MARIA BALLANTYNE
Written by Rick Archer

CHAPTER TWO: Outside Looking In

The Saint John's Mother's Guild To me, Saint John's was simply a marvelous academic institution.  However, there were many other faces to Saint John's.  The school served as an important social hub to the members of Houston's High Society. Saint John's School was located in the very heart of River Oaks, a tony neighborhood hidden under a thick canopy of beautiful, stately oak trees.  This is where Houston's 'Old Wealth' lived in stunning palatial estates such as the one pictured.  Back in the days when I was in school, Houston's men of wealth pursued their business careers in skyscrapers downtown and the women of wealth pursued their social careers here at my school.  The ladies of Houston's social elite gathered at SJS on a regular basis to see and be seen.  Saint John's was not a large school when I went there.  There were only 50 kids in my graduating class, 220 in the entire Upper School.  It was a very small, close-knit place.  Due the utter exclusivity of the school, it was very difficult to get a child admitted.  Saint John's had a reputation as a place where you could not buy your child's way into the school.  The school was so ridiculously well-endowed that it didn't need anyone's money.  The kid had to be smart enough to get in or tough luck.  That hard line attitude won the school a lot of respect.  It meant something if your kid got into this school.  It meant your son or daughter was smart and it meant you had money.  Attendance at Saint John's was a major status symbol and carried a lot of prestige.   Not surprisingly, the mothers of the children at this elite institution enjoyed coming to Saint John's on a frequent basis to network, visit with their friends and pursue their various projects.  These women formed a group known as the Saint John's Mother's Guild.  I assume this was an elite group with limited entry.  The largest gathering of mothers I ever saw was perhaps 25 women.  I imagine that admission to this inner circle was a major prize in itself. The Mother's Guild ran many school activities.  Each of these ladies had a child or children at SJS.  This was a group of confident women who helped guide the fortunes of Saint John's behind the scenes.  They formed a sort of revved up PTA group.  In particular they were concerned with the "Social" side.  For example, after every home football game, there was a dance party at the River Oaks home of a Saint John's student.  These parties were sponsored by the Mother's Guild. From the moment I began to attend Saint John's in the Fourth grade, I was very curious about the Mother's Guild.  There was an attractive Reception area at Saint John's.  One day I noticed a large group of women wearing expensive dresses.  They were all chatting and milling about.  I was so taken by all these animated women that I stopped to watch.  In their fine clothes and perfectly styled hair, these patrician women were unusually attractive.  I was in awe.  I had never seen 'wealth' before.  I was from a middle class home and had no idea women like this existed.  They acted like celebrities in the way they carried themselves.  I decided these women must be very important. I noticed these ladies would meet at Saint John's in the late afternoon at least twice a week, sometimes three times.  They would always mingle in the lush, wood-paneled area known the Reception Room.  Heavily carpeted, full of plush chairs, comfortable couches, expensive tea sets, and tasteful soft lighting, this was a very luxurious area indeed. It seemed to me these ladies practically lived in that room.  I saw them there all the time.  Then one day I figured out why I kept running into them.  My school locker was located right next door to this Reception area.  Furthermore the Reception Room was located between two very long hallways.  I had no choice but to walk through this room to go from one hallway to the next.  Since I had to travel through this room at least 6 times a day to get to my classes and my locker, it was nearly impossible for me to miss a single meeting. Due to my frequent encounters, I had plenty of opportunities to study the women on a regular basis.  I suppose I was drawn to these women for the same reason people watched Dallas and Dynasty.  I was star-struck.  People who are rich and powerful have an irresistible dynamism about them. I was 10 when I first developed my odd fascination with this group of wealthy, polished women.  As a small and quite harmless boy who was the anonymous child of God knows who, my invisibility was practically guaranteed.  Therefore I was able to do a lot of watching without anyone noticing.  One day I noticed these ladies emptying out of a side door into the Reception area.  That was the first time I realized there was a private dining area connected to the Reception Room.  A couple days later when no one was looking, I peeked in. The dining room was completely secluded and very lovely.  It had large windows that looked out onto our beautiful Quadrangle in the center of our school. This discovery made me realize that Lunch was another feature to these gatherings.  I developed a theory that the women would meet first for lunch.  Then they would conduct their business.  Afterwards they would meet informally in the Reception area for coffee and conversation.  In other words, I was catching these women at the tail end of their day.  That explained why I always saw them in the afternoon.  I assumed many of them stayed around to avoid having to make another trip at the end of school to pick up their children. As one might gather, it wasn't much trouble for me to keep track of their comings and goings. Students were given ten long minutes to get to their next class.  That was about six more minutes than we needed.  With time to kill, whenever I noticed the group of ladies, invariably I would invest my extra time in observation.  Sometimes the ladies were laughing; sometimes they were deep in serious conversation.  One thing for sure - they liked to talk. One day in the Fifth grade a lady actually noticed me.  Frowning, in a very harsh voice, she barked, "Young man, you have no business being in here.  You need to leave right now."

With that she pointed her finger to go.  I left immediately, but I was mad at her dismissal.  If she had asked politely, that would have been one thing, but her rude, imperious manner rubbed me the wrong way.  I wasn't hurting anyone.  This was a public area and this was my school. I may have been just some lowly kid, but I had just as much right to be here as she did.  That incident was a turning point.  On the spot I lost my admiration for them.  I decided I didn't like these women. They seemed phony and preoccupied with social status.  Most of all, there was something about their haughty air of superiority that made me feel inferior.  Mind you, I made this sweeping decision based on the rudeness of just one woman.  Some of them probably were snobs, but certainly many of them were nice as well.  Unfortunately, I was much too young at the time to see this distinction. This moment marked the beginning of the chip on my shoulder that I felt towards the rich and famous at Saint John's.

Maria Mitchell Ballantyne

I didn't let the nasty dismissal stop me from watching the ladies.  However it did make me more surreptitious.  From this point on, I moved from the room itself to an observation post in the shadows behind an entrance to the room.  I still continued to get an occasional dirty look if someone noticed me, but no one ever bothered me again.

There were usually twenty or so women in the group.  I had no idea what their names were or who their children were.  Except one - Mrs. Ballantyne.  She had a daughter named Katina who was in my grade.  I first noticed Mrs. Ballantyne one morning when she dropped her kids off at school at the same time I was getting out of Mom's car.  Shortly after that, I noticed this same woman was front and center with the Mother's Guild group.

Mrs. Maria Ballantyne seemed to be the leader.  As she spoke, the other women seemed to surround her. At first I didn't know whether Mrs. Ballantyne was as mean as those other women, but I did know I was very impressed by her.  Now I was star-struck again.  Mrs. Ballantyne seemed to be the most dynamic and powerful woman I had ever seen in my life.  I stopped paying attention to the other women and began to concentrate only on her. 

I was very drawn to Mrs. Ballantyne.  Any time I spotted her, I would stop and hide somewhere so I could study her for a few minutes. However, I never once came anywhere near to Mrs. Ballantyne.  After that lady had chewed me out so badly, I always kept a discrete distance from all the women lest they bite. 

From the shadows, I was free to study Mrs. Ballantyne.  Over time I thought I detected a difference between Mrs. Ballantyne and the others.  She seemed far more down to earth, more 'real'.  I began to like her.  I liked to watch her in action.  As far as I was concerned, Mrs. Ballantyne was the Sun and the other women were the planets who revolved around her.

The Fourth grade became the Fifth grade.  And the Fifth grade became the Sixth.  With each new grade, I resumed my silent watch.  Over time I came to admire Mrs. Ballantyne.  Not only was she the clear leader of this group of women, I also noticed how well she interacted with her own children.  She obviously had her children's complete respect.  She had my respect too... from a distance of course.

I came to the conclusion that Mrs. Ballantyne was not only the most talented woman I had ever seen, she was also the best mother.

During my time at Saint John's, the Ballantyne family was best-known family in the whole school. There were many talented individuals at Saint John's, but no family could possibly rival the Ballantynes.  The Ballantyne family was Saint John's answer to the Kennedys.

Seven different children achieved tremendous success in academics, athletics, and leadership - Michael, Dana, Katina, Christie, Marina, George, and Lisa.  Each one of them was smart and confident.  Each one of them excelled in one school activity after another. The Ballantynes were always being named captain of this or head prefect of that.  It was my observation that these individuals clearly deserved these honors.  Talented, well-respected and responsible, the Ballantyne children were born leaders.

I had a ringside seat to watch three of the Ballantyne children in action during my time at St.  John's.  Dana was two years ahead of me, Katina was in my own grade, and Marina was one year behind.  All three were down to earth and thoughtful of others. Despite their enormous talent, not one of these individuals displayed any egotism whatsoever.  No snobbery, no airs, no pretensions.  In nine years, I never saw a single incident where the Ballantyne children acted in any way other than exemplary.  I am sure they weren't perfect, but they were a lot closer to it than any one else at that school.

In a nutshell, the Ballantyne children were all great kids!   They received the respect of their peers because they deserved it.  As you can see, they certainly had my respect.   Talk about  role models, they were the best.  Every single Ballantyne child I was able to observe was exceptional in their own way.  Although I had virtually no direct interaction with any of them, I could see they conducted themselves with poise and dignity.  They accomplished extraordinary things and they did it the right way - they earned it.  They worked for it.

Mrs. Ballantyne was easy to spot.  A beautiful woman with a dark complexion due to her Greek heritage, Mrs. Ballantyne was at the center of every group.  Mrs. Ballantyne was warm and outgoing.  I formed the impression that Mrs. Ballantyne was the go-to lady at every one of these Power Lunches.  Mrs. Ballantyne seemed to be everywhere.  Another apt word would be 'Omnipresent'.  Although she was not on the faculty, nevertheless Mrs. Ballantyne had an almost daily presence at my school.  I would see her at least two or three times a week and I assume there were many times when our paths didn't cross.  I was very drawn to Mrs. Ballantyne.  I don't remember noticing another mother in that group.  Mrs. Ballantyne was the only lady I ever paid attention to.  There was something about her that was remarkable.  As I watched her in action from a distant corner of the Reception area, it appeared to me that Mrs. Ballantyne was the most socially gifted person I had ever seen. Besides the Administrators, Mrs. Ballantyne seemed to be the most influential person at the entire school.  Indeed, I often saw her striding down the corridors side by side with Headmaster Alan Chidsey or with Mr. EK Salls, Mr. Chidsey's successor.  Oh, I would have loved to have known what they were talking about!  I was always so curious about her. My observation was that she appeared to possess great charisma in her public dealings with people at Saint John's.  Whenever I saw her, she was always beaming. Mrs. Ballantyne seemed to use charm and persuasion to accomplish most of her projects.  However I also suspect she had a hammer in her tool kit as well.  Mrs. Ballantyne had a reputation at my school as an effective and maybe even "forceful" go-getter.  Mrs. Ballantyne was rumored to have enormous will power.  It was also said she could be very controlling at times.  I wouldn't be surprised.  I am not quite sure how else you accomplish things in life without asserting your will.  That is why some people are called 'leaders'.

Katina Ballantyne Although I had no direct knowledge, I always sensed that Mrs. Ballantyne was a very talented mother.  Mrs. Ballantyne appeared to be deeply involved in each of her children's careers at the school.  I would overhear "Mrs. Ballantyne" stories all the time about how she made quite sure her sons and daughters lived up to her expectations.  After watching the accomplishments of one Ballantyne child after another, whatever she said or did, it worked.  Seven children, seven success stories. A major reason I concluded that Mrs. Ballantyne was a superior mother was Katina Ballantyne, one of her three daughters. There is an old saying, 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'  I always felt that Katina reflected her mother's talents beautifully.

Katina was my classmate for many years.  I did not know Katina on a personal basis, but we shared many classes together.  That gave me a front row seat to watch Katina in action for all those years at SJS. Modern readers might be surprised to know our classes were never larger than 15 students.  A private school education calls for close student-teacher interaction.  Not only did we get to know our teachers very well (and vice versa), we got to know our fellow students on a first-hand basis.  Katina always conducted herself with so much poise and grace.  Katina definitely brought honor to her parents.  A cursory glance at the 1968 yearbook says it all - Katina was all-conference in field hockey, she was captain of the volleyball team, she played lead in The Music Man, she was a Prefect, she was in the choir, and she was editor of the yearbook.  Oh, by the way, Katina was an honor student too.  Yet despite all this success, Katina was level-headed and even-tempered.  I never once saw a streak of meanness or pettiness.  There were no airs of superiority emanating from her.  And guess what?  As far as I was concerned, every single one of her brothers and sisters were the same way - talented, generous and humble.  They were in a class by themselves, but they never once abused their popularity to get an edge.  Whatever they accomplished in the classroom and the playing fields, they earned it fair and square.  Be it the classroom, the playing field, student politics, or activities, the talent and decency of the Ballantyne children permeated through the entire school.

It doesn't take a genius to conclude these seven children were raised by some pretty special parents.  I had always believed Mrs. Ballantyne was a great person from my shadowy vantage point, but it my respect for Katina and her siblings that explains why I concluded that Mrs. Ballantyne was a superior mother as well.  What an accomplishment it was to raise so many gifted, wonderful children! 

Let me add it is my understanding that her husband Dr. Alando Ballantyne, the children's father, was just as special as well.  Dr. Ballantyne was a cancer surgeon at MD Anderson as well as a professor in the University of Texas medical school system. 

Talent on top of talent.  The Ballantynes were quite a family indeed. 
 

Competition at Saint John's

I haven't yet mentioned how competitive Saint John's students were.  Academic performance was worshipped at Saint John's.  With a limited amount of openings each year, students had to take a test just to be considered for admission. 

SJS took the cream of the crop.  Consequently every one of my classmates was brilliant in his or her own way.  In a way, we were gladiators.  We fought on a daily basis to be the best. 

Not surprisingly, there was a pecking order based on academic standing.  Through the years, I was usually in 5th place, but my spot rotated between 4th place through 7th place out of 50 students.

One of my closest rivals was Katina.  We were both Honor students.  Katina was usually one step behind me. Since I was so acutely conscious of protecting my academic standing, I kept a close eye on her progress.  I always felt like Katina was gaining on me.  One slipup and she would pass me.  It was that kind of pressure that ensured a top performance throughout the year. 

Although I never spoke to her about it, Katina and I were neck and neck in a constant struggle to make the kind of grades that would get us into the best colleges. 

Naturally I kept a careful eye on Katina.  Long ago I had concluded that Katina had a huge advantage over me.  She clearly benefitted greatly from having such an alert and caring mother.   Considering how angry I was at my own mother, I admit I was deeply envious of not just Katina, but all the Ballantyne children.  I constantly wondered what I could accomplish if I had a mother like Mrs. Ballantyne.

So now it becomes obvious why I studied Mrs. Ballantyne so closely.  I was in the Fourth Grade back when I started to watch her.  Since I was a sad little kid who needed a mother in the worst possible way, it is no coincidence that I became fixated on the most exceptional mother I had ever seen.   

I had to practically raise myself and I wasn't doing a very good job of it either.  Darn it, I believed I had just as much talent as the Ballantyne kids and every other kid at Saint John's.  However with all my handicaps, I knew I was falling way short of my potential. 

I resented what seemed to be an uneven playing field.  Katina was captain of the Field Hockey team.  I was athletic too, but I didn't even go out for a team.  I often wondered what I could have accomplished if I had a mother like Mrs. Ballantyne to encourage me.  It drove me crazy realizing how much my own social awkwardness and lack of confidence held me back.  What if I had a Super Mom like Mrs. Ballantyne?  Maybe I would be a student leader instead of the Invisible Kid.

Yes, these were the sad thoughts and fantasies of a lonely, introverted unhappy kid.  Mrs. Ballantyne was the kind of mother I wished I had.  Yet for all the years I studied Mrs. Ballantyne like a hawk, I never once spoke to her at Saint John's.  Not once.  I was content to admire her from afar and dream about how my life would have been different if I had someone like her for a mother.
 

Fifth Grade, age 11.  Notice the eyes don't match.

Twelfth Grade, 17.  Too bad I outgrew my pants.

Camp counselor, age 21, Senior year in college

On the Outside Looking In

There can be no doubt in my mind that the nine year education I received at Saint John's was an incredible break for me.  My appreciation for that valuable training is boundless.

That said, although my education was free in one sense, unfortunately I paid a strange and very dear price nevertheless. 

The faculty at Saint John's were indeed gifted educators, but they had no way of shielding me from my share of rough times at Saint John's on the social side.  Social status has its winners and losers.  For everyone on the top rung, there has to be someone down on the lowest rung.  Take a quick guess which rung I occupied.

I went to school with the sons and daughters of the wealthiest families in Houston.  I have little doubt I was the poorest kid in the school.  Let's put it another way.  I went there nine years and never met or heard of anyone in even remotely the same situation as me.  Sure, there were some middle class kids on scholarships, but no one who rode his bike home at night wondering if the lights would be on or if there would be bread for a sandwich or if his only parent would even be there.

My low economic status was not known to my classmates until the Sixth grade.  I was a member of a boy scout troop affiliated with Saint John's.  Several SJS classmates were members as well.  One weekend in middle of February, we had scheduled camping trip way out in the piney woods of East Texas.  A cold front had just come in and it was raining heavily.  I didn't feel good, but my mother had paid money for the trip and insisted I go. 

We had to set up our tents in the rain.  I didn't have a very good raincoat and I got wet.  Soaked to the bone, I crawled into my sleeping bad and began to shiver.  I was absolutely miserable all night long. 

The rain did not let up all night long.  The next morning it continued to rain on and off.  The boys were unable to do anything but stay in our tents and try to wait for things to clear. 

During the night, I got sick.  In fact, I was so sick that I could barely move.  I had a fever and was in real pain.  One of my classmates, Frank A, wanted to go home.  He wasn't sick, but he didn't like the cold and the wet.  When I found out someone was coming to pick him up, I begged Frank for a ride to my house.  I felt like a quitter, but I knew that whatever I had was too serious to tough it out.  Frank took pity on me and agreed to help.  I was astonished when I saw an enormous limousine pull up in the middle of the forest complete with a uniformed driver.  This was like a scene from a Richie Rich movie.   

When the limousine stopped in front of my run-down tenement on Travis Street, Frank's eyes bulged in disbelief. He asked, "Do you really live here?"  I noted his wide-eyed stare of astonishment and instantly hated myself for my mistake.  I had been too weak to remember to ask him to drop me off at one of the nice homes a few blocks away like I had done with other kids. 

Well, it was too late now.  The cat was out of the bag, so I admitted this was my home.

Meanwhile I was having trouble getting out of the car.  It was that bad.  I was so weak that the chauffeur decided to help me.  As he helped me stagger out the car door and up the steps, Frank stared at me with the most profound look of pity.  I was crushed.  I knew his sympathy wasn't for my sickness, but rather for my poverty.  Living his sheltered River Oaks existence, he had never seen a poor person before.

After that incident, it may have been my imagination, but I felt like some of the kids at school began to avoid me.  I had a hunch that Frank had said something.  I doubt that he said anything to be mean.  Frank wasn't that kind of guy.  But whatever he said had real consequences.  I suddenly felt very isolated and wasn't sure why.  It seemed suspicious that my invitations to classmate's birthday parties and get-togethers at their homes suddenly disappeared.  Was this really happening or was it my imagination?  Sure I had a very thin skin and took every real or imagined slight to heart, but something seemed wrong.  After enough time passed, I was convinced my hunch had been right all along.  That began the Era of the Invisible Kid at Saint John's.

I wasn't the victim of any overt snobbery that I can remember. Yes, there were a couple kids who enjoyed keeping me in my place, but they were the exception.  I am not even sure their comments were meant to hurt.  A lot of what they said was usually some off the cuff remark that inadvertently managed to cut me into shreds (the Genetic Curse).  In their defense, I had a very thin skin.  Thanks to my feelings of inferiority, I could barely tolerate any kind of criticism.

No one was out to get me.  By and large the majority of the students could have cared less about me.  And why should they?  They had their own lives to lead and their own problems as well.  I mostly remember feeling ignored and left out.   

Slowly but surely I was becoming invisible.  People would talk with me right beside them.  That is how I would overhear conversations about parties I hadn't been invited to, wild tales about events at a family beach house, lavish summer vacations, and time spent with friends over at the River Oaks Country Club.  It wasn't much fun overhearing about all the great activities that I would never participate in, but I understand my place in the social order.  Sure I was envious, but I learned not to let it consume me.
 

Ninth Grade, 14.  The ordeal began one month after this picture was taken

Hopes and Dreams August of 1964 was a time of great optimism for me. I was about to enter the Ninth grade and begin my high school career at Saint John's.   In early August, I got the exciting news that I would be returning to Saint John's thanks to a last-minute full scholarship.  I was so happy I could barely see straight! This was the summer I set my sights on going out for the basketball team.  I had dedicated myself to improving my shooting and dribbling skills.  I was very pleased with my progress. I was very tall for my age. A summer growth spurt had helped me crossed the six foot threshold.  All summer long I spent hours on end at a nearby park practicing my skills while my dog Terry ran around the grounds exploring everything.  In the afternoon other boys would join me for games of two on two.  Thanks to my height and my constant practice, I was much better than they were.  I could not wait till basketball season began!  However my biggest goal was to start dating.  Many of my classmates had begun dating in the Eighth grade.  Oh how I envied them!  Up till now, I did not have enough confidence to hang with the girls at my school socially.  I knew that my social status was a real handicap.  I didn't belong in their league, but I figured they might overlook this if I made the basketball team.  Plus I had a secret weapon - I could dance a little.  There was a girl in my neighborhood who went to Lamar.  Jane had spent the summer teaching me how to dance.  Jane had a big crush on me.  She flattered me by telling me all summer long how cute I was.  I didn't know whether to believe her or not, but I was definitely starting to feel attractive.  I pegged the Ninth Grade as my chance to go to all those dance parties after the football games

If there was one word to describe me, that word would be "lonely".  Oh my goodness, I was lonely.  But this was finally my chance.  I was full of hope.  High school was all about gaining confidence.  The Ninth grade would definitely be the year I made my move. 

And just as quickly as one might snap their fingers, my hopes were gone.  Overnight, every single dream was shattered.

I would never have a girlfriend during my four years of high school.  I never had a single date.  For that matter, I can't even remember smiling at a girl from my school much less a single moment that could be described as flirting. 

I would never once play a single game of basketball for my school. 

What could have possibly gone wrong?
 

Basketball Season

It was now late October of my Freshman year.  I was so excited I could barely contain my emotions.  My big moment was here.  It was time to try out for the Freshman basketball team.

I had spent the past two months keeping the statistics for the varsity football team.  I had wanted to play football, but Coach Lee wouldn't let me participate.  He was afraid I would get hurt. 

The problem was that I was completely blind in my left eye. 

I had stupidly cut my eye out with a knife when I was five.  I had a piece of rope that I wanted to cut in half.  So I found a kitchen knife and took the rope out on the porch.  I started tugging on the rope with the sharp knife.  My mistake was pulling the knife towards me, not pushing the sharp edge away from my face like I should have. 

Hey, I was only five.  What does a five year old kid know about knife safety? 

My mother hollered from another room it was time to go.  Whatever you're doing, hurry it up.  No problem.  I was almost done.  Hearing the urgency in her voice, I decided to give the rope one last big tug.  The knife went right through the rope and kept on going.  The tip of the knife sliced right through my left eye.  It was a brutal accident.  There was no saving the eye.

A blind eye is a very dangerous problem in football.  There are players flying at you from all directions.  Even players with two eyes get blind-sided from time to time.  That's often how they end up with serious knee injuries or concussions. On the other hand, I was a tall, rangy kid.  They could have used me out there. 

Nevertheless, despite my obvious size, Coach Lee, the head football coach, did not want me to play football.  He was too concerned about my safety to take any chances. 

Nevertheless I begged Mr. Lee to let me play.  So in the Eighth Grade, he finally relented and allowed me to suit up.  Since all we did was split up and play each other, Mr. Lee figured he and the other coaches could monitor my situation closely.  They were willing to let me have a chance.  I suppose they were also curious to see if their instincts were correct. 

They played me at left defensive end.  This meant the entire playing field was to my right where I could see everything.

In one of the games, some kid hit me so hard from my blind side that he almost knocked me out.  He was a wide receiver who came back to block me on a running play.  He had no idea I was blind, so he leveled me. 

I laid there for a while with stars in my eyes.  Finally I got up and went to the bench.  Fortunately, I was okay.  I finished that game and the next one too, but that would be the end of my football career.  I never argued with my coaches again.  I would have been a sitting duck out there. 

Disappointed, I still wanted to participate in Mr. Lee's football program.  At his suggestion, for the next four years I served as the football team's statistician.

Okay, so football was out of the question.  What about basketball?

Basketball was different.  Basketball has its share of elbows and collisions, but it isn't nearly as dangerous.  I think I could have played high school basketball with one eye.   My limited vision was a definite handicap, but other than my problem running pick and rolls, I could have managed.
 

The Ordeal Begins

In two days, I would try out for the Freshman basketball team.

During October, I had developed a minor case of acne.  Unfortunately the problem wasn't going away. 

My mother didn't have enough money to pay a dermatologist for my minor skin problems, but she was growing impatient.  Mom couldn't stand the sight of pimples.  So one night she got out a sewing needle.  She would first poke each pimple with the needle, then begin to merrily pop it.  She would squeeze each pimple till it bled just to be certain no pus remained. 

A dozen pimples had just become victim to Mom's attack.  She viewed her work with great pride.

Well, thanks to Mom's bright idea, that night my lymph gland nodes got infected.  While I slept, the infection spread like wildfire.  During the night, pimples erupted everywhere on my face like volcanic explosions.  Massive lumps appeared where clear skin had existed the night before.  It was something out of a horror movie, except in my case it was not a nightmare.  This was a living hell. How I slept through the eruption I will never know.  However, the next morning, I woke up with my face burning in pain.  Why did my face feel so swollen?  I was having trouble moving my jaw.  I rushed to the mirror and screamed the bloody cry of the Banshee.  Overnight I had grown the face of a monster!  The swelling stretched the skin on my face so tight that I could barely open my jaw to speak.  This picture from The Fly is much closer to what I really looked like than I care to admit. Overnight, my face had ballooned to twice its size with hundreds of angry red pustules.  No, I am not making this up.  I still have plenty of facial scars to prove it.  This horrifying experience was something straight out of Kafka's Metamorphosis.  Gregor Samsa awakes one morning in his family's apartment to find himself   inexplicably transformed overnight into a gigantic insect....

My mother was certain the problem was just temporary, so I actually went to school looking like that!   I still shudder thinking about that day.  My was face bloated out of proportion to the size of a balloon.  I had pimples growing on top of pimples.  How I had the guts to show my face at school that day I will never know.  That may have been the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. 

I still remember the shame as if it were yesterday.  Walking around school with all those kids staring at me incredulously had ripped me to shreds with embarrassment.  Not only was I sick with disgust, I was deeply worried the problem wouldn't clear up soon. How could this happen to me?

The following day was my big chance.  Today I would try out for the Freshman basketball team.  I had worked all summer for this moment.  This day was so important to me.  In fact, after the horror of the day before, trying out for the team was the only reason important enough for me to force myself to return to school.

During a drill, a kid threw a basketball at me.  The kid thought he saw me looking at him when he threw it.  Unfortunately, the kid had no way to know he was throwing to the side of my blind eye.  I never saw the ball coming. The ball hit me full force on the side of my swollen face.  This was an accident of course, but the pain was searing!  

In fact, the pain was so intense, I couldn't stand up. I had to sit down on the floor to deal with it.  There on the floor I writhed in agony as the pus in my swollen, infected face burned for an eternity.  The pain would not go away!  It hurt so bad tears welled up in my eyes.  Everyone crowded around trying to understand why I was in so much pain.  How could they possibly know what was wrong?   I put my hands over my head so people could not see me cry.  I couldn't decide what hurt worse, my face or the humiliation. 

First my face was so full of pimples I couldn't stand to look at myself in a mirror.  Now I couldn't even play basketball thanks to this hideous curse.  I just wanted to die right there on the spot.  Humiliated, I left practice.  I did not have the courage to go back to basketball practice until this outbreak went away.

But the pimples would not go away.  I had a serious infection.  I mean a SERIOUS infection.

Desperate, that afternoon I called my father at work for help. I expected Dad to hem and haw like he always did, but to my surprise he immediately agreed to help. He had suffered acne in his youth as well.  I think he knew just what I was going through and felt sympathy.  He said his insurance would pay for 80% of my treatment under the care of a dermatologist.  Dad said he would go ahead and pick up the remainder of the tab. 

I had never felt so grateful to my father in my life. 

Unfortunately, the problem was far too gone for a quick cure. The dermatologist said I had one of the two or three worst cases he had ever seen.  He had no trouble convincing me.  It took six months of tetracycline and incalculable amounts of mental agony to get the inflammation under control.  Then it took another full year to completely clear my face. 

It would be 18 long months before I dared to go out into the world again.

During the time of the treatment, I lived my life in suspended animation.  I faded into the shadows at school out of shame and hid in my room at night.  I prayed for the day my face would clear and allow me to have fun again. 

There would be one more brutal surprise.   Once the pimples disappeared, I despaired when I realized my face was permanently pockmarked.  I couldn't stand to look at myself.  My face was ravaged worse than a cratered Moon landscape.  My face had become a series of peaks and valleys.  Indeed, the scarring was so bad I eventually had to undergo three dermabrasion operations to even come close to restoring my ravaged face to normalcy. 

My acne problem was described by my friend Mr. Curran as 'light years beyond the worst thing' he had ever seen in all his years of teaching.  My freshman and sophomore years became a living hell all because my mother didn't have the sense to leave my face alone in the first place. 

There no existing photos from the acne period to help explain the depths of my problem, but I can at least share a picture that illustrates the long term results of the struggle.  As the picture shows, even after the infection was halted, I was left with permanent scarring.  Here in the picture, my nose is badly cut.  So what is that all about?  Calm down... no one slugged me.  I cut my nose in an accident while playing pickup basketball with some other guys my age.   On the day this picture was taken, I ran right into a man's elbow on my blind side.  On a pick and roll, I set a pick, then moved to the basket at full throttle hoping for a pass in the lane.  With my head turned looking for the pass, I never saw a new defender move into my path to guard me.  I ran right into the man's elbow at full speed.  The heavy blow jammed my glasses deep into my nose to create the nasty gash.  It has been over forty years now, but to this day I still can't look at myself in the mirror for anything other than to comb my hair.  Forty years have passed, but the psychological scars are still there.  My acne ordeal was the single worst thing to ever happen to me.

I don't know if I can even begin to explain how I felt back in my Freshman year.  I know that I felt profound shame at my appearance.   Feeling more repulsive than words can explain, I withdrew deep into a shell at my school. 

I clung to hope that I could try again when the problem cleared up.  Six months later, I saw the scarring emerge.  My doctor reassured me a dermabrasion operation would help considerably.  So that gave some hope.  I waited till the summer between my Freshman and Sophomore years for my first operation.  To my disgust, it didn't work anywhere near to the extent I hoped it would.

The doctor offered to try again.  He felt sorry for me and even offered a discount.  So the Christmas of my Sophomore year we did another one.  Better, but the problem was still there.  He tried one more procedure over Spring Break, but that didn't turn the corner either.  I was game for another major operation, but now my father put his foot down.   He wasn't going to pay for another operation.  He told me to learn to live with it.

The despair was awful.  I had so much trouble coming to terms with the permanent damage to my face.  Even after three operations I still looked like a pock-marked gangster.  I was so scarred inside and out that any confidence I ever had about my attractiveness was permanently gone. 

Despite my intense loneliness, I decided any chance of ever asking a Saint John's girl out on a date was out of the question.  I was far too entrenched in my role as the Invisible Man with my classmates.  I decided I would have to wait till college to try again.

With no money, no confidence, and a face like Freddy Krueger of horror fame, I could not imagine where I could find the nerve to ask one of these socially polished girls out on a date when there were so many boys at my school who had looks, money, and confidence.  Why would a Saint John's girl want to date a leper?   It was out of the question.   With a heavy heart, I decided I would wait till college to try again.

From this point on, I contributed further to my sense of isolation by avoiding activities.  Unlike my gifted counterpart Katina Ballantyne, I never participated in sports, plays, yearbook, choir, or anything remotely extracurricular.  That's a shame because these activities would have helped solve my loneliness problem. 

I had been so full of hope at the start of my Freshman year.  Now I grew bitter.  I knew the acne had put a permanent end to all my hopes and dreams.  It had stopped me in my tracks at the exact moment I was about to make my move. 

At the time, I believed my life would never be the same.  Looking back, I was right.  I was literally scarred for life in every sense of the term.  But the worst part was certainly in high school.  High school became a time of great struggle.  I had some serious handicaps working against me. Deprived of my looks and my feelings of attractiveness, I lost all will to compete socially.   My broken home meant I had no support system and no encouragement.  Knowing I was the poor kid in school helped create strong feelings of inferiority.  My blind eye meant no sports outlet for my frustration and no friendship with teammates.  Finally my lack of participation in the social life of my peers led to my acute loneliness and feelings of not belonging.  I have always believed I could have coped with these problems if I had a normal face like other kids.  But the acne crushed me.  The acne made me feel like a diseased leper.  I assumed I could try again when the acne cleared, but the discovery of the permanent scarring removed all possible hope. Now I had no fight left in me.  I gave up and went into a shell for the rest of high school. I would never have a single date at St. John's.  I would never play a single moment of varsity basketball.  I would graduate as one of the most invisible, anonymous students to ever attend the school.  I have had a life full of devastating reversals, but the acne ordeal was the absolute worst. Ultimately the acne stripped me of all joy.  High School became a four year wasteland of unending misery.  I was so bitterly unhappy the entire time.