Chapter 1: Setting the Stage

("While this story was inspired by actual persons and events, certain characters, characterizations, incidents, locations, and dialog were fictionalized or invented for the purposes of dramatization.")

August 1976 — Age Thirteen

-Frank Zappa

Walking down the hall of Milford Junior High, I was looking for locker number 101. Tim Abbott had locker number 100. I found it, right outside my homeroom, Room 10. For the first time in my life, I actually knew people in my school at the beginning of the year. Prior to eighth grade, I had attended a different school district every year from Kindergarten on. This was my second year in the Milford Exempted Village School District, and it felt good.

My parents moved a lot. In fact, they moved nearly every year I was in school, and before that, they had moved several times. By the time we ended up in Milford, I had lived in La Habra, Yorba Linda, Bermuda Dunes, and Palos Verdes in California, Tucson, Arizona, and Cincinnati, Ohio. I went to religious schools for kindergarten, first, fourth, fifth, and sixth grades.

I always brown-bagged my lucnh with the same thing every day — salami sandwich, chips, an apple, orange or banana, and cookies, and Mom still packed it. I put it into my locker, stowed my bookbag (backpacks were not a thing yet) and went to homeroom.

I found my name on the second desk in the row by the window (right behind Tim Abbott, of course) and sat down. Ms. Booher, a tough-looking, very fit blonde lady (I would find out later she was the girls' volleyball and basketball coach) was at her desk looking over her homeroom class list. I knew I would have her for second period for 'Atoms and Molecules', an introductory chemistry class.

The bell rang as the last students filed in. I knew most of them from Milford Main, the middle school that housed sixth and seventh grades. There were a few cute girls, a few guys I'd had some trouble with the previous year, but no friends. In fact, I didn't have too many friends. My best friend from seventh grade had moved over the Summer and my previous best (and still good) friend lived fifteen miles away, near our old house in Anderson Township.

Using the loudspeaker, the principal welcomed us, made a few announcements about clubs and sports that started right away (the football team had been practicing for a few weeks already), and then we stood and said the Pledge. I'd repeat this every school day for four of the next five years. Junior year was an exception, but we'll get to that.

Ms. Booher called the roll and when she called out 'Stephen Adams', I said "Steve, please," because that's what I went by. She appeared to make a note in her grade book. I'd be doing this every period today. Only my mom and her family called me Stephen. Oh, and my seventh grade English teacher, Mrs. Oligee, who called everyone by the proper given name. She was a geriatric schoolteacher, who had taught in the district for decades, but I had heard that the teachers at the Senior High could tell if you had her just by the quality of your grammar, spelling, and word use. I suspected the rumor was true.

I learned that the very cute blonde in the seat right behind me was Birgit Andersson, a Swedish exchange student. Little did I know the enormous impact she would have on my life, all from me saying "Hi" to her when the bell rang to send us on to first period. She said "Hi" back and I could detect only the slightest accent. We introduced ourselves and discovered we had a few classes together — Health first period and English sixth period. Maybe, just maybe, this year would be better.

In seventh grade, I had been constantly picked on. Being the new kid, being forced to dress differently (my parents did not like blue jeans — I didn't even own a pair, and if my parents had their way, I wouldn't until I moved out of the house), and making excellent grades, made me the target of a lot of jokes, jostling, and some outright bullying. It had been better after the class bully challenged me to fight, and I had taken him up on it. In the end, it wasn't even close.

As soon as we were in the locker room, he'd said, "Let's go," and took a swing at me. I ducked. But then I swung back. I hit his shoulder when he dodged, but it shocked him I was fighting back. I decided right then to press it. I never landed another punch, but he kept retreating, shocked at what was going on. I went back to my locker after the gym teacher saw what was happening. Jim Hornberger never heard the end of it — that he had chickened out of the fight by backing away from someone who was considered the class wimp. I knew I had to watch out, but it was close enough to the end of the year that I avoided any dangerous situations with him. That ended the bullying.

Walking down the Junior High hall to Mr. Saneholtz's Health class, I saw a couple of my past nemeses, including the just discussed Jim Hornberger. None of them said anything. Perhaps I was off the hook. If that was true, it would be a great year for me. I also saw Susan Pollard, my girlfriend from last year. We had broken up over the Summer, but I wasn't particularly broken up about it. She was still a friend.

I walked into Mr. Saneholtz's room, just down the hall from my homeroom. The board had his name and a note which instructed us to sit where we liked. I plopped down front row center, a habit that I'd started early on in my schooling. It made it easier to see the board. Birgit sat next to me on my left without prompting, which made me happy. On my right was a swarthy kid with ebony hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He leaned over and said, "Larry Higgins" and I said "Steve Adams" just before the bell rang.

Mr. Saneholtz called the roll ("Steve, please', which he noted), handed out our books and a syllabus, then had us introduce ourselves and describe one interesting thing about ourselves. Each kid stood up, gave their name and something interesting about them. Birgit said she was an exchange student from Stockholm, Sweden, and told a bit about that. I discussed attending different schools in different cities nearly every year, and Larry mentioned he had a ham radio.

Nothing changed for the rest of the day. It turned out that Larry and I had the same lunch period, so we sat together. He had two younger brothers, and I said I had a younger brother and sister. Funny thing — both middle kids were named Jeff. His dad worked for IBM as a Field Service Tech and his mom was a nurse. My dad owned a plumbing company and a gas station and my mom was a homemaker (yeah, they used that term). She did my dad's books, but she did that mostly at home and took little time. Larry lived too far to bike from our house on Milford Hills Drive, but my mom had never objected to giving me rides, so I figured we could hang out in the future.

I asked him if he played Dungeons and Dragons (a game I had learned over the Summer from Kevin Dugan, who lived just down the street from me, but who was a Sophomore at the High School). He didn't, but we both liked chess and we both bowled. It was the beginning of friendship.

September 1976

The Reds. Oh, man. They were on fire. They were favorites to repeat. I remembered the 6th game of the '75 series. Perhaps the greatest game of baseball played in my life, perhaps the greatest ever. And the Reds lost that one. But they went on to win game 7. I felt a repeat was in the cards.

The school year was progressing. It really wasn't all that interesting and the classes were pretty easy so far. The only truly interesting class was American History with Ted Dixon. He made the class interesting and often regaled us with stories that were most definitely not in our textbooks, often saying "If you want the rest of that story, you'll have to look it up yourselves" when things of a more "mature" nature were in question.

Larry and I had joined the same bowling league and asked to be on the same team. He was better, but not by much. And I had become friends with Birgit. She had just turned fourteen (as I would in April of '77) and had come to the States with Youth for Understanding, an exchange program. She was cool, and Larry and I went to a few of her volleyball games. We hung out afterwards a few times, finding out that we enjoyed each other's company. I also enjoyed looking at her — blonde hair, blue eyes, and a nice figure.

There wasn't any place really close to the school to hang out, so we usually just sat in the bleachers and drank Cokes.

"America is quite different from Sweden," Birgit said. "In all the big cities, and in most smaller towns there are coffee shops where we can hang out near the school."

"Milford isn't exactly a big town — there are a few places on Main Street and at Five Corners, but that's too far from school to go without a car. Same with my house, and because you live right across the street from the school, your mom or my mom would have to bring you and Larry home."

Larry lived about 2 miles from the school and could bike if it was light out.

"How did you become an exchange student?" Larry asked.

"I had a friend who did it last year and said it was a lot of fun so I signed up. My parents have an American girl staying with them now, because YFU Sweden requires it. Do you boys want to come to my house? My host mom said it would be fine. Your parents could pick you up there."

"Sure!" I said and went to find the payphone. I dialed home, explained to my mom I was hanging out with Larry and Birgit at her house (and yes, her host mom was home!) and she said she'd pick me up in an hour. I wanted longer, but she wasn't buying it. "Fine," I said in a snippy way that I knew I'd pay for when she came to get me. Oh well.

We walked to Birgit's house, I met Mrs. Spencer, her "host mother" as she called her. She was the same age as my mom and stayed home as well. I think she probably knew my mom, because I recognized Mrs. Spencer from Church (my dad never went, and neither did Mr. Spencer) where Larry and I were both now altar boys.

Chapter 2 »