Nostalgia

[Guest AllisonD]

I didn't know just where to put this essay, so please feel free to move it to a better place if there is one.

Nostalgia

I was at the gas station today when I noticed a beautifully reconditioned 71 nova. A young man, early 20s, was filling it with unleaded gasoline. When I was 18 a boyfriend that I actually lusted after somewhat thought he would be ecologically cool and filled his car with unleaded fuel only to have it eat the valves and valve seats out of his 383 Dodge muscle car. A friend of my girlfriend at the time did the same thing with the same results. I asked the young man what did he do to the valves and valve seats so that they would survive unleaded fuel. He had no idea, he didn't know what I was talking about. An older gentleman, turned out to be two years older than me, explained that he knew the young man, and the car, and that the engine had been rebuilt with hardened parts that could manage unleaded fuel.

I recognized a kindred spirit, someone that I would have hung with back in the day. We reminisced together about those teen years, full of hormones and gasoline fumes, the rush of acceleration, the exhilaration of dangerous speed back when we were immortal teenagers. The rest of the day memories of Davis (never call her Linda, never touch her hair - not even I could touch her hair except in the most intimate moments), and her girlfriends, and the boys I actually liked, and the feelings of being young and alive came back to me.

Davis was two years my senior. I met her at a Teenage Republican meeting (chill with the boos and hisses okay?). This was years before Ronald RayGun or either Bush. Kids went to the meeting just to meet other kids. I was mid-16, she was 18, and we noticed each other almost immediately. I am sure my pathetic attempts at attracting attention were laughable, but nevertheless she was intrigued by the femme boy who was clearly interested in her. She approached, we talked, she read me easily but did not discount me for all that. Two weeks later we were an item. We lasted until I had to move two years later. Her love and support carried me through some of the most difficult times in my life.

On one memorable occasion she had come to pick me up for a date. She had a muscle car like all the gearheads that I hung with did. One of the defining characteristics of the Butch that she was, was timeliness. She showed up at my house precisely on time every time we had a date. On this particular day I was following my normal ritual of preparing in mostly boy mode since that was all that was allowed in my home. I would then finish my preparations in her car as she drove to where ever we were going that night. But as was his habit my father walked into my room unannounced, without knocking, without permission, only to discover my cosmetics spilled all over my desk ready to be packed in my purse and me in lingerie ready to be temporarily covered in boy clothes until I left the house. I had a nice blouse and skirt outfit all laid out ready to take with me to change into once I got into Davis's car. He saw me, my stuff, my clothes, said something crass, and left - slamming the door on the way out.

"Oh sh*t", I thought, "I'm going to catch it tonight." I would usually get knocked across the room if I was too open about being so femme at home. But at this point I had already bought whatever punishment was coming and so I figured, "since I am already going to pay for it, why not really earn it?" And so I put away the outfit I had chosen and instead selected a really nice dress that I had just finished making for myself. It fit me beautifully, and once I finished preparing myself for the evening I have to admit I looked pretty good.

I had to pass the dining room to get out the front door. That meant my father, mother, and brother all saw me dressed for my date leaving the house. I said, "I'll be back by one" and left without another word. I was 17.

Davis was delighted to see me all dressed up. Her immediate thought was my family had finally learned to accept me. I didn't explain until later what had really happened. I didn't want to ruin the evening. We met up with some of her girlfriends and had a great time doing the things that teenagers do. She took me out to dinner, I chatted with the other girlfriends: the girls that Davis's friends were dating while Davis and her friends talked about cars. It was a great time. And when I got home, not a word was said. I knew not to push it or to try that again, leaving the house dressed, but for some reason I got a by that night. No punishment.

Years later my mother told me that she was very impressed at how good I looked. My parents knew I had been dressing for years. The principal had called them both into the office many times to discuss how I dressed at school but she had never actually seen me dressed for a date before. She told me then she wished she could have been more accepting at the time but it was just beyond her knowledge to know what to do about me back then. Of course, I was the only person in the world who felt like I did as far as I knew. We both could have used Laura's then. I am glad the young people now have this advantage.

Davis took me in when I was expelled from my home for coming home in girl mode from school one too many times. My parents had had enough, and frankly so had I, and I was fortunate that Davis had her own place and she was willing to take me in. We had been lovers for 18 months, so maybe we were ready anyway. I worked in the housekeeping department at the local hospital. They knew I was a boy in girls clothes and didn't care. They needed cheap high school labor for menial tasks and they accepted me as I was so it worked out for both of us. What I earned there paid my way with Davis and helped me put together a professional wardrobe which I later used when I graduated high school. It also paid for electrolysis and was the start of my orchi fund which I took such great advantage of at 19.

All this nostalgia and reminiscing. How I wish it was 16 again, but only if I knew then what I know now. I definitely would've sought out SRS much sooner. Heck, ignorant as I was, I was only a few hours drive south of Trinidad at the time! But how was I to know? I was so very young and the only trans on the planet.

Allison

[Guest mia 1]

Excellent. What a safe haven you must have had with Davis. Isn't the human mind funny? A muscle car on a fall day at a gas station far from the southwest, and all these beautiful, poignant, bittersweet memories of the sweet bird of youth, come rushing back.

Autumn is that time of year..

Now we older members in the autumn of our own life, can all hold hands and walk together remembering the 60's and the 70's.

Thank you Allison for the wonderful story....Mia

[Sally]

I wish that I could share your fondness for the 60s but for me that was the 'lost' decade or more to the point the one that I wish I could have missed.

The 70s ushered in a better time but from what I have heard there was a sexual revolution and 'free love' but I was not drafted.

Yep, missed it completely - I also missed the 'battle of the sexes' because I had no idea which side I should be on.

But I had a few high points, just being out of High School and the prison system like manner in which it was run in my time was a blessing I became the master of cutting classes in college and spent some of the happiest hours of my life in the campus pool hall (Fast Eddie had nothing on me).

I hung around with my friends and pretended to be male but I always had an empty feeling and that has colored all of my 'best experiences' with a dull gray.

I have just recently learned to see all of the colors of the world so for me nostalgia is much more bitter than sweet but to those of you with fond memories, I congratulate you and tell you to hold on to those forever.

I have a precious few and I will never let them go.

But as to muscle cars - I had a 73 Camero with a 350 and the amazing turbohydramatic transmission (the best ever manufactured by GM) - it was not so much of a muscle car as the modified versions but it had the same drive train as my parent's 71 Impala and weighed over 900 pounds less - it was quick.

The Camero/Firebird plant was on strike during the retooling for the 73 models so it did not have all of the emission controls that choked down all of the other 73s.

I was never able to match that car's acceleration until I had a turbo!

The thing that I remember most about that car was an irritation at first but a source of great joy later - it was the LT version which had almost no chrome and had baby moon hubcaps (which I thought looked cheap) - almost all LTs were equipped with the straight 6 or the smaller 307 V8 (terribly underpowered) - mine had a very small 350 logo on the front fenders below the Camero name.

I can remember so many times that someone in a small car would pull up nest to me and rev the engine, rock back and forth while holding the car with the clutch rather than the 'sissy way' of using your brakes and then the sudden backing down on the gas as they noticed the 350 logo - guess they had lost to one of those before.

If they didn't see it I would rev my engine once and that usually did the trick - I never had to race anyone, no one would except for one genius in a Vega GT that was sure that his Economy car was faster, after all it did have racing stripes and mine was just plain white - I wonder if he ever got off of the line?

For you young kids - I rode my bicycle to college for about three weeks when Gas went over $0.69 a gallon!

Really, it had been full service (you had to wrestle with the attendants to keep them from popping the hood and adding oil - while the other two aired your tires and cleaned your windows) for $0.29 a gallon less than two years earlier and they gave you silverware, glasses or place settings of dishes with each fill up.

In those days a 'price war' meant a battle to see who could go the lowest and drive the others out of business, now it is to see how much you can get away with to increase your profits from excessive to obscene.

Sorry about the 'old geezer rant'.

Love ya,

Sally

[Guest Elizabeth K]

Allison!

My goodness girl! That story blew me away!

That is why you are here - we need to read those moments - those both silk and sandpaper - those times when we were so young. I never went out in a dress until I was 25 years old - and then late at night and got read - chased home 12 miles by the SMU campus cops!

I never transitioned because I was so fearful all my life. I was a fool.

That's changed... I outed and faced that terrible year as that odd androgynous man/woman. My anniversery date on my diagnosis is 6 October 2008... it's almost a year. Fortunately, I had surprising results on the HRT - learned to let my true self show - and added my 50 years of dressing experience

So I can now go anywhere as a woman and be accepted.

We are remarkable people, we transsexual - and you are a remarkable woman.

Lizzy

[Paula ult]

Thank you Allison, it brings back memories from those days long gone bye.

I was pretty much a loner during high school, if it was not for playing an instrument in the band and having to go to all the football games to play with the marching band i would have stayed at home as i never fit in, did not realize why till years later.

I had a 72 Cuda, 4 barrel carbs and a slapstick automatic transmission, it was pretty much stock except for headers, air shocks and wide tires on the back, i won more than a few races with it and raced at the local drag strip, i have a few trophies, those were the days..*sigh*.

Oh to be that age again, i would transition in a heartbeat.

Paula

[Carolyn Marie]

That's a great story Allison, thanks for posting it.

I can identify with some parts of it, and not with others.

My first car was a Ford Pinto. About as far from a muscle car as a Piper Cherokee is from

an F-14 Tomcat. But hey, it got me around town, right?

Your other memories brought back my own of the 70's. Trying to research transsexuals in

the UCLA library and coming up almost empty. Feeling totally alone with my feelings with no

one to talk to, no friends, no resources. Just getting by with occasional cross dressing.

Wondering how those few trail blazer transwomen got to be who they were and what they

went through to get there. Admiring them from afar. Wondering if I was the same.

The 8-'s were kind of a blur of cross dressing and still feeling alone. But at least I had fun

at home trying on outfits and dreaming of going out en femme. Still doing research when

I could find something.

I wish I could share some of your other experinces but no - I cannot, But I can appreciate

them and look forward to making some new memories for myself.

Thanks for sharing.

Carolyn

[Guest NatalieRene]

I hope you don't mind if one of the babies pops her head in. I missed the 60's and 70's and suck at the kiddie table through most of the 80's.

While I never came out to my parents as a kid I did have a similar experience with trying to keep my toys. I had an old game boy growing up though around the time my parents where trying to ween me from the girlish toys. I remember gutting the game boy and using it's shell to stash a few barbies and some cloths in it for trips.

To this day I don't know much about cars besides pushing the gas peddle to go, the brake to stop, and the wheel turns to steer. It's never been something that held my interest, mainly because of the dirty grease. I don't like to get dirty.

[Guest AllisonD]

I hope you don't mind if one of the babies pops her head in. I missed the 60's and 70's and suck at the kiddie table through most of the 80's.

While I never came out to my parents as a kid I did have a similar experience with trying to keep my toys. I had an old game boy growing up though around the time my parents where trying to ween me from the girlish toys. I remember gutting the game boy and using it's shell to stash a few barbies and some cloths in it for trips.

To this day I don't know much about cars besides pushing the gas peddle to go, the brake to stop, and the wheel turns to steer. It's never been something that held my interest, mainly because of the dirty grease. I don't like to get dirty.

Fair enough. I wouldn't crawl into the innards of a car today without significant motivation myself. Besides, they are no longer the simple beasts those muscle cars were. I inevitably picked up the basics of the internal combustion engine, brakes, transmission, etc. just from being around the gearheads so much. Much of the duty of a girlfriend in those days was to look pretty and pretend to be interested as you date discusses how she (or he) put in a 3/4 cam to improve acceleration at the cost of fuel efficiency or something or other. Like I cared, but that was the game.

So when I was in university much later, near broke, and my car was clearly dying I knew enough to pop the hood and take a look. I was able to determine through a static compression test (did it myself!) that I had to have a hole in at least three valves in my Valiant with a 283 (notable for eating valves). I bought a Chiltons manual, a basic tool set from Sears, and a torque wrench and took the heads of the engine all by myself! The head shop did their machining thing and replaced some valves and valve seats, and I reassembled the engine perfectly, with no parts left over, again all by myself.

But it wouldn't start. After a good cry my brain started to work, figuring out just what the problem could be. In a moment of inspiration I turned the distributor 180 degrees and she started right up! It remains one of my proudest moments, realizing that I was not reduced to having to spend huge amounts in a garage to do something I was able to figure out for myself. I wouldn't ever do it again, but I did do it once upon a time and I have carried the self confidence that gave me for the rest of my life.

Allison

[Guest ChloëC]

Ah, the 60's. Allison, I can actually do you one better, not only was I a founding member of our local T.A.R.s club, but my best friend from early grade school got me to join Y.A.F., where I would guess most of the later Christian/Radical conservatives would come from. TARS (Teen Age Republicans) was really a very nice social club, definitely for meeting all sorts of interesting people. I spent one evening for over an hour talking to a young woman would go on to become a stewardess/airline attendant on one of the first jets hi-jacked to Cuba, with the hijacker asking her to join him.

YAF (Young Americans for Freedom) was in many ways a version of the establishment frat house in 'Animal House'. The national leaders, all buddies with each other, divied up the national positions and ran un-opposed at each convention. The one I attended, a group of us supported an outsider which caused all sorts of consternation among the leaders and my friend who was angling to become an inner member (he went on to become a State Senator). It was through this connection that I also sort of met Shel Silverstein, tho I didn't fully realize it at the moment!

However, the convention in 1965 was in Washington DC and it afforded my first visit to the Capitol.

Ah, cars. My first was a 1965 Chevy II, 3 speed, 196 cu in. straight six. A friend helped me replace the tappets and we timed it by ear. (later I replaced on different cars, a radiator, a starter, the inside heater unit, among other things). I really didn't care for cars all that much, it was just expected. I drove it from Chicago to Seattle with it using a quart of oil every 150 miles, until I had the cover gasket replaced in the Rockies, then only 1 quart for the next 900 miles. I had never driven in the mountains and was climbing up over the 11,000 foot pass and was terrified as at about 9000 feet, I had my foot to the floor in 3rd and was going 10 miles an hour, not really good for the engine. Finally, in desperation, I downshifted and...easily crested and continued. That's how much I knew about cars.

I was in the military at that time, going to Alaska (I put my car on a freighter and picked it up two weeks later). I had to put all my urges on hold for 2 or so years living in barracks and the like, until I could get some privacy and dress. Yet, I still used my imagination heavily.

Memories

Chloë

[Guest NatalieRene]

Fair enough. I wouldn't crawl into the innards of a car today without significant motivation myself. Besides, they are no longer the simple beasts those muscle cars were. I inevitably picked up the basics of the internal combustion engine, brakes, transmission, etc. just from being around the gearheads so much. Much of the duty of a girlfriend in those days was to look pretty and pretend to be interested as you date discusses how she (or he) put in a 3/4 cam to improve acceleration at the cost of fuel efficiency or something or other. Like I cared, but that was the game.

So when I was in university much later, near broke, and my car was clearly dying I knew enough to pop the hood and take a look. I was able to determine through a static compression test (did it myself!) that I had to have a hole in at least three valves in my Valiant with a 283 (notable for eating valves). I bought a Chiltons manual, a basic tool set from Sears, and a torque wrench and took the heads of the engine all by myself! The head shop did their machining thing and replaced some valves and valve seats, and I reassembled the engine perfectly, with no parts left over, again all by myself.

But it wouldn't start. After a good cry my brain started to work, figuring out just what the problem could be. In a moment of inspiration I turned the distributor 180 degrees and she started right up! It remains one of my proudest moments, realizing that I was not reduced to having to spend huge amounts in a garage to do something I was able to figure out for myself. I wouldn't ever do it again, but I did do it once upon a time and I have carried the self confidence that gave me for the rest of my life.

Allison

Thats so impressive. The most I've done with my car on my own is change the air filter and the bulbs in the car.

[Bulldog1948]

Ah Yes! The 50s,and 60s. Elvis,the Beatles,penis Clark's Dance Party every evening right after school- wouldn't miss it or Micky Mouse;especially Annentte Funicelio. Roy Rogers,Gene Autry,LOne Ranger,Cisco Kid, My Friend Flicka and on and on.

The ever so cool music played at the Friday Eve sock-hop, right after the football game. How I wanted to dance and hold my favorite girlfriend ever so tight and cop a little feel in a dark cornor. Yes kids, us oldtimers were hot-bloods in our younger days also

I remember watching the Vietnam War every evening on TV with Cronkite and then Rather. But, that was miles and miles away from all of us in our little rural community. But, then one day,Nam came home to roost. A classmate of ours had gotten into a tiff with some boy and pulled a knife on him. The judge gave him a choice; jail or the service and he chose the Marines. Half of our friend came home in a glass enclosed coffin and we were never the same again.

My first car was my Mom's 59 Ford stick shift. It was the size of a tank,but she could really move. Dang thing always had a "whistle" sound that no one could figure out. Oh yeah, she had a hand choake;remember that ladies and guys...

My second car was a Chevy SS 396,4brl, that was like a rocket taking off. Paid $3,000.00 for her right off the showroom floor. She was red with a black vinal top. Another boy in town had a Nova just like it and was always causing me problems, don't remember how many times the cops got on me about racing and it wasn't even me;especially down Main St.

So we old-foggies can always turn our "memory machines" on when we get bored withtodays reality shows ha ha

Still Dreamin in the 60s/Mike

[Guest Leigh T]

I remember most of my childhood in view of major events, at least until I was near 16. Other than most of the tramatic familial events, it can be broken into a few major events.

I remember being in 2nd grade in November when all of a sudden the loudspeaker started piping in news from the radio. What I could decipher from it was something about the President being shot. I remember the worried looks on all the teachers' faces as they led us out of the school building (early, I might add) so that we could go home. I then remember my parents watching the funeral on the television and me trying to understand what was going on while watching along side.

I remember one evening in early winter when we were watching television when a news update pre-empted the show we were watching. The commentator talked about a bridge full of people in the cars plunging into the Ohio River after the bridge collapsed during the evening commute home from work. I remember trying to imagine what it may have been like to be in one of those cars that plunged into the icy waters and the sheer terror they must have felt.

I remember all the uproar about a civil rights advocate that was assasinated in Memphis and later a candidate for President being assasinated at a rally in Los Angeles by one of the hotel's kitchen staff. I also remember utilizing some of my summer vacation being glued to the tv watching the first moon landing and moon walks.

Now, I had finally reached that golden passageway of 15-16 years old. I remember my dad teaching me to drive our 1966 Chrysler Newport and thinking to myself that I will always drive a big tank like the Newport. One night shortly after obtaining that small card symbolizing every teen's right of passage, we got a call that Dad had been in a traffic accident. We drove to the hospital where my dad was in bed with his right arm in a sling. It seems that while he and a teammate from his bowling team were driving home, a horse had jumped the fence at the county fairgrounds. The horse galloped down the street towards my father's headlights and jumped over them. Dad didn't see him until it was too late. The horse went through the windshield, pushing the steering wheel into my dad's shoulder. They had to pull the horse carcass out of the car before they could retrieve Dad from the car.

I remember having to share my stepmother's car whenever I was able to drive on the weekends. It was a red 1968 AMC Javelin SST with bucket seats and floor-mounted automatic. I loved that car as the alternative was my Dad's 1969 Chrysler 300. Talk about a land yacht! It was so big that Navy planes could have landed of its hood. I did drive that 300 when I took Barbara to the prom.

I remember the last weekend before my high school graduation when a couple of us went to Columbus, OH to watch our teammates compete in the Ohio High School State Track and Field Championship. We did very well with several of our teammates winning first place in the 440 and the mile relay. We also had a few other places in other events and the result was my small high school (400 students for grades 9-12) came in 6th out of all schools in the state, regardless of the size. As we were pulling until our drive, I spotted a car that my dad and I looked at while we were car shopping for me less than a week before. The car I really wanted was a 1969 Pontiac LeMans that was Laurentian Green with black vinyl top and a 350 engine. I fell in love with it instantly! Right beside it was a year newer LeMans that was identical to my favorite car in color and engine size. A day or two after finding my 1969 my dad came home from work and announced to me that the '69 LeMans had been sold. I was sad because I lost my soulmate. Fast-forward the the return from Columbus and seeing a car driving away. It was the 1970 LeMans that was parked beside the '69. Hence, my first car was that 1970 Pontiac LeMans and I had become a lifetime Pontiac lover. Dad wouldn't let me drive my car until I paid for my own car insurance so I had to drive the Javelin until I did. One late Saturday afternoon while I was driving the Javelin, I decided to get nasty with it and rev'd up the engine while it was in neutral. I then slammed the shifter into first to spin the tires. Well........I did it one time too often and the car lurched forward but wouldn't speed off when I depressed the gas pedal. Uhh ohh! I ended up walking about 5 miles, in the pouring rain, to my grandmother's house to call my dad that the Javelin had just stopped going when I stepped on the gas. I never told him about the tire-burning that caused it. I then started paying for my car insurance and started driving my own car. I still have dreams about that Javelin and this last April I found a 1968 Javelin for sale while perusing the Internet. It didn't take much deliberation for me to decide to buy that car. It is my next project car. By the way, that Javelin I damaged was soon traded in for my dad and stepmother's new 1973 Chevrolet Monte Carlo.

A couple of less than impressive cars passed through my ownership until 1987. I found my next soulmate while walking Boomershine Pontiac's car lot waiting to meet my blind date at my favorite restaurant just down the street. That eveniong was memorable on a couple of levels. While walking the lot, I spied a beautiful new red Trans Am with a t-top. While I was looking at it, a young couple walked up to the car and also started looking at it. A salesman came up and started talking to the couple, completely ignoring me. I walked away dejectedly, kicking the small stones on the pavement. I suddenly met face-to-face with my next love: a black Trans Am with gold trim and a 5-speed transmission. Another salesman walked up and this time I was the one being attended to. I told the man that I was interested in the car and for him to work up an offer for me. I gave him my business card and asked him to call me on Monday with the offer and if it was enticing enough, I would be back after work. He tried to get me to test drive the car while I was there but I told him I was meeting a woman for a date. I left the lot and drove down the street to the restaurant to meet my date but found out I was a little early. I sat on the wooden pew-like bench and then I knew my date had arrived. I had never met her before and she described herself as petite. That evening I learned the true meaning of 'understatement.' She turned out to be a little person! I tried to hide my shock (I'm embarrassed and ashamed to say) and proceeded to entertain her. I'll never forget that evening. I bought that car the following Tuesday. That car stayed with me until I had a head-on collision with it in the middle of Buckhead. I didn't have the heart to keep it after that and allowed the car to be towed away by a salvage company. At the time, the car had 184,000 miles on it but it looked better than it did the day I first saw it on that Boomershine lot. Yesterday I received a letter from the Georgia DMV about a request I sent in a few months ago, tracing the owner of that car. I found out the car is now in Arizona. I want her back. Her name was Mariah.

Anyway, I've bought other vehicles and I would love to share the day I brought home the 1984 Ford F-150 in 1996 but I've taken up way too much space and time. If you're interested, I'll tell you about it.

Thanks for listening,

Leigh

[Guest ricka]

Ah Yes! Those Nostalgic memories. What fun reading all of your posts! I grew up in the country. If any of you are ever interested in reading what it is like growing up a gay male in rural America check out "

Farm Boys" by Will Fellows. It is a touching record of personal accounts of those of us who grew up in the country. My fondest memories were being outside working with cows and horses and being in the woods, and the neighbor farm boys who would take me up in the hay loft..... It was lonely living out on a farm but at the same time you had a certain freedom to be who you are. I kept a stash of women's clothes up in the loft to put on for boys. By the time I was an adolescent I was growing breasts like other girls and I discovered what a big hit they were for boys. The other fun thing we did was skinny dipping in a lake about a mile from my house during the summer months. The neighbor boys would go and always one would invite me to come along. When I visit my parents who live on the same family farm I still take walks to those places--the barn, the lake, the woods where I began to discover myself. There is a wild apple tree in a little clearing in the woods. It's still there. i used to lie there in the tall grass on Sunday afternoons after church---which was pretty much the only idle time I ever had, and dream about having a special boy next to me.

Flash forward to my first car--a '57 Mercury Monterey. Pink and White and tons of chrome, white leather/vynal seats and push botton shift on the steering column! Hun, she didn't have a lot of power but she was soooo pretty!!!! She got me to parties in style!!! Tragically I was at a party and lent her to someone and never saw her again and couldn't remember who I lent her to!!!! My young and care-free days!!!

I remember the first boy I fell in love with. I was 18. He looked like Paul Newman. I enjoyed everything about being with him. Months had gone by in our relationship as "buddies"---we double-dated a few times. Found ourselves sharing the same bed one night and I put the moves on him, and he responded. That was the night I knew and admitted to myself that i was gay. Well in the ensuing months tragedy struck and he had a schizophrenic break and I felt totally responsible. I was sent to the school psychiatrist who did not help my belief that I had caused his break. After that he was doped up on anti-psychotics like the guy in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest after they did a lobotomy on him. I still wonder about him and where he is today.

ricka