Nine Hours to New Jersey

My brother was waiting to get shipped to Vietnam by the U.S. Army. In 1970 a tour in Vietnam meant there was a good chance of returning in a body bag or wheel chair and this was not something Go-Go dealt with well. One night, she and some of the kids from "the farm" including my brother Tim, were partying and talking about how messed up Vietnam was and debating about whether Tom, who was an electrical technician, would be sent to the front line or not.

The Farm was a house outside of town where a group of young hippies lived, including Tim. Go-Go spent a lot of time out there drinking and getting high, sometimes not coming home until the morning. She didn't approve of hippies until they became convenient party pals. She partied with a lot of people she didn't otherwise approve of.

They must have whipped themselves into quite a frenzy that night because around one in the morning Go-Go, Tim, and two others piled into Roger's Buick and headed to New Jersey where Tom was stationed. They had to see him one more time. Before leaving they stopped at a liquor store and loaded up on booze. I don’t know if they traded off driving or if Go-Go, the “adult” in the group, did all the driving. I can only imagine what they must have looked like piling out of the car at gas stations and truck stops on the highway-Go-Go and the three teenage hippies who were half her age.

I wonder if after she woke up the first morning she was devastated to realize what she had done. She left five children at home between the ages of 6 and 16. Was she mortified? Roger was around, but he wasn’t in the habit of caring for us. When we woke, we assumed she was at the farm, but later she called and told us she was in New Jersey.

According to Tom, they were so hung over all they wanted to when they arrived was sleep. I think he was proud that his crazy Mom and brother got drunk and spontaneously decided to visit him - it was after all the the tale end of the sixties. He didn't know what was in store for him and was probably happy to see some familiar faces. He took them to his favorite beach and to a local dive and introduced them to his pals from the base. I don’t think Go Go was too excited about sobering up with the hippy kids so they headed back after spending two nights. Driving drunk was a common occurrence in my family but no one but Go-Go could claim to have driven from Wisconsin to New Jersey under the influence.

Orange Sunshine

The effects of the drug began to take hold - it was so powerful I had to leave the party. I left with a group of kids who were also on acid. Earlier, on the way to the party, an older boy offered me a tiny square of paper and told me to let it sit under my tongue and not swallow it. I did as I was told.

We went to a park where I began to have intense visual hallucinations looking into the face of one of the boys. When he spoke a light and shape concert would arise behind his face, turning him into a dance of patterns and lights and when he stopped talking he would turn back to his normal self - only in black and white. If I waved my hand trails of light followed my movements. I was enjoying my hallucinations so much I lost track of the time. When I realized it was nearly midnight, I raced home as fast as I could, fearing I would run into Go-Go - after all, I was still only eleven.

I ran the entire mile to my family’s apartment and felt like I could run another mile. I had so much energy. I went up to my room, relieved to have avoided Go-Go. With Neil Young playing on my stereo, I laid in bed enjoying the curious feelings in my body. There were posters all over my walls and one of them was the album insert with a copy of Neil Young’s hand written lyrics. I stood on my bed to read the poster so I could sing along. The words dripped and pooled into little puddles. When he stopped singing, the words would turn back into letters. It happened over and over and each time I would laugh out loud.

My fun was abruptly interrupted when I heard Go-Go drive up, stumble out of her car and come into the house. I quickly turned the light and stereo off and lay in my bed trying to hide in my stillness - she had a way of knowing when I was up to something. I heard her rustling outside my door and before I could breathe again, the door to my room opened. “Diane, we have to talk.”

She climbed into bed next to me, and began to talk about all her children and what they all meant to her - each-child’s special qualities and why she loved that person but why I was particularly special. “Tim is smart”, she began, in her sentimental drunk voice, syrupy and slurry “he’s not very ambitious but he’s smart and someday he’ll settle down,” “but you Diane, you are so special.” She went on and on through every one of my siblings, punctuating each child’s greatness with mine.

And then the hallucinations started again. I had my back to her and was staring at my radio alarm clock. Each time she spoke the clock would disintegrate into a pile of melted metal and white tiled numbers, and when she stopped talking it would pop back into full form. The radio melted and formed, melted and formed, offering me solace from the torture I felt listening to her pathetic drivel. I thought it would go on forever but finally she fell asleep.

I laid in bed for hours, trying not to move for fear I would wake her. As the effects began to wear off, I got more and more uncomfortable but still couldn’t sleep. I finally dozed off and when I woke up she was gone.

My Dad

The first Christmas after the divorce my Dad gave me a pair of ice skates that were much two big. He promised to return them for the right size and bring the skates the following week. I couldn’t risk it. I hid in the closet clutching my skates and refused to come out until he promised not to take them away. I was sure the store would not have the same pair with the powder blue checks and furry strip on top of the boot. I couldn’t bear to lose any more of him.

Go-Go married her BF, Roger, in 1969. They went away one weekend and returned with a diamond on her finger. She was radiant. I was crushed. I vowed to hate Roger for as long as I lived. Living in our apartment in Madison with Go-Go and Roger, I ached for my Dad.

Dad visited us in Madison every Sunday and took us up north to Phillips to visit his Mom every holiday. His dedication to us made me so happy, and so sad. I would imagine him being alone and make myself sick with sadness. I would think about him eating alone, shopping alone, watching television alone and living alone, all things he so recently did with us. I used to get sad before he visited because I would anticipate his leaving at the end of the day. Sundays were always sad days. I loved him desperately and at the end of the visit, he dropped us off and left.

In the beginning there were car loads of kids going off on adventures with him-my siblings, our friends, he never said no - but by the time I was in high school it was frequently just my little brother and I. Those trips were some of the most precious to me because I would have him mostly to myself. We would talk about everything-politics, the educational system, his family, how cars operate, and my favorite, what happened to him in World War II when his plane was shot down over Normandy.

He told me I was smart and I should use my brains. Encouraged me by calling me college material. Go-Go taught me to clean and cook so I could get and keep a man, but my Dad insisted that I get a career, and then worry about marriage and all that. He helped me get my first apartment at sixteen, sent me money when I went to college, and most importantly, wrote me a letter every week, without fail. His letters were never scolding, despite how often I was failing at the things I set out to do. He died when I was twenty six, at a time in my life when I was too screwed up to properly say goodbye.

He'd been dead twelve years when I learned he wasn't actually my Dad. I was visiting Go-Go that summer and she woke me up at three in the morning, inebriated. “Diane, we have to talk.” I was now sober enough and old enough to realize this was likely the thing she had been trying to tell me my whole life. But why now? I was thirty five years old and suddenly I felt so trapped in this hideous childhood dynamic. She went on, “Now I know for sure, I mean, I’ve always known, but I didn’t know absolutely.” “Oh Diane, when I saw you walk off that plane it was so obvious". “You know honey, Roger is your father.”

Her words exploded in my heart, or maybe my stomach, because I jumped out of bed and puked.

Milk and Money

When Go-Go first met Roger in the 50's he was a milk man. He owned his route and was responsible for his truck and cooling systems, ordering and delivering his product, billing and collecting payments from his customers, and giving a percentage to Bowman's Dairy, the owner of the product. He was a veteran of the Korean War, a hard worker and a good money saver.

One day after delivering a families milk, Roger ran over and killed a two year old child. It was a tragic accident but the pain of it made Roger want to get out of the milk delivery business. Later that year he was approached by his friend Mike Gintilly about buying a truck stop outside of Madison. Wracked with guilt about the dead child, Roger decided to take the risk, despite knowing nothing about running a huge operation like a truck stop. Mike later changed his mind and Roger was left to run the operation by himself.

The Madison Truck Plaza was a fueling station, hotel, restaurant, store, and a big rig repair shop. Roger worked day and night trying to stay on top of all the work that needed to be done to own and operate a truck plaza. He came home for dinner, slept, and returned to work around ten or eleven and worked through the night. His business was a success and Go-Go reaped the rewards.

The first evidence of their new prosperity was a vacation for Go-Go and Roger to Las Vegas. Go-Go had never been on a vacation or on an airplane and there was a lot of build up and drama leading up to that trip. They played cards with friends, went to horse races and bet on horses, but Go-Go had never seen anything like Las Vegas. She was a small town girl who had never been out of the state unitl she met Roger.

They stayed in Vegas extra days and when they finally returned home Go-Go had an extra suitcase filled with fringed leather vests for all of the kids and some for our friends (it was the late sixties). She came home with her eyes wide with excitement and stories of what a wonderful place Las Vegas was. She also returned with a gambling compulsion that would eventually ruin them.

Go-Go went to casinos every chance she got. When I was sixteen she took my brother and I to the Bahamas because there were casinos there. I spent nights waiting for her to be done playing black jack, days trapped in hotels, and weeks worrying about the money she had lost. Go-Go continued to gamble long after she could afford to. When she was too sick to gamble she died.

My Friend Jackie

When Russell brought Jackie to dinner at our house, Go-Go was surprised she was a girl. She liked to tell the story of how surprised she was because she just assumed “Jackie” was a little boy.

Jackie was no ordinary girl. She was a tomboy. She played basketball, had a very cool banana seat bike, and wore pants two or three sizes too large. I had never met someone like Jackie, who was fiercely independent, smart, funny, athletic, and a girl. I am certain she is responsible for what has turned out to be a life long attraction to boyish girls.

Jackie was closer to my age than Russell's and I wanted her to be my friend. I didn’t understand her attraction to Russell but mostly, I was unbearably jealous. We were new to the neighborhood and I had no experience making new friends. I began by stealing her bike, well, asking her if I could ride it around the basketball court and then taking off down the street and out of site. I upset her mercilessly. I don’t know why this act of bullying resulted in her befriending me, though I suspect I was relentless.

Jackie had short red hair and freckles and after we became friends, strangers frequently mistook us for sisters. Mom had fun with us. She really liked Jackie and I think she felt sorry for her because Jackie's Mom bought her clothes too large so “she could grow into them”. Go-Go took us shopping and bought identical outfits for us to wear. The first time we dressed alike, I knew Jackie was mine for keeps.

Jackie’s mom was strict. One afternoon I answered the telephone at their house by saying “hello.” Jackie’s mom, Mrs. Consiglio scolded me and then taught me the proper way to greet a caller: “hi, you’ve reached the Consiglio residence, how may I help you?” followed by “one moment please, I’ll call her.” I had never heard anyone talk like that. It was kind of cool. I answered the phone every chance I got so I could practice speaking this strange new language. When I ate dinner at their house I was coached to place my feet squarely on the floor and keep my elbows off the table. Manners were completely foreign to me. I found them strange and alluring. I probably enjoyed the structure but was nervous because I frequently had to be reminded.

Our parents became friends. They had a lot in common, like horse racing and bar hopping between Madison and Chicago where Mr. Consiglio worked. When we were eleven years old Jackie's parents moved to a suburb of Chicago. Luckily, it was close to the race track so my parents visited frequently. Jackie and I spent summers together alternating between her house and mine. We were together when we bought our first bras, smoked our first cigarettes, learned to shop lift (and got caught). We grew up together and I adored her. I think loving her and being loved by her was very important for me.
Here we are as teenagers, many years into our friendship. Go-Go is on the left and we are with Roger.

Rats and Guns

Hunting was big in Wisconsin. My uncles and some of my brothers were hunters. All the burly farm-bred boys in my neighborhood were hunters. During deer hunting season, we regularly saw dead dear strapped to the roof of cars. Hunting season also produced the predictable news of the tragic deaths of improperly clad hunters and children mistaken for deer.

We had guns in our house. When the boys were young, their first one was a bb gun. Later they got pellet guns, and finally 22 caliber rifles- larger if they stuck with it and showed commitment to the sport.

After the barn burned down and winter set in, all the rodents who’d resided in the barn came to the house in search of warmth and food. I was terrified of rats and had the misfortune of seeing one climb the stairs to our bedrooms one afternoon. I laid in bed many nights petrified, soothing myself by imagining that rats and mice were unable to climb bedposts.

One night Go-Go Mom was having a little solo party, drinking and talking on the telephone. I don’t remember what woke me up, or if it was gun shots. When I got downstairs I saw her, perched on a stool, the furnace grate in the floor removed, a beer and cigarette resting on the telephone table, and a shot gun aimed at the heating duct. She had decided to take on the rat population by leaving food in the heating duct and, once the rats scurried into her sight, shooting them. I asked her what she was doing and she ignored me. Finally during a break in her telephone conversation she told me she was taking care of our little problem and to go to sleep. I went back to bed with more than just rats to fear.

Malted Milk Balls

Go-Go Mom came home from her weekend with her BF with a carton of malted milk balls. My brother Russell grabbed a bunch out of the carton and one rolled out of his hand, across the kitchen floor, and into the tiny space between the stove and the refrigerator. Candy was not something we had in our house so losing one of those precious malted milk balls was unthinkable. Desperate, Russell crammed his body into the narrow space to retrieve the lost candy. On top of the stove was a metal coffee peculator with its cord plugged behind the refrigerator. When Russell dragged that cord with his shoulder he pulled down the pot. Hot brewed coffee onto his flesh. The scorching metal pot fused with his skin. When Russell finally managed to wiggle out of the spot he ran screaming through the house with the coffee pot stuck to his back.

My Dad jumped up and carried Russell into their bedroom and began phoning a doctor. Apparently, my parents were trying to determine if there was any way to dislodge the coffee pot from his flesh. The doctor instructed them to leave the pot attached and take him to the emergency room.

I'm not sure if Russell's hospitalization kept Go-Go home any more than usual. I like to imagine it did. I know I was jealous because when he finally came home from the hospital he had more cool toys than I had ever seen.

Russell spent more than five weeks in the hospital, having multiple surgeries involving skin graft after skin graft. When he returned home his back looked like a pile of stiff earth worms. I rubbed burn cream on his back nightly. In the summer heat, sun screen and doubled tee shirts were still not enough to keep him out of pain.