When June rolled around, I wanted to get strong.
I took a job in landscaping. I love working in the open air. I met a spunky girl, Rebecca Hanzlick, the daughter of my boss, Doug Hanzlick of Dominion Enterprises, and she cheered me up.
In the fall of 1986, I dropped all of my college courses but two to concentrate on my construction work. I liked being a foreman. I liked ordering people around. I liked feeling hard.
As the weather turned cold, however, the work became miserable.
On weekends I worked in the news department of KAHI/KHYL radio where things were warm.
My neighbor, Bill Murphy, was a graduate of Stanford University. His brother Bob was the color man for Stanford’s football games and the play-by-play guy for Cardinal basketball.
One Saturday afternoon that fall of 1986, Bob invited me to Stanford to watch a football game.
Stepping on to this elite college campus and seeing all the pretty girls made me realize all the more keenly the severity of my wrong turn in life. I had to get myself pronto to an elite college campus where I’d be sure to lose my virginity.
I watched the game from the stands (unless the press box at Candlestick Park where I covered 49er games). Just in front of me was what I imagined was a faculty couple. They were well dressed and handsome and they appeared to have the kind of life I wanted.
The next semester, I took 18-units at Sierra College and almost got straight As. I decided to go to UCLA to major in Economics.
When I got sick with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, it felt like a return of the forever mono, and I had to quit UCLA in June of 1989 and go back to my parents home on 7955 Bullard Drive, Newcastle, CA, 95658.
Over the next few years, I did the odd house-sitting jobs for Bob Murphy and his wife. They didn’t mind if I boinked girls in their bed as they always washed the sheets when they got home.
In August of 1993, I left Newcastle for a woman in Orlando and recovered much of my health later that year with the medication Nardil.
Around 1998, Bill died of a heart attack.
I returned home for a couple of days in the Spring of 1999 and 2000 and then my parents moved back to Australia. I haven’t been to Sacramento or its environs since.
In 2004, Rachel Derkits, a PhD student in Anthropology at Stanford, did this paper on me.
Growing up on college campuses, I’ve always felt I belonged in academia so these little brushes with the bigs have filled me with sentiment.
On an open-road vacation in May of 2007, I stopped by Stanford for a couple of hours.