field which was known locally as: Tarzan Land (I don’t remember why, but it appears in our 1976 movie: Attack of the Werewolf). There were some huge trees back in there and I would lay down under one of them and stare at the sky, sometimes for hours. I was raised in a pseudo religious family (don’t get me started) so I used to wonder why God never came to my aid in those situations? Over time however I quit giving a damn.

There were other times I’d ride over to my grade school at night and race up and down the hallways. That was pretty fun because those hallways are really slick and I could slide around all the corners.

A lot of that riding was all about thinking. I’d pedal and think. It’s amazing what you can work through in your head when it’s dark and you’re alone and your being physically active.

Years and years later after I moved here to Utah, I got into mountain biking. Utah has some incredibly good trails and I’d do the same thing when I’d ride then too. Just pedal and think.

It’s probably good for the soul…  

The EVIL of Boy Scouts

One of the darkest periods of my life occurred when I was around 10 to 13 (not THE darkest, but I’m not ready to write about that yet) whatever the Boy Scout ages are. The church I went to also had a Boy Scout troop (Troop 964, I’ll never forget that Hell) and my parents were all about me being a part of it. I suspect now because of my undiagnosed A.D.H.D. In our family, each of the three children had a specific job: My older sister’s job was to be the Princess of Perfection, Sweetness and Light. My little brother’s job, no matter what he got involved in and it was pretty much everything, was to be The Baby of the family and my job was to be The Disappointment. The Under-Achiever. So I think they saw the Boy Scouts as a way of making me a “Man” and more the type of child that they wanted not the child I actually was.

The thing is there was, Ronnie Jacobsen, singularly the most evil thing (and I say Thing, not human being for a reason) I’ve ever met and IT’s dad Duane Jacobsen was the Scout Master. Ronnie Jacobsen didn’t really like anybody but he especially didn’t like me. Now, Ronnie was a skinny weasel to be sure but seeing as how his dad was in charge most of the other kids would do whatever Ronnie wanted because they knew that fat BASTARD Duane Jacobsen would look the other way or cover up whatever Ronnie did and in reality you wanted Ronnie to be after someone else, not you.  I on the other hand didn’t like Ronnie. I knew IT for the Douche Bag IT was and didn’t go along with whatever IT wanted to do. That brought Hell down on me.

The worst was the scouting over night camping trips because I was always outnumbered and at some point evil was going to descend on me every single time and I tried to get my parents to understand this. The fact is they KNEW I was being physically abused, verbally and mentally assaulted. They KNEW it. But they forced me to go anyway. Who does that to a kid? I HATED Boy Scouts and NEVER wanted anything to do with it. I said that over and over and over but they forced me to go anyway. Mom felt that because it was part of “church” I needed to be there. I’ve read the Bible and no where in that thing does it say something like: Verily I say unto you, thou must go Scouting. For without the knowledge of Boy Scouts thou canst not reach the kingdom of heaven.

It got so bad for me and nothing was done to stop the evil of Ronnie Jacobsen that my dad had to start going on scout outings to keep me safe. REALLY?? I got a better idea: How about me never having to go anywhere near a scout thing again?? How about that?

Finally after years of abuse, at one Wednesday evening MIA deal (the scouts met at the same time) they were harassing me in that scout room in that back upstairs room by the stage. I’d had enough so I got up and left. That FAT PIG BASTARD sent his son and a couple of his thugs to bring me back (again I was out numbered as always). I refused to go with them so one of them blindsided me to the face and knocked me down. The other two grabbed me by my feet and started dragging me back up those stairs so that my head was bashing off the steps. Some girls passing by saw what was happening and yelled for them to stop. Surprised, they dropped my feet and I was able to roll down the stairs and started running for the class my mother was teaching, they were right behind me. I made it to her class as the thugs burst in behind me. The girls came in and explained what had been happening and my mother FINALLY got it and I NEVER had to do scouting again.

After high school I went looking for Ronnie because he has a boat load of payback coming. I never found him but just a year ago I found out that in the 80’s Ronnie was in prison (Nooooo… I’m stunned)! And he was murdered by other prisoners. How evil are you that other prisoners want to kill you? When I heard that I started laughing.

Karma really IS a Bitch…

It’s ok. I believe in life after death. That gives me an eternity of time to pay Ronnie Jacobsen back.

Oh, and I will…

Flat Track Motorcycle Racing

1963. I’m 5 years old. My dad and I have just arrived at Ascot Park for the half mile National event. I’ve been going to the races by this point for about a year and a half and I’m a huge fan of every rider out there but my hero is #3 Al Gunter. We get to our seats in the grandstand. My dad has this giant pair of binoculars which he hands over. To me it’s like trying to hold a cannon up to my face but I’m scanning the pits looking for that big ol #3. At National events it’s all white plates in the pits. On a regular weekly event the pits are loaded with Novice, Amateur (they were called Amateur’s before they changed the name to Junior’s. I never liked Junior’s because it sounded like someone’s younger brother) and Experts but at the National events it’s all Experts except for the Amateur invitational race.

Anyway, I’m scanning the pits looking for Al Gunter but I can’t find him. My dad says: “Don’t worry son, he’s out there someplace maybe he’s behind the pit building”. But I know he’s not there because he’s not pitted right in front like always.

They’re just getting ready to play the National Anthem when in pulls a last minute rider, it’s Al Gunter! Cool, now it’s going to be a good night!

Al direct transfer’s out of his Heat race to the Main Event. I can relax.

Later in the night it’s Main Event time. All the bikes are lined up for the race. It’s good to be alive! The flag waves and off they go towards turn one.

The start of the Main Event to me was always the scariest part of racing because you had all those riders starting from a dead start half way down the main straight which means everyone is hitting turn one at the same time in a huge pack. Lots of times something bad happens.

On this night the start goes off without a hitch. Flint Michigan’s great: #4 Bart Markel has the lead but #3 Al Gunter is right behind him. The first half of the event runs like that Bart leading with Al right behind him and to me (as a 5 year old) it seems that Al is being unusually patient. Ascot was a different track from what most of those riders were used to. It had a heavy, usually wet clay surface and a lot of those guys were used to running on dry, pea gravel. So regulars, like what they called The BSA Wrecking Crew (Gunter, Neil Keen, Jack O’Brien and Stu Morely) Sammy Tanner, Blackie Bruce etc…etc… had an advantage over the other riders. So it was really interesting to watch Gunter putting a ton or pressure on Bart Markel. At about half distance Bart suddenly washes out and goes down in turn 2 (I believe). Handing the lead to Al. Bart restarts but at the back of the field. From then on Al leads every lap and wins the National event.

Man, that was a cool night! I was excited for like, a week.

After the races my dad took me down into the pits to walk around and look at the riders and their bikes. I remember we walked over to Gunter’s pits and I walked up to Al’s bike and I touched the #3 side plate with my hands. I felt like I’d just touched Superman’s cape.

That’s a great memory for me.

The Sixth Grade Expulsion

     I attended Jefferson Elementary which is on Carson Street in Torrance California, where I grew up.
    When I was in about the 5th grade, we'd gotten into doing tricks on those stand-alone, tri-level bars they used to put on the play grounds at grade schools so that kids would have things to really hurt themselves on. I even remember some of the tricks names. The Death Drop (the coolest of all trick names) that's where you positioned the horizontal bar just above your butt so that you could balance yourself as you laid out flat and then shifted your weight so that you tumbled off the back backwards, hopefully rotating around so that you landed on your feet but you couldn't hold onto the bar with your hands as you did this (hence the name Death Drop). I never did that trick but I did all the rest of them. Other names I can remember were: The Half or Full Knee Giant, The Full Cherry, The Hand Giant The Full Pineapple etc etc...
    One day during the lunch period I was on the highest bar doing tricks. This older kid came along and wanted me off the bar. I said I was there first, bummer for you. He grabbed me by my feet and yanked me off the bar so that I was hanging by my hands (back facing down) and he had my feet while he was continued to try and yank me free of the bar. I happened to see one of those "Noon Aids" near by. Remember those? They were moms of kids who were attending the school who would come there during recess time or Lunch and kind of patrol the grounds to make sure kids were doing what they were supposed to. Anyway, So I yelled at the Noon Aid for help because I wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer but she just stood there watching but doing nothing. I kept yelling for help but she just stood there. Finally I couldn't hang on any longer and I fell. Since the other kid was still holding onto my feet, the back of my head hit the ground first and knocked me out for like, 20-30 seconds. When I came to, I saw that the Noon Aid was STILL just standing there like a DUMB ASS so I jumped up, grabbed a hand full of sand and chucked it at her yelling "You STUPID NOON AID!! (It was all I could think of at the moment). Then I went to one of the bathroom to clean the blood out of my hair.
   The next thing I know is Mr. Jackson... Anybody remember Mr. Jackson? He was the science teacher at Jefferson and also the Phys Ed guy. But he thought he was the  "Macho Stud" type which was ridiculous to me because we were kids! I mean, pretty easy to be tough to 5th graders. He used to walk around clicking his fingers (I thought that odd) and he liked to smack kids in his class on the head with rulers (I heard he eventually got fired for this practice years later but I don't know that for sure).

    Anyway, Mr. Jackson comes up behind me on the playground, grabs me by my left ear and twists it all the way around (hurt for days after) and dragged me down to the Principles office where I just sit in the waiting room for the remainder of the day.
   The next day I show up for school and within 20 minutes of the first period I'm made to go to the Principles office yet again. I sit there for the first half of that day as well and I start thinking: If I'm forced back here again after lunch, I'm out of here!   I come back to class after lunch and again I'm sent to the Principles office. Now, understand that the entire time I'm sitting in the Principles office on both days, nobody has said word one to me. I'm completely ignored. So anyway, I show up at the office but this time they have me go into the Principle's actual office (not the waiting room as I had been) and I see my mother sitting in there along with her mother who was down from San Diego visiting us for a few days. I see tears in my mother's eyes and so I'm wondering what is going on (I had no idea this was connected to the throwing sand at the Noon Aid thing because no one had said a word to me).
    So, I sit in a chair and the Principle, Mr. Zecker starts in on me about the Noon Aid incident. I said: Wait a minute, let me tell you... But NO WAY! He didn't let me say one word about what had happened on the playground. They had already made up they're minds with out even asking me a question.
    So I got mad.
    He started asking me a bunch of questions about what a bad kid I was and wanted me to respond so I would just say: Yeah. That pissed him off and he'd yell at me: THAT'S YES SIR! But I refused to back down. He'd ask a question, I'd respond: Yeah. He'd yell: THAT'S YES SIR. Over and over and over but I would NOT say Yes Sir. My position was, you don't want to know what went on, so I don't have to be polite.
   So, after about a half hour of verbal abuse at my expense (And I had looked over at my mom figuring she would come to my defense, but she never did. She just sat there with her head down like I was some sort of major disappointment. Thanks mom).
    Eventually I was expelled from school for two days. Which made me seem cool to the other kids when I came back, for about 25 minutes or so...
    In the end, I never ONCE felt bad for the way I had acted (not even today. These days I think: Good One "Little Randy")! I DID however learn to HATE school even more than I already did after that incident.

The fifth grade.

School and I hadn't been on speaking terms for over a year. One day early in the year these two older kids from a grade above me walk up and ask me to join their band. I didn't know them and right off my brain kicks into overdrive: How do they know who I am? How do they know I play the guitar? (because as far as I can remember I never talked about it). If I join their band, being younger than them it can only go bad. etc... etc... So I say no thanks and walk away. The next day they come up and ask me again. I so nope. This goes on for the entire week and I keep telling them no. I find out that their names are Les Korcamp (drummer) and David Highwart (mediocre guitar player). On Friday they ask me yet again and I say "Why do you keep asking me? I'm just gonna say no". They say well we'll just keep asking you.

Later that night while my dad and I were on the way to one of the last motorcycle races of that year at Ascot I tell him about this. He says: "Why don't you just give it a try"? I say: 1. I don't know them. 2. They'll want to play at school and I'm NOT doing that and 3. I'm a year younger than them and you know at some point they're going to resent me and do something lousy to me. He says "Why not just try it. You can always quit if it's not any fun".

I come back to school on Monday and sure enough they're bugging me again, I say "I'll think about it. and Then on Tuesday I say O.K.

At first it was really fun. Les was actually a pretty good little drummer. David not so much on the guitar and he NEVER practiced which was irritating but we had fun hanging out together and so it was cool. At one point we went to the Rolling Hills theater on a Saturday to take part in their "Battle of the Bands". There were five bands that day, all of them older than us and we won.

Then one day they wanted to do a concert at School. I said we don't know enough songs (we had 4) but they really wanted to do the thing so I said well, if you can get enough classes that would want to come (figuring none would) o.k. Well dammit a bunch did. Then they wanted us all to dress alike but the only clothes we had that matched were big ol yellow bell bottom pants (my mother used to buy me all that crap and I'd REFUSE to wear them). white long sleeve ruffely shirts and black shoes. I said NO WAY. I've always been a jeans and tee shirt kind of guy. But they were just on one about it. The day of our little concert I showed up in jeans and they got mad. Eventually I wnet home and put those gawd-awful clothes on. So much for my dignity. Thankfully no one took pictures.

Eventually we had about 14 songs in our list and then we did a 2nd concert which went much better and they didn't try to dress alike again. This made me popular around school for about 22 minutes.

Things started to go bad when they asked me to teach David to play lead on two songs. That seemed fair to me so I did. From then on they only wanted to play those two songs because, as I'd first thought, they were resenting me for playing all the lead guitar. My position was that I was the guy doing ALL the work learning all the songs and then teaching them why would I then want to take a back seat and play the rhythm so they could be "ricky rockstar"?

Finally the school had asked us to play a song for a morning assembly. I asked them what song they wanted to play? One of the two David could play lead on. I said have a good time, I'm out. Then they were just ON ME about doing the assembly. I kept saying no. NO. I QUIT, NO. Eventually someone from the school came and talked to me about it and because I was a DUMB little kid I gave in. During the song however I kept getting more and more angry. Finally I just blew and I reached down, grabbed the volume knob and cranked it wide open and just strummed the damn chords. Song ended I grabbed my gear and walked off. To me this was me QUITTING! Later in the day those two came up to me on the playground and told me they were kicking me out of the band. ARE YOU STUPID? I asked. I quit this morning DUMB ASS.

We never spoke again and while I played in a number of bands through high school, my #1 rule in any band I played in was: I will NEVER play any show at any school I am forced to attend.

...And I never did.

The Third Grade:

   I grew up in a Los Angeles California Suberb called Torrance. I attended a grade school off Carson St. Called Jefferson Elementary. School would prove to be a difficult experience for me over all but by the third grade my undiagnosed A.D.H.D was causing me teacher problems but two things happened that year that would end my involvement with school. The first thing was this: There were three third grade classes at Jefferson Elm. One day about 2/3rds of the way through the year they decided to combine all three classes for one afternoon in one room for some reason. I don't know why, they had never done it before and they never did again. They'd moved all the chairs out and put this big carpet on the floor and made us kids sit in rows on this carpet. I was just sitting there, minding my own business. Suddenly this teacher from one of the other classes that I didn't know, singles me out and starts yelling at me to come to the front. I have no idea what's going on but I go up to her. She jerks me around, facing all those kids and starts violently shaking me back and forth (snapping my head so bad I couldn't turn my head for about four days) and telling all those kids that terrible young people like me are the reason our country is going to Hell, and what a bad kid I am, on and on, blah blah blah... Then she tosses me over to the corner of the room where she has a single chair set behind an easel and I sit there for the remainder of that class. After the class ends and all the kids leave, she tells me I can go but a friend who was sitting next to me goes up to that teacher and tells her I hadn't done anything wrong and had been sitting there quietly. So she apologizes to me. Great. I get publicly humiliated but a private apology,
     The other thing that happened was that in my class the DUMB ASS teacher thought it would be a swell idea to have a different kid be the "class president" each week and let the kids vote in the next president. I'm only a third grader but my brain tells me: "Oh great, let's see: The popular kids will take care of themselves first and then it's gonna cycle down until the least popular kids are going to get to find out just how unpopular they are". She could have pulled kids names out of a hat each week, something like that but Noooooo. So, what happens? Of the 32 kids in that class I'm picked dead last. They even chose the semi retarded kid before me.
   And that was when school and I went our separate ways. 

   I learned that they don't want me there. I don't want to be there. All my friends were desert motorcycle racer kids anyway and those guys liked me just fine so I didn't need school friends (my dad was a desert motorcycle racer in those days but I'll get to all that later). Besides the fact, by that point I was teaching myself how to play the guitar and that was going pretty well so I understood that I could teach myself whatever I needed to know, I didn't need school. Of course you still have to attend it (It's the law) but I refused to take part in anything that went on at school from then on. I still had a couple of friends there, most notibly my friend Daryl who lived a few blocks from me. Otherwise I stayed away from them and they stayed away from me and that's how I liked it.
Oh, things would get much worse over the years at Hell... I mean school..

I'm Brand New To This

   I've been writing a bunch of my memories, stories, incidents from my life down on my Facebook page for a  while now as a way of learning to understand how my A.D.H.D. (which I was not diagnosed with until 2010) has effected my life. Doing this has helped me to come to terms with a lot that went on back in the day not only by re-examining them but also from the comments my friends have made to the experiences I've had.
   Recently some of my friends have been suggesting that I start a blog to keep going with what I have started. Only I know nothing about all of this here. They gave me this site address and told me to go for it. So I am a complete newbie to what all of this is about. I don't know why anyone would want to read my ramblings but I figured I'd give this a try and see what I think.
   So, here goes nothing...