A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

And so now, in September, 1966, I was a sophomore in high school. But what excited me more was the premiere of a science fiction TV show called Star Trek. I loved science fiction books, but the only sci-fi TV show previous to this was Lost In Space, whose first season wasn't bad but the show turned decidedly silly in its second season, making Star Trek the only remaining choice.

Putting things further into context, Donovan's Sunshine Superman was at the top of the charts on the nearest rock radio station, WAPE (The Big APE) in Jacksonville; the Beatles—who I still didn't like—released their album Revolver. Neil Diamond hit the charts for the first time with Cherry, Cherry. Muhammad Ali won a boxing title, though of course I had no interest in boxing. The composer, Dmitri Shostakovich, was still alive and his 2nd Cello Concerto premiered in Moscow.

This was the year we met mathematics teacher Sister Denise, who often regaled us with stories about growing up in Jacksonville as the only girl with several rowdy brothers. That went a long way towards humanizing nuns for us. (A few years later, she left the convent.) That was the plus side. On the minus side, I really hated algebra. I now recognize my mental conniptions as evidence of my Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), but at the time it meant I had to struggle with the material, which led to my becoming convinced that I just wasn't good at math.

Biology was taught by Sister Concepta, who also taught other sciences, and English. She was better at science, good enough that those classes gave me a thorough foundation and permanent interest in science in general, and astronomy in particular (as opposed to my continuing interests in the science fiction treatments of those fields).

Latin and music were taught by Sister Mary George. Our previous years' Latin teacher, Sister LaSallette, hadn't actually known the language; and her pronunciation had been so warped by her deep Southern drawl and lack of familiarity with the subject, as we discovered in 10th grade, under the more educated Sister Mary George who, instead of teaching us Latin II, had to backtrack and re-do Latin I so as to not pronounce those famous three words, VENny, VIEdy, VISsee.

In her capacity as music teacher, Sr. Mary George taught choir. I no longer remember the context for it, but one day she had me come back to a private music room to work on projecting my voice. She placed my hand on her diaphragm so I could feel how she supported her voice (which definitely projected, despite her diminutive size). That lesson served me well, as in subsequent years I became a professional instructor of computer programming classes and had to project my voice to a roomful of students.

And then there was physical education. This was not something I ever enjoyed. Our teacher was Coach Edward Drozd, who was, I think, a typical 1960s-era PE instructor…and that is not a compliment. One time this year, he insisted on forcing my leg to stretch out at a 90° angle to my body, while sitting on the floor. I tried to explain that I had short tendons (a diagnosis my grandmother had made when I was 5) and my legs simply wouldn't do that. But he forced them. That hurt, and continued to hurt until my mom had to take me to Dr. DeVito, our family physician, who said I now had inflamed tendons and that he would have a talk with Coach Drozd about it. (St. Augustine was a very small town then, and everyone literally knew everyone else.)

I should mention that everyone else loved Coach Drozd. But it did seem he had it in for me. Perhaps he figured I was a gay kid (I was probably the only person who hadn't) and felt he had to make me more manly. In any case, it was years before I could make myself go voluntarily into a gym.

And sometimes I could manage to sort of replace what I was supposed to be doing, with what I wanted to be doing. For example, I hated playing volleyball—there was no way to do it without getting covered in sweat and coquina gravel. So, at least once, instead of playing volleyball, I photographed the guys playing it. With a shitty camera that simply couldn't focus, but at least using it didn't make me sweat.

The school arranged for special programs. For example, we were visited by the Spacemobile.

The Spacemobile was a NASA-sponsored program that brought space science demonstrations and lectures to high schools across the United States. It started in 1961 and lasted until 1975. The Spacemobile was a van that carried models of rockets, satellites, and spacecraft, as well as equipment for experiments and films. The Spacemobile lecturers were trained by NASA scientists and engineers, and they visited more than 10,000 schools and reached over 15 million students.

They certainly reached me!

I took a lot of photos of the St Joseph Academy campus. It was filled with statues of the Virgin and angels; also a lot of flowers. It was a beautiful place to wander and meditate, although that word hadn't yet become a thing. Sometimes my grandmother would let me use her twin reflex camera, which produced photos that were far superior to those produced by my little plastic Diana camera.

As I had in my freshman year, I was again asked by most of the teachers to run the audio-visual equipment when they wanted to show a movie or even filmstrips (!) to a class. This meant, of course, that I was not in my own classes while I was doing this. But, as a kid with undiagnosed ADD (because no one really knew about that, then), this was perfect for me because I actually learned more by reading my textbooks than I did during a lecture. Especially when I was discouraged from asking every single question that popped into my head during the lecture.

I had taken my classmate Kathy McGrath to prom our Freshman year. I'm not sure why I didn't continue to date her as a sophomore, except that the Freshman prom was the only date I went on that year. It was pretty much the same as a sophomore, but I took Rosemary Hankins to the prom this time.

As the school year came to a close, a military coup in Greece deposed the monarchy and replaced it with a dictatorship; China tested its first hydrogen bomb; the first Black Supreme Court judge, Thurgood Marshall, was installed. I know this now, but didn't then, as none of my teachers ever talked about current events.

One of the guys in my class, Paul Bateman, mentioned that he had gotten a summer job as a lifeguard. I loved the beach, plus that sounded like a butch thing to do (and I was well aware that people found my masculinity lacking, since they would often make the effort to tell me so). So I contacted the St. Johns County Lifeguard Corps and was accepted! (The primary qualification was being able to swim.)

So my sophomore school year concluded, and a long, idyllic summer was about to begin.