Life in the Shadows of Corporate Lawyer

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Life in the Shadow S of a Corporate Lawyer Alcohol Ruins PR omising legAl cAReeR wa Lt Jay This is a legally distributed free edition from The author’s intellectual property rights are protected by international Copyright law. You are licensed to use this digital copy strictly for your personal enjoyment only: it must not be redistributed commercially or offered for sale in any form. Copyright © 2009 Walt Jay All rights reserved. ISBN: 1-4392-4154-6 ISBN-13: 9781439241547 Visit www.obooko.comto download additional copies. c ontents chapter 1 my Parents’ stories ....................................................................1 chapter 2 grades 6-12 in tallahassee ..................................................27 chapter 3 l eon h igh school ...................................................................39 chapter 4 navy Reserves uncle Bill ......................................................51 chapter 5 First t wo Years at emory university .................................63 chapter 6 summer of 1963 .....................................................................73 chapter 7 georgia Politics/last t wo Years at emory ......................85 chapter 8 university of chicago law s chool ....................................95 chapter 9 my chicago Drinking ..........................................................119 chapter 10 m otorola, chicago & Phoenix ..........................................131 chapter 11 Jenkins, the Dope smuggler ............................................139 chapter 12 Arizona Attorney general’s o ffice ..................................147 chapter 13 Kaiser and Dixie’s First illness ...........................................157 chapter 14 Westinghouse near misses ...............................................167 chapter 15 navy g eneral c ounsel’s o ffice, m ississippi .................171 chapter 16 t he electric Boat Years ........................................................195 chapter 17 early Days “in the Program” ...............................................233 chapter 18 m ike Versus Police ................................................................249 chapter 19 Dixie l ee Rose 4/26/44 – 8/12/89 ...................................259 chapter 20 m ontana ..................................................................................273 chapter 21 las c ruces ..............................................................................297 chapter 22 c onnecticut, the second t ime Around ........................313 chapter 23 Very sad epilogue ................................................................331c h APte R 1 mY PARents’ stoRies my parents, miriam Bell (samuels) Jay, and William chauncy Jay th were born in south georgia in the early years of the 20 century. Dad’s birth on February 1, 1909, took place in a farm house in early c ounty, georgia. t hat is in the far sW corner of georgia where it touches both Florida and Alabama at lake seminole. t he c ounty seat is Blakely, 80 miles nW of tallahassee. h is father was idus Phelps Jay, sr. Dad re - fused to talk about him because he deserted the family while he was a child. granddad Jay supposedly ran off to texas where he invented some sort of novel saw mill equipment and/or technique, then re- turned to gA before his death in 1947 when i saw him for the first and only time. As to our ancestry on the Jay side, whenever Dad wanted to hurt me verbally, he said, “You are just like my father.” c ompounding his having left the family penniless, his spectre ap- parently re-appeared in Jonesboro, gA, around the time that his sister, my Aunt lillian, who was nuttier than a fruitcake died. Dad and mom were going to morrow, gA, on i 75 south of the city, week after week administering her estate. An anonymous woman called my parents at their usual motel and said that not only had i. P. Jay, sr., come back to georgia, but that he had fathered another child, who therefore would have been Dad’s half sister, and that she wanted a piece of lillian’s pie. Dad had graduated from Atlanta law school, an unaccredited night school, passed the georgia bar, and practiced in l umpkin for four years, but he did not follow my advice to have lillian write a will leaving everything to him. life in the shadows of c orporate lawyer t herefore, when she died intestate, idus Jr.’s son, John c arroll Jay, waltzed in and claimed half of the small estate. he never said boo to Dad or me, just claimed half in court when Dad filed papers seeking to end his administration of her estate. Dad was crushed by this, but had only him to blame for not becoming the sole legatee at lillian’s hospital. t he heck of it was that the alleged half-sister never came forward. my maternal grandmother’s maiden name was named eileen clancy Jones. she was of irish or scots-irish descent and was born in union springs, Alabama. Dad had two older brothers, idus Phelps Jay, Jr, and milton Jay. h is older sister, lillian, had lifelong mental prob - lems. she married a kindly dentist, hawkins hanna, who worked at the georgia state mental hospital in milledgeville in c entral georgia. t his town’s other noteworthy feature was the c entral of georgia rail- road tracks running down the center of main street, dividing the two traffic lanes. it is unclear exactly when Dad’s mother moved him and some of his elder siblings to Atlanta. he spent enough time on their farm in sW georgia to recall having a rifle and a german shepherd while a child, neither of which were allowed my brother and me. After his older siblings had moved out of the family home, he and his mother were forced to run it as a boarding house. h is mother died in 1930 of a sudden, massive coronary attack when he was 21, leaving him a true orphan (they had taken in borders to make ends meet after his three older siblings had left home.) For reasons he never made clear, Dad wound up at tech h.s. when he belonged at Boys h.s. which emphasized the classics and prepared its graduates for liberal arts colleges. Back then, students were segregated by both race and gender. While at ths, Dad had his nose broken three times by irate debtors to whom he had loaned his lunch money at usurious rates. he finally wised up and hired one of the many WWi veterans on the ths football team to collect for and protect him. talk about trying fruitlessly to hammer a square peg into a round hole. Dad had absolutely no technical aptitude. When i ex- pressed an interest in studying engineering at either uF or gA tech, he said “no way”; based solely on the fact that he had failed mechani- cal drawing. he claimed this inadequacy was hereditary. instead, he 2my Parents' stories had wanted to become a doctor, “study human engineering” at emo- ry, as noted beneath his yearbook photo. t hus, when i finished l eon h.s., i was forced to attend emory to fulfill his dreams. While at ths, he was also a lieutenant in the h.s. R otc. t his was only five to nine years after the end of WWi. t he peacetime Army had shrunk to nearly nothing, so without a draft, the military trained h.s. boys for the next war. h is militaristic, “my way, or the highway” streak manifested itself in the dictatorial manner of discipline that he applied to me, but not my brother John. Because his mom had died when he was 21, Dad sold shoes dur- ing the day while attending georgia tech evening school of c om- merce. he never said how long he pursued a business degree, but apparently his only degree was an ll.B. from Atlanta law school, an unaccredited night school. he figured that during the Depression he would make more money than with a business degree. h is most fa- mous classmate was henry “h inky” Bowden (no relation to shirley aka Bootsie’s husband, Bob) who eventually became extremely wealthy from law and business and was chairman of emory’s Board of t rust- ees during my time there. t his connection coupled with the fact that Dad’s Aunt tommie left emory a sizeable bequest apparently kept me from being expelled for drinking and other bad behavior despite be- ing caught several times. After receiving his law degree and license (did not have to take a bar exam in those days), Dad opened a general practice in l umpkin, also in south georgia, one or two counties north of Blakely. he was a charter member of the l umpkin lions club (i still have his pin and cuff links) and was bestowed the honorary title, Colonel. But his being the newest, youngest lawyer in town, during the Depression, and before paid l egal Aid and Public Defenders, resulted in his always drawing the short straw, i.e. being appointed pro bono to defend penniless criminals, of which there were far too many. Dad said that for awhile he was paid in kind, e.g. stolen chickens and hidden moonshine, but after four years, when even barter dried up, he packed it in and fled to nYc where he worked as a claims adjuster, first for liberty mutual, then for usF&g. When lillian died (hawkins finished his state career with the gA Dept of t ransportation and predeceased her) while i was living in 3life in the shadows of c orporate lawyer gautier, ms, and working in Pascagoula as a navy attorney, Dad and i cleaned out her house on moreland Avenue in sW Atlanta. t hank- fully, she was childless. lillian’s mental problems included being an inveterate pack rat. Dad hired an auction company to run an in-house sale of the “good stuff.” Prior to that, the salvation Army filled up four truck loads of “run of the mill” furnishings and clothing. Dad and i finished up by taking still untouched “newly” purchased shoes, etc., in their original boxes and wrapping paper with receipts enclosed, back to department stores such as Rich’s for refunds—ten years after purchase. my freshman year at emory, John c arroll Jay, idus’ son, was a senior at o glethorpe, on a basketball scholarship; he was 6’ 6,” so he could not be a jet jockey. he had been an aviation machinist mate, reciprocal engines, with me at nAs Atlanta, so he went to Pensacola and learned to y fl multi-engine prop jobs, e.g. P-3 o rion’s on which my brother John’s eldest son, Keith i fl es now. J cJ drove me to drills at nAs my r fi st year at emory. After that, i stayed with Bootsie and Bob Bowden using her c hevy wagon to drive to marietta from nW Atlanta. t hat chapped all of us badly. to end that situation, i arranged for a DeKalb c ounty deputy sheri ff to pick me up at emory during my junior and senior years. When he did not come home on saturdays, he and i stayed in barracks and i then rode home with him sunday night. i have always wanted to learn about the Jay family. i used to send Jc J christmas cards, but he never replied. h is sister, gloria, is also in Atlanta area. t hey are both c atholics, since idus’ first “crime” was mar - rying a papist. t hen he repeatedly beat her, she eventually divorced him, and she re-married (within the church) after he died the week- end of the last georgia tech vs. Alabama game in 1963. i remember the funeral at a local mortuary performed by a Baptist preacher who had never met idus and could not escape all his negatives. At the cem- etery, milton and Dad backed their cars next to each other’s, trunks touching, and i put cases of booze in Dad’s car from milton’s package store. so the Jays had some pretty unattractive family members. lil- lian was crazy, but harmless. mom, who was called “mimi,” with the middle name “Bell” for her father, John Bell samuels, was born June 2, 1913, in t homson in the family’s big house in town, not out at the farm which was nearly as 4my Parents' stories large as her ancestors’ plantation at the end of the War Between the states. she was the youngest of six children, four sisters and a brother. t he sisters were in descending age, Janie (sowell), gertrude (never married), Deana (howard—married to a Baptist minister of some fame), and Jeanette (martin, named for their mother, and married to an Army l t. c ol. whom she had met in Japan immediately after WWii. my maternal uncle, John c arlton samuels, whose middle name was given to my brother, attended mercer university in macon for three years, then was a china sailor, dental technician, between the two world wars, and became a successful building contractor in Atlanta. my maternal grandparents were Jeanette l ouise Walton (hence my middle name) who was descended from george Walton, one of the three signers of the Declaration of independence from georgia, and John Bell samuels, a successful farmer who, before the Depres- sion essentially wiped him out, paid property taxes in six school districts. t his farm had been a plantation that during the War of north- ern Aggression had the misfortune of getting between gen. sherman and the Atlantic o cean. t he buildings and crops were burned to the ground which paved the way for erosion of the red clay and insidious invasion of kudzu which crowds out all other productive vegetation. c oincidentally, both my maternal grandfather and paternal grand- mother died in 1930, 13 years before my birth. i saw grandma sam- uels several times at the White oak c ampground before her death in 1948 during mom’s annual pilgrimages to the methodists’ camp- ground, but i have no recollection of her. she had been deaf as a rock since mom turned 16 which Dad always gave as the explanation of mom’s being a motor mouth and constantly interrupting everyone else. mom had to communicate to grandma via written notes, which she just chose to ignore—speaking only when she wanted to order someone around. grandma died because she would not alter her diet as advised by her doctors. similarly, grandpa samuels had died of uremic poisoning when his kidneys failed. to me, mom’s three oldest sisters were my grandmothers. Jeanette was the nearest to mom in age and always seemed like an aunt. my father’s lifelong frustration was that he could not be admitted to the nYs bar. Als was not accredited by the ABA. Further boxing himself in, neither had he practiced the required five years for 5life in the shadows of c orporate lawyer admission upon motion to the nYs bar. hence, he never was able to work again as a lawyer. t his stuck in his craw badly, and made him jealous of his claims adjusting colleague, Roy Featherstone, who eventually became a rich personal injury plaintiffs’ lawyer in Pough- keepsie. While they were at liberty mutual, Roy attended Brooklyn ls at night; whereas, Dad, already having an ll.B., took medical jurispru- dence courses at nYu. in fact, he knew as much medicine relating to industrial and auto accidents as many doctors. Dad brought to nYc his fluency in c uban spanish, acquired from both formal studies at tech h.s. and his having lived next door to oliver o tteago, whose dad was a doctor from c uba. Being shut out of the legal profession, he parlayed this skill into a workers’ compen- sation job with liberty mutual in Brooklyn navy Yard. t his job when coupled with his bad right eyesight caused him to be rejected when called for his draft physical. t he navy refused to enlist him, so he sat out the war in greenwich Village. mom attended the university of georgia in Athens for two years following graduation from t homson h.s., but money was scarce be - cause her dad had died during her senior year of h.s. her sisters and brother contributed what they could, but had their own families to support, and the Depression had just started. grandma samuels also took in boarders at the large house near the cemetery where mom and Dad are buried. mom finished college at two different locations, living with two different sisters. she attended hunter c ollege in nYc her junior year, living with gertrude who never married. she returned to Atlanta for her senior year, but not back at Athens. instead, she lived with Janie in Atlanta and finished at what is now georgia state university, but then was just the Atlanta extension of ugA. After re - ceiving her BA, she went back to nYc, but no longer lived with a sis- ter. Rather, she attended c olumbia university earning an mAt, while working for a rich attorney on Park Avenue as a live-in governess. she also taught elementary grades at the Brierley school for rich girls. At some point before WWii, my parents attended a party for only expatriate georgians. t hey each came with someone else but left to- gether. maybe it was a case of “love at first sight.” t hey were married at Riverside Presbyterian church in september 1939 and lived initially in greenwich Village near Washington square and the famous arch. 6my Parents' stories in retrospect, it is hard to imagine a pair of straight-laced south geor- gia methodists living in the Village, but, then, this was the late 1930s, and maybe they weren’t faithful church goers back then. t he other “given” is that i was born June 29, 1943, while they lived at 1564 unionport Road in t he Bronx, then a nice part of Parkchester, not too far from Yankee stadium. it was near the east River (and har- lem) because mom gave birth to me in l enox h ill hospital in north manhattan. Demonstrating how closemouthed new Yorkers were to - wards each other even back then, through some weird coincidence, the woman in the adjacent bed in the birthing ward turned out to be their next door neighbor from Parkchester. her daughter, Judy, my th first playmate, was born on the 30 . t he fathers got to know each other by virtue of this happen- stance. Bill Wettendorf did not serve for the u.s. in WWii because 1) he was too old, 2) a WWi veteran, and 3) his loyalties were “suspect” be- cause he fought for the Krauts in the great War. Dad was adjusting workmen’s compensation claims for the non-government employ- ees building ships in the Brooklyn naval Yard. h is c aribbean spanish (years later my h.s. classmate, John Ryland who majored in spanish at Fsu , criticized Dad for speaking gutter spanish rather than “c astilian”) allowed him to communicate with c uban and Puerto Rican claimants whose english was bad. At the end of the war, Dad and Roy switched to the usF&g. Dad was assigned to the White Plains office and did a reverse commute from the c ity until December 1945 when he moved his office to Poughkeepsie, where John was born may 15, 1947, at Vas- sar hospital. Roy also initially worked in the same office, but quickly had the nerve to open his own law office, also in Poughkeepsie, living across the hudson in milton off Route 9W. Dad’s large territory comprised the counties east of Poughkeep- sie, Dutchess, and Putnam, as well as ulster where we lived, orange (newburgh) and montgomery. he had to cross the c atskills regularly, and often was trapped in his car in the mountains overnight during the winter. i well remember his putting boxes and buckets of coal ash from our furnace, shovel, and blankets in his car during winters. mom, John, and i became accustomed to his not coming home, or being very late. much of that time “missing in action” was spent in bars on both sides of Route 32 between new Paltz and Kingston, the 7life in the shadows of c orporate lawyer county seat where he could appear without a company lawyer han- dling smaller claims versus the usF&g. he did likewise along Route 9W returning from his newburgh office via h ighland, the town just east of new Paltz, where his masonic l odge was located. At some point, because Dad had too many absences from his Poughkeepsie office, which he blamed on bad weather closing the mid-hudson Bridge, the company gave him an “either or” ultimatum, i.e. either move the family to Poughkeepsie or move his office to new- burgh on the west bank, which, at 22 miles, was seven miles farther from new Paltz than Poughkeepsie. Dad chose the former. i well re- member his taking me to the newburgh office on saturdays and giv- ing me five cents to ride the ferry from Broad street back and forth to Beacon until noon, when i was allowed to come back to his office for my ride home. t hese days, he and mom would have been locked up for child neglect, and i would have become a ward of the state. i also wandered into the big department store, h irschberg’s, never suspect- ing that someday i would work at eB for stu h irschberg, the son of the then owner. i was a very sickly child from birth. mom often said that i owed my life to the discovery of penicillin, to which i became “immune” by the time of my teenage years. in new Paltz i suffered from frequent, severe ear aches and tonsillitis. in the “it’s a small world” category, at christmas 1945, my tonsils and adenoids were removed at Vassar hospital by a Poughkeepsie ent named Peter Rosenberg. i will never forget that illness. my vestigial throat appendages were so swollen from infection that mom had to take me to Dr. Boetzel every day for two weeks prior to my hospital admission. Dr. Boetzel was a kindly, elderly, german Jew who had fled nazi germany during the 1930s. he made house calls on a regular basis, something not done today or for many years prior hereto. t rying to lessen my pain, he painted a red bull’s eye with mercurochrome on each cheek, then he injected me with a sizeable dose of penicillin. Finally i was deemed “well enough” to be admitted. i was put under with ether, but did not experience the usual nausea. to this day, i re- member my dream during the operation of being on the bottom of the sea watching gold fish going around backwards on a Ferris wheel. t he only “up side,” if there were such a thing, was that all i was given 8my Parents' stories to eat was jello, then ice cream. nevertheless, that was a pretty lone - some, disgusting christmas. Dr. Rosenberg also lanced one of my abscessed ears a few years later (the other burst of its own accord.) imagine my surprise 10-15 years ago when i took my younger son, mike, into a norwich, ct , ent , Peter Rosenberg, Jr., to set his broken nose. not long thereafter, he also reconstructed mike’s damaged middle ear caused by blows from a montville cop’s four-cell flashlight. not that many mD’s hang their h.s. diplomas on the office walls with all their degrees and post doc - toral certificates, etc., i asked this Dr. Rosenberg if his diploma from Poughkeepsie h.s. was the real deal, and, if so, did his dad have the same name and if he had been an ent there during the ‘50s. Yes and yes. i like to think Peter the Younger gave mike extra special care he is now retired. mom used her mAt to teach at a private girl’s school, Brierley, which is mentioned from time to time in l aw & o rder episodes where the rich wastrels send their little darlings before attending one of the Women’s ivies. in new Paltz, mom wrote freelance articles for both the new Paltz t imes and new Paltz independent. Yes, such a tiny Place (2,500 pop.) for a time had dueling weeklies. she also was a regular stringer for the Kingston Daily Freeman. t he latter is still in existence and ran mom’s obituary at my request in 1/03. o ur first abode in new Paltz was at 12 Prospect street, a few doors north of main street and perpendicular to Pine Brothers Funeral home and Dr. Boetzel’s office. t he former gave mom much to write about, obits for the aforementioned papers. she made the acquaintance of eddie Ashton, quite a character and a fellow methodist. When i ac- companied her to the funeral home, she would knock, and eddie would answer, “c ome on in, there’s no one here except me and these dead people.” my first inkling of mortality occurred when his 17-year- old son, Bruce, died in the crash of a rented Piper c ub near the nearby famed resort at lake m ohonk. Before i entered kindergarten at c ampus elementary school which was appended to new Paltz state teachers’ c ollege by an airway and sidewalks, we had moved to 48 north chestnut street, aka nY state Route 32. it was a two story salt box with coal heat. We lived up a dirt driveway behind another house occupied by george Rafferty, sr.’s, 9life in the shadows of c orporate lawyer family with whom we shared a two-car garage. my playmates includ- ed mike sullivan and Walter Dyer, fellow methodist sunday school at- tendees. i learned later in life via conversations with my parents that those boys’ parents, despite our being fellow members of the meth- odist church, who were outwardly courteous, had continuously, ma- liciously gossiped about my folks. First, it was their georgia accents, their jealousy over Dad’s receiving annually a new company car, and lastly the fact that they both possessed several degrees and had white collar jobs. mr. sullivan was a house painter and mr. Dyer ran the local feed store. hence, my best friend was Judy Rubin (daughter of Rae and Ben) who had been born in Brooklyn. o ur parents hit things off very well due to their shared nYc experiences. my Dad picked up Yid- dish while working in the Brooklyn navy yard, and both moms’ shared interests in cooking and sewing. i loved eating with the Rubin’s be- cause they “kept Kosher,” which meant i did not have to drink milk, which i hated from childhood on. ginger ale it was. mr. Rubin owned a small, two-floor, Quonset hut-type furniture factory on a side road leading to the huguenot stone houses dating to the mid 1600s along the Walkill River. it was a sewage-polluted river whose only claim to fame was that it was one of the few in north America that ran north to Kingston where it literally “dumped” into the hudson. mr. Rubin made weekly trips to the c ity where he sold his furniture and brought back kosher foods unobtainable in new Paltz. Judy’s aunts and uncles from Brooklyn were hilarious, always joking, and her younger nephew, Warren, was the butt of everyone’s jokes. o ther friends from chestnut street were another methodist kid my age, Ronnie Weir, who lived opposite mr. Rubin’s factory, the irish families of Bernadette Foley and her many siblings as well as the two Walsh sisters who soon moved into the Rafferty house. Behind us were the c ottons from mA. t heir boys wore Red sox caps and hated the Yankees almost as much as i. eccentric old maids included miss Betts whose yard behind us resembled a jungle because her gardens were so extensive. miss helen hasbrouck, descendant of the village’s founders who owned the lumber yard next door, lived across chest - nut street. Both she and mr. Dyer looked the other way while we kids ran through their lumber yard, grain mill and silo, as well as new York c entral RR cars being loaded or unloaded. c an you imagine how dull 10my Parents' stories our childhoods would have been if oshA had barred us from those premises? t he “hoodlums” of the neighbor had to be the cheathum broth- ers who lived across the street from the c ottons. t hey carried pocket knives and talked dirty. What they had going for them were expan- sive, open fields behind their house stretching all the way to mike c arem’s backyard (several hundred yards.) mike rooted for the Yan- kees, but they had a t V. h is dad ran the soda shop near the college and our last home on c enter street. every neighborhood in the early ‘50s had at least “one bad girl.” o urs was Bernice (the Piece) who lived next door. even a prepubescent boy notices a steady stream of high school boys taking her out almost every night. When she was 15, she was sent away for a year to live with an aunt farther upstate. We gig- gled and knew what it was for, but had not a clue how she got in this condition. o ur first pastor at new Paltz methodist, l ee Ball and his wife mae were very left wing. t hey were distrusted, if not hated, by the majority of the congregation, except for the few other educated parishioners who might have been on the faculty at new Paltz state teachers c ol- lege—which morphed into sun Y. t he village is now referred to as “the People’s Republic of new Paltz,” same as Boulder, co , and Berkeley, c A. As a footnote, it was no accident that the 26-year-old “mayor” of new Paltz during the early 2000’s briefly performed all those gay mar - riages until the ulster c ounty c ourt up in Kingston shut him down for good. t he students, predominantly Jewish kids from l ong island, all registered to vote there instead of at home when 18 became the vot- ing age. t hey far outnumbered the town folk who were very conser- vative Republicans when we lived there 1945-54 and at least through the eisenhower years. t he Village is now quite an artsy place with many rich professionals who commute to the c ity on t hruway. c ost is no concern. t hey work nine to seven, the super rich “bankers’ hours.” t he little boy who lived behind us, tommie c otton, a big Red sox fan from mA, whose dad was on the college faculty, talked at length with me during the summer of 2001 (when i moved to mt ) when i was in town on my way home from an AA lawyers’ convention at lake george. he had just retired from a career with iBm across the river in east Fishkill. he was chairman of the town c ouncil and past Village 11life in the shadows of c orporate lawyer mayor, i.e. the last townie before the college revolutionaries (students and faculty) took control. he was sickened by whole thing. new Paltz had its “oc ffi ial religion,” the Dutch Reformed c hurch to which all the huguenots belonged. t he Balls, on the other hand, were called to testify by sen. Joe mcc arthy before the senate un- American Activities c ommittee. t hey were frequent dinner guests at our house on north c hestnut. i have no idea why my parents befriended them. christian charity, i guess. i vaguely recall other stories about one or two other reds in the congregation. my parents continued to visit the Balls in their last church in Ardmore-on-the hudson, 35 miles north of nYc, on the east bank of hudson. i am sure my parents made some lists themselves. it did not endear my parents to people in new Paltz which had been run by the Duzine (French for dozen, as in the 12 French huguenot families) for the preceding 300 years. t hey set- tled the area with land grants called patroons from the Dutch. t hese were very thin strips of land running inland from the hudson, primar- ily west. t he huguenots sought refuge from religious persecution in holland, but they soon sailed away when their children started speak- ing Dutch rather than French. ironically, Dad’s ancestors were also huguenots who entered the U.S. via charleston, sc, with the surname, Jacques, which the immi- gration authority anglicized to Jay. Despite his being “one of them,” he told them to “go to hell” when they pressured him and mom to join the Dutch Reformed church. Dad tossed them out saying he was born a methodist and would die one. t he town then also was totally Republican, except for a few irish and italian Democrats who attend- ed st. Joseph’s Roman c atholic church which had a small attached parochial school. mom told me shortly before she died that Dad had finally told her why he had claimed all along that he was French. Also, “Dutch Reformed” was a misnomer because the Duzine had left hol- land when their kids started speaking Dutch instead of French. so why didn’t they call it just the Reformed church? Fond memories of the new Paltz methodist church include my causing a ruckus at age four when i was baptized simultaneously with my newborn brother. Dixie, my late wife, and i repeated this twofer with our sons, Will and mike at the gautier Presbyterian church 30 years later. i was thrown out of sunday school for telling the unfortunate 12my Parents' stories lady teacher that i did not want to go to heaven, sit on a cloud, and play a harp. i wanted to play baseball all day. next was the scene i cre- ated during the christmas musical pageant when my mother was an angel with wings parading down an outside aisle and i cried out that she wasn’t dead yet. i also was one of the few kids actually kicked out of Junior choir for the proverbial inability to “carry a tune in a bucket.” At least, i did not have to go to that anymore. underscoring my in- feriority, and mistrust of negroes, was the fact that their soloist was David oliver, son of migrant apple pickers, who also used my fielder’s glove on the little l eague indians while i sat on the bench. he and his sisters, also musically gifted, traveled with the crops coming back from new Jersey and points south each year with the blossoms on the trees and staying through the apple harvest. Besides refusing to accept my sunday school teachers’ child-appropriate vision of heaven, i also caught hell for outing santa claus at the kids’ christmas party. i mentioned that his boots smelled just like Ralph elliot’s, a prominent dairy farmer in the congregation. spot on again. on the subject of apples, i paid attention to girls at an early age. JK, whose dad owned one of the biggest orchards on the newburgh highway, and her two best friends wrote to me frequently during my first year in tallahassee enclosing photos of themselves. i discovered the anatomical differences between boys and girls in harmless fleet - ing episodes such as Walter Dyer’s younger sister changing into her bathing suit in front of us. later, Pc, who moved away to syracuse in the 3rd grade played “i’ll show you mine, if you show me yours” inside one of those railroad cars. And JR and i “played doctor” in our garage. o f course, nothing untoward came of any of the aforemen- tioned peek-a-boos. By the 5th grade, however, my heart was starting to flutter when we did ballroom dancing in the school gym. i was in- fatuated by Ag in her red velvet dress waltzing with me on Valentine’s Day. her best friend, PA, had dark brown eyes and hair usually in pig tails. sadly, they weren’t among my girl pen pals. every boy with a mischievous streak has a best buddy with whom to get into trouble. mine was Jimmy haggerty, son of the college president. t his provided us a lot of “air cover” for the many pranks, e.g. pulling the school fire alarm, talking back to student interns, and food fights in our classroom. in the lower grades at c ampus elementary 13life in the shadows of c orporate lawyer (it had K-8), food was brought in serving carts to each class room and we were made to take naps on the floor immediately thereafter. By 4th grade we went to a cafeteria. During the late ‘40s-early ‘50s there were many state teachers’ col- leges spread across upstate new York. t hey were disciples of John Dewey’s principles, which, for me, meant “the bratty student is never in the wrong.” i quickly deduced that the elementary school sub- scribed to the old axiom, “it is the squeaky wheel that gets the grease,” and that acting out gets you individual attention from an intern such that you won’t have to do those things which you don’t like. in my case, i loved reading and hated math. so, when my parents put me in the 5th grade in c aroline Brevard elementary in tallahassee in may 1954, even though i had been promoted to 6th grade already by my teacher, mr. Deeb, a WWii B-29 pilot; i could not do fractions like all my classmates. But, in the 4th grade in new Paltz, i already read at the 8th grade level. my “social maladjustments” started with my missing the first half of the 1st grade at home in bed with polio, my right leg cocked im- movable at a 45 degree angle. mom had her mAt from c olumbia and had taught rich girls at Brierley in the c ity. Before her intensive tu- toring began fall 1949, i had already started reading my Dad’s new York World telegram and sun paper. so, to say the least, i was preco- cious, but very retarded socially by the time i returned to an overly permissive grammar school. in AA we talk about co-dependency and “enablers.” i first experienced the “self will run riot” at the c ampus school. We did have exceptional teachers. miss Alberico in 2nd grade; for 3rd grade, we had two teachers, a mrs. graham from nebraska, and then ms. c ullen, an english woman who broadened our tiny horizons considerably. in 4th grade, i tormented miss Jane stafford who was from Plattsburgh which i confused with the north Pole based on her stories of how cold it got there. my first male teacher came in the 5th grade, the aforementioned mr. Deeb, an Arab christian and pilot, who regaled me with stories of his Pacific bombing runs over Japan in B-29s at the end of WWii. my sons forget that i was in grammar school just after the second World War and during the Korean “c onflict.” Few people had t Vs, so we got our news from the papers and the weekly 14my Parents' stories black and white 15 minute This Is Your World shows preceding feature films at the movies. WWii was fresh in everybody’s mind, and most of my friends’ dads had fought in it. some of them were even recalled to Korea. We hated the soviets and cheered the execution of the Rosen- berg’s nearby at sing sing on my tenth birthday when i received a new bicycle. in addition to being attacked in my own yard at least twice by neighborhood children whose parents “dissed” mine for being south- erners, i also suffered the ignominy of being traded during my first little league season from the indians to the giants. As an eight year old, with kids as old as 12 in one league, i was destined to mostly warm the bench, but i was further humiliated by having to loan my glove to the aforementioned David oliver, a negro son of migrant apple pickers. t here was only one black family residing in new Paltz. t hey lived near us off chestnut street and had a French surname, DuBois, making them offshoots of the Duzine. While they were not on the inside, their being descended from the founders, bought them a lot of “slack.” And they were childless, so we had no black playmate out of that union. t he local bully, charlie t urner, who lived a few doors south on chestnut street, broke my nose at age five in an unprovoked attack with a croquet mallet. For whatever reason, my parents never had it treated. t he resulting deviated septum, which made breathing dif- ficult—breathed through my mouth after slightest exertion—was not fixed until i was 28 and working for the dope-running lawyer in Phoenix. exacerbating that wretched situation, very soon after the operation, while i was bent over pumping gas at an early self-service gas station in tempe, the stitches broke due to blood pressure spike caused by my bent knees, and i hemorrhaged profusely two blocks from our apartment on the day my parents arrived from tallahassee. staying with head injuries, the Walsh sisters gave me a brain con- cussion, including three stitches to the top of my head when they told me to retrieve some of their toys by crawling under a huge rock suspended by a rotten jump rope from their deck. it broke, and i was unconscious quite some time before being stitched up by Dr. Boetzel. lastly, Walter Dyer, another fellow methodist, three years older than i, knocked me all the way off of my swing in an attack from behind. 15life in the shadows of c orporate lawyer And these were from the best of our neighbors Perhaps the most life-threatening injury was “self inflicted” in that it occurred when i tripped over a log in the high grass behind Bernice’s house and fell on a broken bottle cutting my right wrist a centimeter from a major vein. Before the advent of two-car families, most married women were “stay at home” moms. All that mom could do was to wrap my wrist in a towel and apply a tourniquet. t hen we walked eight blocks to Dr. Boetzel’s office where he sutured the wound. Bandaged, i walked back home and did not walk, let alone run, through trash-strewn lots anymore. t he new Paltz little l eague was founded by a former major l eague pitcher (giants and Phillies), Bill l ohrman. he was recently enough retired that in 1953 he arranged a bus trip to the Polo grounds for us to watch his two former teams oppose each other. Being traded at all from the indians was bad enough. But my going to the giants was thoroughly disheartening because i was a Brooklyn Dodger fan, but i had to wear 2, l eo Durocher’s number with the hated new York giants. mr. l ohrman took me down on the field before the big game and introduced me to him. i was awe struck but told him i was a Brooklyn fan and hated his team. he told me to go easy on him, to check that he only came to nYg after he was fired by the Dodgers— before my time. it turned out to be true. But i was happy that the Phillies won 5-3. on the ll giants, i was the only Protestant and from new Paltz. t he rest of the team was c atholic and from gardiner, an even smaller town five miles south of new Paltz, where “we” played our home games. Dad traveled all over the c atskills with his company car (our only one), so mom had no way of getting me to games and it was too far for me to ride there on my bike. hence, i had to beg a ride to each “home”game with members of the opposing team. my parents never even attended our “away” games in new Paltz. As in tallahassee later, they did not want me to fritter away my time doing anything other than study. in tallahassee, i found my new Paltz elementary school report cards (letters from teacher to parents) that recited in very clear terms that the administration had wanted to skip me one grade twice during my six years K-5. my parents vetoed it both times. i was really pissed off to learn that especially because mike sullivan, the methodist boy 16my Parents' stories across the street, only ten months older than i, was two grades ahead of me and therefore would not play with me. my parents had also lied to me that a hearing test had shown that i was tone deaf, therefore, per the lie, i was not allowed to learn how to play clarinet. i just read and read, therefore i had an 8th grade reading level in the 4th grade. in law school, where most classmates had much higher lsA t scores than i, i came to the realization that i wasn’t all that smart; rather, i had just benefited from a photographic memory which is a huge boon for taking multiple choice and short answer exams. i had deluded myself by confusing rote memorization skills with genuine intellect. my ego also had been pumped up by learning from those purloined report cards that my iQ was 147 (one point less than older son Will’s.) so i should have been in the 7th rather than 5th grade when i matricu- lated at c aroline Brevard. my other biggest, if not fondest, memory of c ampus elementary days was the choke job by the 1951 Dodgers—who played .550 ball the last two months of the 1951 season, but nY giants played .700 and made up 13 1/2 games. only after turning 60 did i learn that the giants had illegally stolen the visiting teams’ catchers’ signs to the pitcher with a telescope from the centerfield clubhouse. Bobby t homson’s home run, the so-called “shot heard ‘Round the World” broke my heart. i was listening to the third and final playoff game while mending books in the library with mrs. Walker, the librarian who liked me and was also a Dodger fan. i had managed to get myself tossed from third grade class. But i was always was sent to the library instead of principal’s office. We listened intently on her radio. When Russ hodges made his famous call, kept screaming ” t he giants Win the Pennant,” tripled, she had to grab me when i tried to jump out of window, literally. Because i was nearly 11 when we moved to tallahassee and had been very active in c ub scouts and little l eague, i sorely missed new Paltz for our first several years in Fl. i had earned the lion badge, but was unable to work on Webelos which c ub scouts doing just before turning 11 as transition to Boy scouts. my little brother John, on the other hand, never felt anything positive for new Paltz. i surmise that this was because he was too young. i remember vividly both kin- dergarten and first grade. maybe his amnesia had something to do 17

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