Brought up Catholic in the 50s and 60s

I never had any issues with God, it was his people that bothered me. I grew up in the old Catholic church with all the High Mass, Latin, incense, robes, stain glass windows, big organs and the works. As a young kid it was all so distant, so big, and so cold. God was cruel to non-Catholics, punishing them to eternal torment and flames. God was also hard on Catholics, dooming even the best of us to a certain burning in purgatory for hundreds or even thousands of years of purging away sin. God was distant, without humor, and without mercy. God was not to be messed with in any way, shape or form.

My 3rd grade teacher (a nun) told the story of one saint who had a vision of hell. Demons were in hell as were little children. The demons each had 2 large searing irons. With an iron in each hand every demon took children, placed their heads between the irons and squeezed. The Saint who had the vision heard screams from the children who were doomed for this torment for all eternity.

I feared hell and I feared purgatory. I thought that the best thing I could do is to die right after Confession so that I might have no sin and thus immediately go to heaven for all eternity, for Confession did take away all sins. But within minutes after Confession my thoughts and actions led me right down the path of sin again and again, so I was doomed unless by some miracle I was able to be run over by a car seconds after I walked out of the Confessional booth.

The road to sin was easy, it was fun, it was the only road I knew or wanted and that terrified me. The road of Sainthood was repelling. Once again my 3rd grade teacher told us how a young virgin Saint secretly wore a crown of real thorns and cut herself regularly in order to properly despise the flesh. Today such a woman would be taken to a counselor for evaluation. Back in this toubled girl's life, she was considered a Saint.

Stories of Christians eaten by lions and burned at the post filled the minds of 3rd graders for the entire year. Christianity was horrifying. I was terrified. God was unapproachable, harsh, merciless and mean.

Father Leo was a good representation of God. He was old, distant, seemed unable to put up with kids, and had absolutely no sense of humor. As a young kid, I was an altar boy in service to the Priest (Father Leo). I memorized Latin and rang the bell on Sunday mornings in front of the entire congregation, kneeling for minutes that seemed like hours. On one morning an altar boy fainted next to me and I faithfully kept kneeling for fear of breaking the Mass and thus causing everyone in the congregation to commit mortal sin (the sin that sends all to hell for eternity)because one Sunday without Mass is a mortal sin. Father Leo abruuptly ended the Mass and then scolded me for not helping my neighbor. The situation was so confusing.

I seemed to spend a great deal of my Catholic life being confused. I suppose the greatest mystery for me was my 4th grade teacher, Sister Mary Paul. She was nice and a very good looking woman - two qualities that did not square with anything else I knew about nuns from my Catholic upbringing. In fact, I was so confused about her that I was compelled to talk to her in private.

First of all I told her she should be a model and not a nun. I think she was flattered. My mother was a model and taught part time at a school for models.

Then I asked her why she was a nun. I did not share with her that I felt she was so out of place with everything I had come to know about nuns. I simply had to know how somebody so nice and so good looking chose to become a nun. She lit up when I asked her as if her life long dream was to be asked by some kid about her calling. And she did tell me that she was called by God to work for Him full time. I didn't get it then, but years later I too was called into His service in a different way.

Mark Got Attacked by a Lion

Although today my older brother Marc is one of the greatest guys you'd ever meet, when I was growing up he was annoyingly good, in the way I saw things - we used to call him "Eddy Hasko" (a character in "Leave It to Beaver") because he was so perfect at smoozing with adults.

Marc was the oldest in a family of 7 kids. I was the second - a year and a half younger, so I should have been closest to Marc, but it never happened. He liked getting me in trouble, so he reported to the parents whatever I did wrong. As a result, I avoided his ever watching eye and as a kid, I never grew that close to him.

Marc rarely got in trouble and when he did, he got off easy because he did such a good job of winning over the adults. One day in his Catholic High School Marc got caught throwing cherry bombs in the toilets and got off with little punishment because the priests liked him so much.

Marc seemed to be so good, but I on the other hand, during my High School, was dragged into the police station twice for drugs, breaking and entry and theft. On one of those occasions I was guilty, and on one I was not. I got dragged into the principals office on more than one occasion, grabbed dozens of detentions (hours of end of the day classes for trouble makers), and several times was caught with stolen items from stores or cars. I should qualify that last claim...my friends and I were breaking into cars and stealing items, and on one occasion we were pulled over by police and searched, but the police did not search us well enough, and we got away without being caught in that adventure.

MARC AND THE LION

When I was about 6 years old and Marc was about 8, my whole family went to a small circus/carnival in Cedarburg, WI. We were all gathered in the lion's tent when I saw my dad was going somewhere. I thought he was going to get some candy, so I opted to leave the animal tent to go with him. I was hoping to talk him into getting something sweet to eat.

When my dad and I left, while the adults were talking to each other in the tent, Marc was with my mom and other syblings standing next to the rope that keeps visitors away from the lion cage. Nobody seemed to notice the lion as he stretched his paw out of his food door (a small door on the side of the cage). No one saw the lion grab Marc's leg. Marc felt it though, and as his leg gushed with blood, he ripped it away from the lion's claws.

Immediately a small group gathered around the area to see the boy who got clawed by the lion, and within seconds a good neighbor and friend of the family's took Marc away from the tent and drove him to the doctor's office where he got his leg stitched up. My mom stayed behind with the other kids.

When all of this was taking place, I was with my dad, realizing that our trip was not to the candy stand, but to the bathroom. I was the disappointed, but was to be even more bummed when my dad and I returned to the lions' tent to find a small group had gathered around and Marc had been whisked off to the Doctor's office. I missed it! Marc was clawed by a lion and I was going to the bathroom, hoping for candy - I missed out on the greatest thing ever.

MARC AND THE HORSESHOE

Marc was usually the smart one, and I was the one who seemed to do everything wrong. Nevertheless, on one occasion the role was reversed. There were about 3 or 4 of us kids outside in the back yard (we had a large back yard), when Marc got the great idea of throwing a metal horseshoe as high as he could into the air and tell everybody to run. I ditched under a crabapple tree for protection and Marc ran straight downhill precisely into the path of the falling horseshoe. It hit him right smack dab on the top of his head. He walked calmly into the house with blood pouring from his skull and said, "Mommy, I'm sorry we won't be able to go on a picnic today...."

As we grew up, Marc always wanted to be a priest; I never wanted to be anything like that. Marc loved church and Catholic High School; I quit church in the 7th grade and went to a public High School. Marc ended up a good Family Doctor and I was called to the ministry. Go figure.

The Drug Years

I first tried marijuana when I was a Freshman in High School. It was Christmas vacation in the basement of my friend Chris' house. Chris got some grass (marijuana) from a friend of his brother, and being novices we decided to mix it with tobacco and stuff it in filtered cigarettes. We hung over his fireplace with the fire lit so that his parents wouldn't smell the odor when they came home. We quickly inhaled and exhaled the cigarettes rapidly, not knowing how real tokers held in the smoke for as long as possible thus becoming world record breath holders.

My friends were whimps. They each gave me what they couldn't finish. I sat by the fireplace long after everybody else had quit, not realizing how high I was getting, until it was time for me to go visit the High School guidance counselor because I was flunking a class.

As I walked to school the street curb by my feet didn't seem normal; the curb and the street seemed much farther away than usual. In fact, nothing seemed normal, I was stoned out of my mind. When I got to school I pretended to listen to my counselor, but had no idea what he was saying. I sat in a chair across from his desk while my mind wandered; turning totally inward. While I heard blah blah blah I wondered if he could tell I was stoned. He must have noticed. I thought about it over and over, but in the end, he said nothing and I concluded that he didn't have a clue.

Six months later my friend Al held out a hand full of Mescaline (the stuff that makes peyote do what it does). I took a pill and nothing happened for several hours.

At the time I worked as a bus boy at a famous Milwaukee restaurant and that night I went in to my shift. Unfortunately, just as I was about ready to start work, the mescaline hit me with full affect. For the next few hours, I did my best to hold my life together, unable to stop grinning, and hoping nobody would notice.

During Easter vacation of my Sophomore year, I and my friends met some others and decided to break into and party in the house of a vacationing friend. We found the door unlocked, so we went in, stole liquor, smoked pot and partied. The next night still working as a bus boy, I got a call from my parents saying there was an emergency in the family.

My dad picked me up saying nothing. We picked up my mom and went to the local police station. Somebody had turned me and my friends into the police for what we did the night before.

In the police station I made up a story about what I did the night before, but they seemed to know everything already, so bit by bit my alibi fell apart and bit by bit I admitted to everything that happened the night before.

When that was all said and done, they asked me about how I got the marijuanna. I told them everything, still thinking that alibis were useless. I told them how my other friend's brother sold it to me. It never occured to me that there were no other witnesses at the selling of marijuana. I also had no idea that my friend and his brother were scrambling around their house, looking for stashes of drugs to throw away and vacuuming the entire house to dispose of any drugs. Their mom hired the best lawyer in the state and they were preparing for the worst.

Weeks later I was taken out of class by the local police and driven downtown Milwaukee to a judge. It was a small room that looked more like an office in some federal building. The police were in the room as was the D.A., the judge and my friend's lawyer.

The D.A. tried to convince the judge that we should go to trial to convict my friend's brother, but the D.A. wasn't convinced that anything could happen without a witness. That's when the D.A. responded, "But we do have a witness, someone who was there when the marijuanna was sold."

At the time I was caught, marijuanna was a Felony second only to murder. I was up to some serious stuff and the state was looking for some solid news worthy drug breaking case.

When I heard the lawyers talk it dawned on me for the first time. A light went off in my head - When I bought the pot I was the only person who was there who could testify! Nobody else was there except my friend and his brother!

The judged cleared the room for my testimony. It was just me and the lawyers and the judge in a very small room that looked like it may be the judge's office. The judge looked at me and told me to let him know what I had to say about the night I bought marijuanna from my friend's brother.

Without even a second to breath I said, "Well, I don't really remember." The D.A. was irate. "We have your written testimony!" That was easy to answer for me, "I was under pressure from the police that night." The judge threw out the case, and because the D.A. spent so much time on the pusher, he lost his opportunity with the rest of us, or maybe he just decided it wasn't worth it. Whatever the case may be, I was scared for about a year that I might end up in some sort of juvinile prison.

I heard that several of the guys from the older grades found the guy who turned us in and beat him quite badly.

I got superstitious during that part of my life. I seemed to get caught a lot during Holy Days. This event happened during Easter vacation, and during a previous Christmas vacation I got caught stealing toys I was going to give as presents from a local store. I decided to tone down during Christmasses and Easters after awhile.

LSD

January 1970 I don't remember the first time I took LSD. I do know that I only took a half of a tablet for fear that I may go insane. I heard somewhere that there were people who went on permanent trips and ended up in insane assylums, so I entered the world of LSD with caution. Because I took only partial tablets for the first couple of times, I never hallucinated and therefore began to believe that hallucinations were just myths passed around by the media. I also learned from the media that LSD users often claimed to have religious experiences talking to God, which I didn't know what to think of. Everything I knew about LSD changed in January 1970. I sat in the basement of my friend Pat. There were about 6 or 7 of us there and I had some Acid (LSD) I obtained earlier. I took the whole pill, smoked a lot of pot and sat at a table staring at a candle flame. On the verge of hallucination, just before things got crazy, something or someone claiming to be God inwardly talked to me, telling me someone very big was going to die a few months from then. I knew the person mentioned to me but didn't take it seriously until the death occurred at the given time. I didn't really take this "God event" seriously, until the death took place. 

Seconds after I heard "god" tell me the future, I reached over to get a cigarette, my arm broke into a dozen slices up and down. "Wow," I exclaimed. My conclusion about acid being non-hallucinagenic changed in a moment. I loved it. All around me the colors and sounds began to distort. After four hours of fun and feeling great, a heavy paranoia settled in. I was still climbing, getting higher and higher. The hallucinations and the feelings inside were getting more intense. I began to wonder, "Am I going to get down at all? Am I going to go on a permanent trip? Are they going to have to put me away in some mental institution for the rest of my life because I am insane... permanently high on LSD? The fear was intense - more than I ever felt fear before. For two hours I walked back and forth in a panic feeling tremendous paranoia, until after six hours of hallucination I began to come down. I was relieved but still wanted to stay high - just not hallucinating anymore. 

 It was the first of many trips I took on Acid. I used to keep a journal about my drug days. By Senior year of High School I was high 28-30 days a month. I never had any more God talks on drugs, and it took a couple of years for me to be able to discover who I was really talking to.

Mr. Gunderson and the Jesus Freaks

In High School English class I told the guy who sat in front of me in English class of a death coming. I don't know why I said it. When the death took place, he turned around in his chair and asked, "How did you know?" Without answering I put my head on my desk and went to sleep, after all it was English class. I slept in History class as well. 

 Every day I came in right after lunch, so I was freshly high from whatever I swallowed or smoked for lunch. Unknown to me was the girl who sat next to me praying every day, day after day, burdened for the guy next to her that was without a doubt stoned. One of my favorite drugs was PCP or also known as the Horse Tranquilizer. I first took it in my Senior year. I took it early morning before school began but didn't feel its effects until about 3 hours later in between classes. I only remember holding tightly onto the stairway rails to avoid falling. 

 My favorite teacher was Mr. Gunderson. He was not well liked by other faculty and many of the other students, but some of us loved him. He was openly bi-sexual and taught New Age thought even before New Age was popular. His was a communications course and I spent every possible free hour in his room listening to him teach. I thought he was the greatest. There was one day 2 Jesus Freaks came to our school - they were long haired hippies who became born-again Christians. They witnessed in the hallways until some teachers grabbed them and put them in front of the auditorium where several classes met to hear them. Now realize at this time born again Christians were not well known like they are today. At that time they were a novelty. As several classes sat in auditorium seats we listened as one of the Jesus Freaks told us how God got a hold of him and changed his life. While he was talking the other one sat behind him mumbling to himself looking as if he were in some kind of trance. Somebody next to me said he was praying in tongues which made no sense to me. 

 They were a novelty and nothing more to me until the speaker said something that hit home with me. He said, "We don't worry about tomorrow, because Jesus takes care of all our needs." As he spoke those words, I felt something different... something that compelled me to find out more about what this guy was talking about. For the next few hours I felt different, I felt like there was something special to find with these guys - I felt like some sort of Christianity was calling me and this was a taste of what was to come. I went to Mr. Gunderson's class in the afternoon still hungry to learn more about what these guys had. It filled my thoughts and seemed to fill Mr. Gunderson's as well, but he evidently felt differently than I did about it. He attacked the message of the Jesus Freaks talking about how wrong they were. He looked for every fault he could. While the class nodded their heads in total agreement with Mr. Gunderson, my great feeling of hunger turned to intense hatred for Mr. Gunderson. 

 It was an odd feeling - I was mad at Mr. Gunderson because he was speaking bad about something I wanted to pursue. The feeling was very strong- unusually strong. And the feeling was followed up with a question within me..."If I can hate someone for the first time like this, then this feeling about Christianity has to be wrong." I listened and I agreed for I somehow related that hunger feeling with Christianity. So I abandoned my quest for what the two guys were talking about. The Jesus Freaks left my thoughts and I went on with my drug filled life. The last thing Mr. Gunderson said that class was, "You know what really bothers me? What if they're right?"

Mr. Hiken and the Firecrackers

May 1971

My favorite High School teacher besides Mr. Gunderson was Mr. Hiken. These two teachers were as different as night is from day. Mr. Gunderson was openly bi-sexual and taught New Age Philosophy. My Hiken was a devout Jew who headed up a Jewish boys camp during the summer and taught Math during the school year. Mr. Gunderson's classes were filled with discussion and talk. Mr. Hiken's classes were strictly lecture. Mr. Gunderson allowed the students free reign, Mr. Hiken was a no-nonsense teacher.

Mr. Hiken won me over the first day I had him in Math class Sophomore year. During my Freshman year of Math, the teacher was an adult nerd; the students controlled the class with spitballs, tacks on chairs, ripping the window blinds, cussing, swearing and anything else we could do to keep the class under our control. I was the worse in the class gaining the most detentions and leading the class in bad behavior.

On the first day of Mr. Hiken's class I resorted to my previous year's antics. I cannot remember what I did, but I do remember Mr. Hiken's immediate response. "There will be no horseplay in this class!" I could tell immediately that he meant every word of that. From that day forward I respected Mr. Hiken and gave every bit I could to study and learn Math. It was the only class in all of High School that I tried to do well in. By the end of my Sophomore year I had two A's and two B's. I also began thinking that I would be some sort of accountant in life because I loved Math so much. That summer I visited Mr. Hiken at his camp.

Two years later I was close to graduation. I had firecrackers and had been lighting them off from time to time in the bathrooms of the school. Nobody could figure out who was doing them because I tied the firecrackers around a lit cigarette and left them behind the toilet of any one of the bathrooms. Ten minutes later the firecrackers rang through the halls. The entire school was abuzz trying to figure out who was lighting firecrackers and how I could get away so fast - after all there were teachers who ran into the bathroom as soon as they heard the fireworks only to find that I was gone. Nobody suspected a cigarette, because the boy's room always smelled like smoke from kids like me who snuck cigarettes in during breaks.

I kept up with the fun for several weeks until one day, one week from the last day of school Senior year. Classes were just getting out so boys were lining up at the urinals and toilets. My good friend Sean happened to be there, so I showed him a pack of firecrackers I had. Faster than I could think he grabbed them, lit them with his cigarette, and tore off. The bathroom was filled with the popping of 40 firecrackers filling the room. Curiosity drew everybody in the hallways to the boys' room while I walked away trying not to look guilty. It didn't work.

Being the only teacher in the hall at the time, Mr. Hiken stopped me. "So you're the one." I think he had mixed feellings. Glad that he and he alone (among teachers) knew who lit the firecrackers, but not wanting to punish me so close to the end of my school year. He looked at me for awhile and then said, "You owe me one."

I slept through every History class and the teacher never said anything until the last week of school. I was called to his desk and he told me that I had to pass the final exam or I would flunk History. I didn't know what to do because I never read the homework or listened to any lecture. If I flunked History, I would not get my diploma and there was no way I could possibly pass. I studied 3 hours for the test knowing it was all in vain. I took the test and nothing seemed to go my way. As I usually did, I BSed my way through the writing section and guessed on the multiple choice questions.

Several days later I came into school during my day off, during teacher's grading day- and asked my teacher how I did. He said I passed. "What grade did I get?" He just repeated himself, "You passed." I knew that he was only passing me out of mercy for the kid who showed interest for the first time the whole year.

Busted in the Coast Guard

September 1971 I thought about suicide a lot during High School, I just never got real serious about it until one day as I was sitting on my bed. I was not really creative about it at all but had decided I could throw myself in front of a moving bus. I don't know if I would have really gone through with my ideas, because as I was pondering, something inside said, "Why kill yourself? You might find the answer to life later." From that day I never thought about suicide; I lived with hope that some day I would find the anwer to life. 

 Two or three years later in boot camp for the U.S. Coast Guard, John (a friend) and I got caught with stealing paint thinner in desperation to get high. We had to go before several commanders in order to face our fate. John and I both decided that we would travel to San Francisco, never to talk to our families again. I don't know why John would leave his family, but for me, I couldn't handle facing my parents after disappointing them again. They were so thrilled I had joined the Coast Guard. 

 For money John thought we would sell ourselves as male prostitutes / gigolos. Upon reflection, I was not too thrilled with the idea. Nevertheless, we had settled on San Francisco. The officer taking us to the commander told us we were getting kicked out of the service and as I waited outside of the commander's office John was taken in for what seemed like an eternity. When he came out he was smiling, showing me a sheet of paper. "We're out!" It was a bit surreal as I walked into the commander's office waiting for my papers. The commander asked me about my drug history. I told him everything because I just didn't care. He asked me why I joined the Coast Guard. I told him, "To find the answer to life." "Did you find it?" I looked down, "No." "You don't know what you're talking about," he replied. "Yes I do." "No you don't." "Yes I do." He stopped the bantering. I felt like we were like two kids, but then I was only 18. He was in his middle ages. "We have decided to toss out your friend on a medical discharge - he has a soft spot on his temple. And if we get rid of him, you won't be a problem."  In fact, we're going to put you in 'Red Belt' camp for a couple of weeks to get you in line." Red Belts was where the losers and troublemakers went. Boot Camp was torture for everybody except Red Belts; it was pure hell for them.