Anchor ads are not supported on this page.

4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs

In As Much Sin As You Could Find!

I know how you spent your summer.

It was the first week of September, must have been. I was 13 and it was 1964. JFK was dead less than a year, but the Beatles were making us feel better about it. I caught the school bus on Lake Street, and as I climbed aboard I noticed with relief that all the guys were wearing the same kind of shirt, tie, and sports jacket, more or less. I was not the only homo. A homo was a guy who wore white sox, ties, and had to be home by ten o'clock.

On a transistor radio Alan Price's organ howled with pain on "The House of the Rising Sun," a really interesting record.

On the way to St. Joe's in Westchester, Illinois, I tried to read my Ace paperback of Beau Geste, but I was too nervous or excited. It would be my first day of high school. My parents wanted to send me out to Saint Joseph's to "Broaden my horizons," which meant go to school somewhere I didn't have to fight my way home through Irish kids. I had split Bobby Finch's lip and reshaped his finger along with Marty McGee's ear and left eye for most of the summer. James Cunningham would spend a lot of time at the orthodontist thanks to me. I had dropped in on each of them one at a time at their homes on the last day of eighth grade.

We passed Maywood, Melrose Park, and some alien suburbs. St. Joe's would later have brief cinematic fame in the movie Hoop Dreams, but I had only heard of it as a distant outpost of the Christian Brothers. "The Christian Brothers," I was told, "are filled with guys that used to join the Foreign Legion." That sounded cool.

Sponsored
Sponsored

Later, I would be grateful to Brother Stanislaw and Father Ed for Great Tales of Action and Adventure, which settled the business of my being a writer and for blues records in art class, which settled both my art and music career for many years. That is no art career and many years of music. But before I got to know those men, I had to get past a lunatic named Brother Crispin or Crispian.

Brother C was the main speaker at freshman orientation in the gymnasium. For some reason I got there late, couldn't find it maybe. When I walked in, there were at least a thousand guys seated in the bleachers. Brother C was at a podium beneath what would later be a famous basketball hoop.

"Don't think I don't know how you spent your summer!" His voice was hoarse -- I would later discover -- from habitual yelling for no apparent reason. "In as much sin as you could find! Am I right?"

No response but mumbling.

"Gin and Seagrams 7 and Hamm's beer, eh? Marijuana cigarettes and nudie cutie magazines and the white thighs of Catholic girls, eh?"

I know it sounds as though I'm making this up, but I swear.

"I don't ask you to write an essay on 'How I Spent My Summer Vacation' because I know! Hmmm...?

"When you weren't sinning with some pimply girl, you were humping up and down, undulating on your pillows! Your athletic little buttocks sweating, mother naked, spilling your seed!" His toaster-sized fist pummeled the surface of the makeshift portable pulpit/lectern, striking the wood with resounding echoes through the gymnasium. Each gerund ending a dull mortar round echoing, ricocheting: SINNING! UNDULATING! SWEATING! SPILLING!

I was, of course, horrified. How did he know? He was right, naturally, but the man was deranged, a nut case. Was he in charge here? The principal?

"I am the disciplinarian, and your summer of sin is at an end!"

God. Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I'll never do it again. Just keep me away from this madman.

"Let me introduce Paddy. Paddy is my partner. You will all know Paddy because you will all sin. That is your nature." He was brandishing a wooden paddle like something you used to bake long, thin loaves of bread. It was stained, I could have sworn, with blood and sweat and God knows what else. It gleamed in the harsh gymnasium light, reflecting back the sun on the glistening entrails and bodily fluids of its recent victims. Likely it was just stained with ordinary wood stain and shone with ordinary varnish, but you could not have convinced me at that moment.

"You all bear the outward signs of your fleshly sins, do you know that? Is it a mark on your forehead? A mark of the beast? No. Oh, no. Maybe you think it's the constant stretching of your trousers at the crotch when you think of these things, these white thighs and nudie magazines -- and you think of them constantly, don't you? But no, it's not a sign around your neck. It's not goat horns protruding from your long Beatles hair! Do you know what it is? I'll tell you what it is, all you Elvis the Pelvises out there. They're called sideburns! Say goodbye to them. There will be no SIDEBURNS here!"

It was at that moment I knew I was doomed. Actually it was another word that occurred to me in place of "doomed," but I dare not think it because I was sure to be dead before the day was out, and if I went to Hell, I knew who would be there with Paddy.

The latest copy of the Reader

Please enjoy this clickable Reader flipbook. Linked text and ads are flash-highlighted in blue for your convenience. To enhance your viewing, please open full screen mode by clicking the icon on the far right of the black flipbook toolbar.

Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

Temperature inversions bring smoggy weather, "ankle biters" still biting

Near-new moon will lead to a dark Halloween
Next Article

Wild Wild Wets, Todo Mundo, Creepy Creeps, Laura Cantrell, Graham Nancarrow

Rock, Latin reggae, and country music in Little Italy, Oceanside, Carlsbad, Harbor Island

It was the first week of September, must have been. I was 13 and it was 1964. JFK was dead less than a year, but the Beatles were making us feel better about it. I caught the school bus on Lake Street, and as I climbed aboard I noticed with relief that all the guys were wearing the same kind of shirt, tie, and sports jacket, more or less. I was not the only homo. A homo was a guy who wore white sox, ties, and had to be home by ten o'clock.

On a transistor radio Alan Price's organ howled with pain on "The House of the Rising Sun," a really interesting record.

On the way to St. Joe's in Westchester, Illinois, I tried to read my Ace paperback of Beau Geste, but I was too nervous or excited. It would be my first day of high school. My parents wanted to send me out to Saint Joseph's to "Broaden my horizons," which meant go to school somewhere I didn't have to fight my way home through Irish kids. I had split Bobby Finch's lip and reshaped his finger along with Marty McGee's ear and left eye for most of the summer. James Cunningham would spend a lot of time at the orthodontist thanks to me. I had dropped in on each of them one at a time at their homes on the last day of eighth grade.

We passed Maywood, Melrose Park, and some alien suburbs. St. Joe's would later have brief cinematic fame in the movie Hoop Dreams, but I had only heard of it as a distant outpost of the Christian Brothers. "The Christian Brothers," I was told, "are filled with guys that used to join the Foreign Legion." That sounded cool.

Sponsored
Sponsored

Later, I would be grateful to Brother Stanislaw and Father Ed for Great Tales of Action and Adventure, which settled the business of my being a writer and for blues records in art class, which settled both my art and music career for many years. That is no art career and many years of music. But before I got to know those men, I had to get past a lunatic named Brother Crispin or Crispian.

Brother C was the main speaker at freshman orientation in the gymnasium. For some reason I got there late, couldn't find it maybe. When I walked in, there were at least a thousand guys seated in the bleachers. Brother C was at a podium beneath what would later be a famous basketball hoop.

"Don't think I don't know how you spent your summer!" His voice was hoarse -- I would later discover -- from habitual yelling for no apparent reason. "In as much sin as you could find! Am I right?"

No response but mumbling.

"Gin and Seagrams 7 and Hamm's beer, eh? Marijuana cigarettes and nudie cutie magazines and the white thighs of Catholic girls, eh?"

I know it sounds as though I'm making this up, but I swear.

"I don't ask you to write an essay on 'How I Spent My Summer Vacation' because I know! Hmmm...?

"When you weren't sinning with some pimply girl, you were humping up and down, undulating on your pillows! Your athletic little buttocks sweating, mother naked, spilling your seed!" His toaster-sized fist pummeled the surface of the makeshift portable pulpit/lectern, striking the wood with resounding echoes through the gymnasium. Each gerund ending a dull mortar round echoing, ricocheting: SINNING! UNDULATING! SWEATING! SPILLING!

I was, of course, horrified. How did he know? He was right, naturally, but the man was deranged, a nut case. Was he in charge here? The principal?

"I am the disciplinarian, and your summer of sin is at an end!"

God. Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I'll never do it again. Just keep me away from this madman.

"Let me introduce Paddy. Paddy is my partner. You will all know Paddy because you will all sin. That is your nature." He was brandishing a wooden paddle like something you used to bake long, thin loaves of bread. It was stained, I could have sworn, with blood and sweat and God knows what else. It gleamed in the harsh gymnasium light, reflecting back the sun on the glistening entrails and bodily fluids of its recent victims. Likely it was just stained with ordinary wood stain and shone with ordinary varnish, but you could not have convinced me at that moment.

"You all bear the outward signs of your fleshly sins, do you know that? Is it a mark on your forehead? A mark of the beast? No. Oh, no. Maybe you think it's the constant stretching of your trousers at the crotch when you think of these things, these white thighs and nudie magazines -- and you think of them constantly, don't you? But no, it's not a sign around your neck. It's not goat horns protruding from your long Beatles hair! Do you know what it is? I'll tell you what it is, all you Elvis the Pelvises out there. They're called sideburns! Say goodbye to them. There will be no SIDEBURNS here!"

It was at that moment I knew I was doomed. Actually it was another word that occurred to me in place of "doomed," but I dare not think it because I was sure to be dead before the day was out, and if I went to Hell, I knew who would be there with Paddy.

Comments
Sponsored

The latest copy of the Reader

Please enjoy this clickable Reader flipbook. Linked text and ads are flash-highlighted in blue for your convenience. To enhance your viewing, please open full screen mode by clicking the icon on the far right of the black flipbook toolbar.

Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

Tijuana sewage infects air in South Bay

By September, Imperial Beach’s beach closure broke 1000 consecutive days
Next Article

WAV College Church reminds kids that time is short

College is a formational time for decisions about belief
Comments
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed Big Screen — Movie commentary Blurt — Music's inside track Booze News — San Diego spirits Classical Music — Immortal beauty Classifieds — Free and easy Cover Stories — Front-page features Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts Feast! — Food & drink reviews Feature Stories — Local news & stories Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore From the Archives — Spotlight on the past Golden Dreams — Talk of the town The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it Letters — Our inbox Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news News Ticker — News & politics Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated Poetry — The old and the new Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers Reading — The hunt for intellectuals Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds SD on the QT — Almost factual news Sheep and Goats — Places of worship Special Issues — The best of Street Style — San Diego streets have style Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves Theater — On stage in San Diego this week Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads Your Week — Daily event picks
4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs
Close

Anchor ads are not supported on this page.

This Week’s Reader This Week’s Reader