I Remember

I Remember

- photo by James Gavin on Fire Island,  June 2016

Following high school graduation,

my  classmate Bob Behling

took his movie star looks

to a modeling job in Greece

where a swarthy pickup from an Athens gay bar

mugged and knifed him to death.

I remember.

From an open shower in our basement apartment

naked  roommate Joe baited me

until I admitted that, yes, I “liked it.”

He launched into a rage

deriding and beating me with his fists.

He was suspended and I left school forever.

I remember.

Left as a living scarecrow

tied to a fence in Laramie Wyoming

Matthew Shepard died at the

hands of torture and beating

by two gay pretenders whose hatred

turned robbery into murdering rage

I remember

So many memorials

left us to deal with an ignorance

telling us it was all divine justice,

this horrid ugly deathly AIDS left

kindred survivors sad , alone, and shamed

as community turned its back and shunned us.

I remember

My dear friend Frank DiCecco was a college professor

who built a harpsichord, grew prize orchids

and who , in a sterile call from a Chicago precinct Captain,

I learned was bludgeoned to death with a ball peen hammer

by a tenant who simply  did not like

his “Alternative Lifestyle.”

I remember.

Now I have 49 more hapless fallen

added to my list of memories,

soullessly murdered in Orlando

losing pulse to a psychopath

who could not deal with

his own sexuality.

You can bury all the bodies,

but not the memory .

-Jerry Wendt 2016

Those Ropes

Going to young friend Jair’s graduation being held tonight in the Fieldhouse of my Alma Mater, Crystal Lake Central High School, reminds me of the last time I was in that facility 54 years ago. As senior men, we were told we had to pass a physical proficiency test in order to graduate.  Back then we took any word from faculty as truth, so there I stood in that fieldhouse, a trembling shell.  Physical anything was not a skill. It was avoidance therapy for me.  Thin as I was, I had no core strength.

First up was a run twice around the fieldhouse.  It was supposed to be timed, but I took so much time they just marked me “passed.”  Then I got yelled at for trying to maximize some rest time at the water fountain.  Darn.

OK then, next was pushups: Twenty , no rest . My pal Powers McGuire had pissed me off using the excuse he had a bad heart.  The teacher- I still remember his name, Roy Nystrom- told him to do them anyway. “Muley,” Powers’ nickname, did two and collapsed in a fake heart attack.  He got passed  but now I had no excuse as he had already taken my planned one.  I did my twenty and it was more than once I got yelled at again for resting my stomach on the floor. But I did do them. (sort of- the floor under my stomach was polished very clean) Finally. Passed.

Now, the dreaded ropes.  They hung ominous and large from the ceiling.  I  really  had nothing against the ropes themselves as they provided me great pleasure watching the gymnast muscles flex as they pulled themselves up as we gym wimps played volleyball. But now it was my turn to climb. Oh Geez. I grasped the rope.  I pulled, wishing the rope would detach from its ceiling mooring.  Nothing,  the rope stayed and so did my feet- on the ground.  Nystrom bellowed “Pull, Wendt, Pull: get yourself up there. Wrap your legs around the rope and anchor your ankles. Use them to push.”  Hah. I wrapped my legs around, the rope swayed and down I fell on my bum.  “ Get back up there, Wendt, I want to see some effort,” the coach yelled.

I sweated. That was showing effort, right?  Evidently, not enough.  I knew it wasn’t going to happen so I just stood there holding that rope, wishing maybe there would be a fire, a tornado; something .  I was not going to cry, dammit.

Nystrom yelled at me, “ If you don’t climb, you will NOT graduate,”   Yikes, that motivated me to speak in terror, “ You mean I’ll have to try to do this again next year? ”

Unknowlingly, it was the perfect thing to say.  The light went on in  Nystrom’s brain ; wheels furiously turned.  “Repeat? Him- in my class, again?”

“Wendt, you pass, now get out of here.. . Next !”

There must be a Jesus I thought as I exited that facility, not even stopping at the water fountain.  In June, at graduation, I could not stop glimpsing across the court to the conditioning area and those ropes.  I wonder if they still hang there. I’ll be looking yet again tonight.