Whitewalls

I respected Steve Haskell from the minute I first met him; later, I grew to admire him. In my eyes he was John Wayne’s “The Quiet Man” crossed with Paul Newman’s “Cool Hand Luke,” with a sizable portion of Steve McQueen’s Virgil Hilts, the Cooler King in The Great Escape, blended in. 

OK, I never saw him read
from a script, anyway.

If that sounds a bit melodramatic, keep in mind our Steve did not read from a script, did not take his cue from anyone and was as genuine a friend as the world has ever produced. What else might the universe have expected from a February 29th baby? As vividly as if it were 1968, where my memory is sharpest, I can see Steve behind the wheel of his parents’ Buick Electra. We were sophomores, for criminy’s sake! What was Steve doing behind the wheel?

We played a lot of baseball, mostly over the line that summer, John, Glen, Steve, Doug and I, and anyone else we could lasso. Steve, aka Eddie, was the designated driver, before there was such a thing. No, we weren’t drinking-we just needed his mad driving skills. 

And why DID we call him Eddie? Duh, we called him Eddie after the character in Leave It To Beaver; that much is obvious. The thing is, Eddie was so doggone polite all the time, it defied explanation. To quote Beaver’s father on the show about Eddie, “It was almost un-American.”

Steve H

The worst it ever got was Steve would lay a “Venya Vallecki Straka!” on us. I used to know what it meant, but no longer, which is probably a good thing. I suggest you ask Darryl Nyznyk, who introduced this quant phrase into our vernacular. Czechoslovakian, I’m thinking, but it could also be Ukranian. Darryl?

Steve played varsity football as far back as eighth grade, I’m pretty sure. Wait. What? Fine. OK, forget that last thing. Sadly, by the time I had bypassed all of my self-erected barriers and ventured forth into the 21st century, Steve had already left us, bound for parts unknown. Pity he left us so early-he would have only been seventeen this year.

I mentioned playing ball with Doug Moloney. I did not know Doug because he went to St. Martha’s and he was not in my classes at Bishop Amat. He went to St. Christopher’s and was friends with John Hartnett, so we became friends.

Doug

He was another guy with more younger siblings than I could keep track of (Doug was oldest), so we had that in common. Any time he made reference to his younger sibs, it was with an air of pained resignation, but it was clear he possessed that big brother mentality that would club you upside the head if you messed with any of them.

I saw Doug as bigger than life, in that he created waves by simply walking in the door. His exuberance could not be contained and he punctuated his argument with that classic toss of his head, sending his long, silky blond hair back in the most perfect flip imaginable. 

Oh yeah, me with my whitewalls envied Doug’s golden locks. After I got out of The Big Green Machine, I drove down from San Jose to attend his wedding. I wanted to meet firsthand who it was that was going to try and keep Doug under wraps. Like Steve, Doug left before I had the chance to say farewell.

Whitewalls

I gathered my impressions of the five grads I have discussed in these two pieces of writing, over the course of years. My final memory arrives in the form of a thunderbolt, a snapshot or to use today’s terminology, a GIF. No more than a minute at best, it features Steve Clark playing an air guitar while strolling down the [somewhat populated] 100 wing on the boys’ side of Bishop Amat, fondly (or otherwise) known as the zoo by upperclassmen. My locker was in this wing as a freshman.

What song was Steve singing? 

Steve C

As I trudged the three miles home in the afternoons from school as a freshman, I had my transistor radio going every second. These are the songs that I listened to, the songs that were Number One on Cash Box Top 100, from January through April of 1967: I’m a believer, George Girl, Ruby Tuesday, Love is here and Now You’re Gone, Penny Lane, Happy Together, and Somethin’ Stupid (Like I Love You). 

What Steve was delivering was a rendition of “For What It’s Worth,” and I was not unfamiliar with it; I just had never given it another thought, or a first thought for that matter. For a second put it up against the other songs that a kid would listen to, the ones I just listed. For the first time in my life, I really listened to the Buffalo Springfield:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80_39eAx3z8

I had never seen Steve in this mode; I’m reasonably certain I had never seen anyone in this mode. Approaching me, his face was contorted with a mixture of pain, fatigue, rage, frustration and passion. I didn’t identify those emotions at the time, but I began to-later-after I listened to the song. And then listened to it a hundred more times. 

I was aware of the political climate, I was aware that a lot of young kids were marching off to The Nam and I knew that a lot of them were not returning-ever (58,209). What I didn’t know at that time is that five years later, I would be taking yet another battery of tests while at boot camp in Missouri, when we were handed a single piece of paper, and told to fill it out. After my name rank and serial number, et al, were in place, I responded to the single question, “If given a choice, would you prefer to be stationed in Vietnam or South Korea?”

My first thought was reflexive in nature: Are you out of your fucking mind? Last I heard they weren’t blowing folks up in South Korea. I filled in the appropriate box. Besides, ironically, my oldest brother Eric was currently serving in the Peace Corps-in South Korea.

One war monger,
present and accounted for

I think of that moment in the hallway of Bishop Amat, as a turning point in my young life. Still a freshman, I was a long way from winning the only lottery I ever won (Number 33 in the draft lottery, the last year it was held), and being drafted. But I was old enough to see the writing on the [Memorial] wall. 

Steve knew what the song was all about-it was chiseled all over his face, and it rocked my soul. 

These are the memories I carry around with me today, Steve H. bellowing, “Off those ropes!”;  Doug taking a drag off of his Hackboro and Steve C. schooling me on the reality of life ahead, by playing his air guitar.

In posting these little narratives about the past, my vision is always focused on the immediate future, as in October. Stop me if you have already heard me say this, but there is more than ample time to either reacquaint yourself with old friends, or like me, make new ones. 

And if something shakes a memory out of your razor-sharp brains, from back in the day, share it in the comments. In the immortal words uttered from the stage at Woodstock, 

“It’ll do you no harm.”

Coming "attractions": I’ve written about the guys; what do you think, Women? Dare I? There may have been a solid [invisible] line across our campus, but there had have been some tunneling going on….

Stay tuned to the Reunion Page, where cauliflower brains are being sharpened up for October…