The Exodus Strategy

In the midst of my darkest moments during the acne ordeal, I gave up on my chances of ever developing a social life in high school.  I turned my thoughts to college as my time to make my move.  I developed elaborate fantasies about all the wonderful things I would do once I made it to college.  Romance with pretty coeds was first on my list.

As usual, my father was nowhere to be seen.  My father had deserted me when his second wife started giving him children.  My poor mother was worried about an upcoming hysterectomy.  She upset me with the news that we would be moving again soon.  This meant giving up the one single place I enjoyed living since the divorce.

Every time my loneliness became too hard to bear, I thought of Aunt Lynn and Uncle Dick who lived near Georgetown University.  I couldn't decide what I needed more, a family or a girlfriend.  I definitely needed a family in the worst possible way.  Not only had my Aunt and Uncle been unfailingly kind to me over the years, they had four children who I really liked.  Oh how I yearned to be part of an honest-to-God happy home.

The thought of escaping my own miserable home life and becoming a part of their family was a powerful magnet indeed.  My escape fantasies became very powerful.  During those miserable days of my acne-induced loneliness, these dreams represented the only hope I could cling to

I called it my Exodus Strategy.  Like the hope the Jewish slaves in Egypt held for their Promised Land, college would be my particular salvation.  Oh how I longed for the day...

Out of the Leper's Cave

It was now late in my Sophomore year. The worst part of the acne was finally over after 18 months of suffering. I had been locked deep inside a shell the entire time.  Unfortunately, now the permanent scarring with had taken the place of the acne.  The pimples were gone, but I was convinced I still looked repulsive. 

The psychological scars had left me crippled emotionally.  I had developed the awful habit of shying away any time a stranger or a fellow student looked directly at me. 

There was a heart-rending scene in the movie Ben Hur where the mother and sister refuse to come out of the cave lest Ben Hur see their hideous faces scarred by leprosy. That is exactly how I felt.  Given a choice, I would stayed in my cave. 

However, something happened in the latter part of the Tenth grade that really shook me up.  Late in my Sophomore year, my mother went for a long stretch without a job due to a hysterectomy.  Money became a real problem.  There were more than a few evenings when dinner was no more than a bowl of cereal. 

My mother's financial woes had a very serious effect on me.  This was the time when it dawned on me my parents would be no help whatsoever in paying for college. I figured the only way I was ever going to make it to college would be if I got an academic scholarship or if I paid for some state college myself. 

By chance, I had recently noticed an article in the newspaper regarding something known as the Jones Scholarship.  It was an annual award given by a local foundation to a leading Senior from each school to help with college.  Curious, I looked for Saint John's.  To my surprise, I recognized the name of the girl from my school who had won the award.  We had never talked, but I liked her because she always seem to have a smile.  Somehow "knowing" one of the recipients made this scholarship seem more real, more attainable.  Hmm.  Very interesting.  I decided I wanted to win that award when I was a Senior. That would definitely help me pay for college. 

So that is how winning the Jones Scholarship became a major key in my college dream.  This was the first time that I realized that good grades could be the vehicle to get me to college.  Don't get me wrong. I had known the same thing since practically the Fourth grade.  But this was the moment when I fully realized that my grades would be my best ticket out of town. 

The quest for good grades became practically the entire focus of my life.  Since I had absolutely nothing else going for me, I began to study with the same intensity that a drowning man grasps for a lifeline.

Unfortunately, I was practical enough had to admit getting a scholarship was something I had no control over other than continue to study hard.  My insecurity about getting a scholarship led to a fateful decision.  One night as I ate my Wheaties for dinner, I figured I was nuts if depended on my mother for college funds.  I better get a job now and start saving money before it was too late.

That article about the Jones Scholarship had really awakened me.  If I wanted to go to college, I had better start now.  That was the incentive I needed to overcome my phobia about my ravaged face.  It became one of those "lesser of two evils" situations - I was so desperate to go to college that I was able to force myself out into the public eye in order to find a job. 

In March 1966 I applied for a job sacking groceries at a neighborhood store. 

Weingarten's Grocery Store

Weingarten's on Alabama at Dunlavy was the only place I applied.  That's about all the courage I had.

What I haven't mentioned was that this was the same store where I had once been caught shop-lifting.

In 1963, I was in the Eighth Grade.  I was already feeling like the world was unfair to me.  So that meant I was entitled to something for nothing.  When no one was looking, I would stuff candy bars in my pocket. 

One day a plain clothes cop grabbed me by the collar and hauled me into a room in the back of the store.  He wrote a report and chewed me out upside down.  He threatened me with jail downtown, reform school, the works.  I kid you not, he scared the bejeezus out of me.  I was shaking like a leaf.

When the manager walked in, he recognized me immediately.  Oh no. Not Mr. Griffey.  I was so ashamed!  My mother worshipped Mr. Griffey.  Mom had bounced a check or two over the years.  Mr. Griffey had patiently worked with her.  Mom always found a way to catch up on her debts.  For his kindness and patience, I understood quite clearly why Mom liked him very much.  I guess Mr. Griffey took care of her the same way Saint John's took care of me.  The mother bounces checks and the kid gets caught stealing.  Weren't we a pair? 

Now as I stood there in the stockroom, Mr. Griffey told me he wasn't going to press charges.  In his gentle way, he asked me not to repeat this again.  In addition, he wanted me to tell my mother what I had done.  Furthermore, he wanted her to come speak to him the next time she in was the store.  Chastened, I promised to do what he said. 

My mother had a fit.  She could not believe I had done this to Mr. Griffey, the man who was practically a saint to her.  How could I do something this dumb!?

Two years later when I applied for my job, I have no doubt that Mr. Griffey remembered this incident.  He had to know he was taking a big chance on me.  This was the same kid who had been caught red-handed stealing from his store! 

I never really expected Mr. Griffey to hire me.  He knew I was smart and went to a good school, but he also had first-hand knowledge I was a problem kid. 

One month after my application, Mr. Griffey saw my mother and I as we were shopping in his store.  He asked me if I was still interested in the job.  Sure!  He asked if I could start tomorrow.  Sure!

My first day at work was a Saturday.  They had a big special.  Customers could buy 4 boxes of strawberries for a dollar.  This was a big draw for the store, but as I learned, it was also a huge project.  Mr. Griffey sent me back to the cooler to help.  As I walked back, I noticed the store was a madhouse in the fruit and produce section.  I was astonished at how popular this sale was.

When I walked into the cooler, I gasped.  There was an entire mountain of containers full of strawberries.  It became my job to transfer strawberries from these large containers into the smaller cartons that the customers bought. 

I did this over and over for nine hours with just a couple of short breaks in between.  I was supposed to have a half hour for lunch, but my supervisor told me we were too busy. So just go eat something and come back fast. 

I detested this job. I worked alone with no one to talk to. I have never been so bored in my life.  In addition, I thought this was going to be what I did every week.  I hadn't bargained for this nonsense.  Angry at my fate, I decided to give myself a bonus.  I deliberately ate the biggest strawberry from each batch.  By the end of the day, I was so sick of strawberries that to this day I still avoid them.  Serves me right.

I was ready to quit at the end of the day.  By chance, Mr. Griffey saw me as I was about to walk out the door in disgust.  He beckoned for me to come over. "Young man, your supervisor said you did a very good job today.  You stayed with it.  Good for you.  When you come back next Saturday, you can start sacking groceries."

Huh.  How about that?  This had been an "emergency duty" of sorts. I had not known that.  Mr. Griffey knew full well this was a thankless task, but he wanted to see how I handled it. Without my knowledge, Mr. Griffey had told the supervisor to keep a close eye on me.  As bored as I was, I had continued to do the work without any need for someone to keep me focused.  I had my St. John's discipline to thank for that.  Apparently I had unwittingly passed a test.  Mr. Griffey not only wanted me back, he had given me a pat on the back.

His kindness went straight to the puppy dog in me.  Still feeling guilty over stealing the candy a few years back, I vowed not to let him down.  I became an extremely reliable, conscientious employee.

I would go on to work at the store for two and a half years, April 1966 through August 1968. During the school year, I worked three days a week after school and every Saturday.  I worked full-time in the summers. 

I would have never guessed it at the time, but that job became a life-changing experience.  St. John's had once been my sanctuary, but now it had become my battleground.  To my surprise, the grocery store became my sanctuary instead. It was the only place I was happy. 

Right from the start, I noticed an opportunity to form a new identity.  On my second day of work at the store, I was handed a temporary name badge.  My new supervisor said I would get a permanent one next week. He asked me what I wanted to be called.  I stared at the name badge for a moment.  Then I looked up and said, "Rick Archer".

I had been "Dick Archer" for the first 16 years of my life.  I hated the name "Dick".  I decided I would become "Rick Archer" at Weingarten's.  It was a powerful symbolic moment for me. 

I suppose I could have tried to change my name at school, but it wasn't worth the effort.  I was sure I would be endlessly teased.  Why bother?  So that day marked the start of my double life.  I was "Dick" at Saint John's, I was "Rick" everywhere else.

The change was instantaneous.  Suddenly I had hope again.

While I remained a scared, deeply introverted loner at school, to my absolute shock and considerable joy, the customers at my grocery store really liked me.  Over time, the grocery store job helped me come out of my shell and reconnect with the world.  I would come to consider this job nothing less than a life-saving miracle.

The miracle began the moment I learned that by being nice to people, I could earn dimes and quarters in tips. 

I made $1.25 an hour base salary to sack groceries.  After I sacked a customer's groceries, I would haul them to people's cars.  On my first day, someone handed me a quarter.  I had no idea what this was about, but a quick question back inside to one of the other sackers cleared up the mystery.  Wow!  This was a part of the job I had not known about when I had applied.

It took me a while, but in time I was able to use my tips to double my salary to about $2.50 an hour.

You have no idea how important those quarters were for me.  They actually gave me a reason to develop a personality! 

It was just like training Pavlov's dog... wag your tail for the customers, get a tip.  Worked like a charm.  I learned how to wag my tail.

When I started at Weingarten's, only recently the pimples had gone away, but they had been replaced by deep ugly scars. I still believed I looked repulsive, but to my surprise no one at the store seemed disgusted by my face.  Once I discovered I could be liked by the other workers and the customers in spite of my appearance, it did wonders for my shattered confidence.  An immense wave of relief began to take hold.

Maybe someday my life could return to normal.  Maybe someday I could date girls.  Wouldn't that be nice!

It was too late at St. John's.  For the past seven years, I had slowly but surely carved out a specific niche at Saint John's as the resident nobody.  Each year I attended I felt a little bit more invisible with my fellow classmates.  But here at the store I felt appreciated.  I even got a smile from a pretty girl from time to time.  In fact, if I ever developed a personality, there might be some hope after all.

I made another wonderful discovery.  I learned that my St. John's-acquired skills of politeness and respect were much appreciated by the adults I came into contact with.  They were pleasantly surprised at how well I expressed myself and told me so.  In a way, it was something of a treat for these adults to see a teenager act with such poise.  My St. John's training had definitely taught me manners.  It also taught me how to show respect for adults. 

From comments made to me, I realized I had an excellent vocabulary.  I also had a more extensive range of knowledge than most people were used to seeing in a kid.  They seemed surprised at the different topics I was familiar with. People were always commenting on how intelligent I seemed to be.  I thought I was smart, but I had spent my entire life around people just as smart.  Till now I had taken it for granted that the whole world was smart.  This was the first time I had ever noticed that my education set me apart.

Considering how low my self-esteem had been at the start of this job, imagine how I cherished these compliments.  Not only did I begin to feel special, this was the first time in my life that I realized just how valuable my Saint John's training was.  That recognition helped me gain a whole new appreciation for my school. 

Every day I learned the value of courtesy.  As silly as it sounds, over time I developed a clientele.  I discovered that good manners were a powerful asset in my profession.  I learned to engage each customer in conversation as we walked to their car.  As the customers got to know me, I became somewhat popular.  People remembered me and would seek me out to sack their groceries. 

One day out of nowhere I made a funny comment while I was bagging the groceries.  The customer grinned, but Gwen, the checker lady, stared at me in shock.  When I came back, I asked Gwen what the big deal was.

Gwen shook her head. "Rick, you are the most serious person I have ever met.  I never knew you had a sense of humor.  All I ever hear from you is sarcasm."

I took that comment to heart.  From that point on, I made an effort to say something light-hearted and friendly if I could actually think of something.  Once I noticed the tips improve, I concluded Gwen was right.  I was too serious.  I started watching how the other boys would tease with the customers.  Aha, so how that's how it's done. It wasn't easy at first, but eventually I began to acquire the fine art of BSing with the customers.  My goodness, now I was even developing a personality.  Those dimes and quarters meant a lot more to me than just 'money'.  Thanks to my acne ordeal, I had been in the shadows from October 1964 till April 1966.  Out of the shame I felt, I kept my contact with other people to a minimum.  When I wasn't in school, I hid in my room at home. These dimes and quarters were my salvation.  The tip money had given me a reason to come out of my shell and talk to people.   This job became a form of therapy.  The more I talked to these adults, the more they liked me.  My pock-marked face didn't seem to bother them at all.  Slowly but surely, one tip at a time, I found the courage to re-enter the human race.  This job helped me gain some much-needed confidence. I always say high school was four long years of misery.  However, now that I think back, I guess my Junior year wasn't so bad.  That was the year I truly came out of my shell.  I saw this job as a blessing.  My after-school job at the grocery store became the one bright spot in my vast sea of high school darkness. This job had brought me back to the Land of the Living.

Turning Point

The job at Weingarten's marked a definite turning point in my life.

By the end of the summer before my Junior year, I had made enough money to buy an inexpensive VW Bug.  That car gave me a sense of independence that meant the world to me.  It also allowed me to put another wedge in my constantly eroding relationship with my mother.  

I already had my own source of money.  Now I could come and go as I pleased.  This allowed me to continue to distance myself from her.  During my Junior year, Mom and I lived in the same house, but we left each other alone. 

From my Junior year on, I only saw my mother briefly each day.  In the afternoon I was at work or out playing pickup basketball.  I began eating some of my meals at the grocery store.  Half the time when I got home at night, my mother was out chasing men.  And if she was at home, I said hi and went in my room to begin my homework.  Maybe we saw each other for a few minutes in the morning.  I think Mom got the picture.  She began to develop a life of her own as well.  Things were relatively peaceful between us for the entire year.

I had long blamed my mother for the knife incident that cost me my left eye.  However, the blind eye didn't cause me nearly the problems that the acne did.  Mom's role in creating the acne incident was something I could never forgive her for.  I blamed for turning me into a freak show.  The horror of the prolonged acne struggle plus the constant poverty had taken its toll on our relationship. 

In addition, now that I was out of my shell, I developed a full-blown case of teenage rebellion.  For a while there, I was arguing constantly with my mother.  I refused to allow her to discipline me. 

A wall had been forming between us for years now, but this arguing was the final straw.

I began completely defiant.  Mom could ask me to do something, but she couldn't tell me to do something. 

Sometimes in these situations the parent might point to the door.  Fortunately, it didn't come to that.  Mom wasn't by nature a fighter anyway, so she gave up trying to tell me what to do.  If I wanted to run my own life, so be it.  It was easier just to let me do what I wanted to do.  This marked the end of our traditional Mother-Son relationship. 

As a result, from the start of my Junior year till the end of my Senior year, I functioned completely on my own.  I no longer had any parental supervision whatsoever.  None.  My mother didn't keep an eye on me and my mother didn't tell me what to do. 

The only thing I depended on my mother for was to pay the rent using my father's child support money, pay the monthly food and book bill from school, do my laundry, and keep the kitchen stocked with Wheaties, hot dogs and peanut butter. 

Other than sharing an occasional meal on the weekend, that was about the extent of our relationship for my final two years in high school.  We lived separate lives in the same home.

I say these things with a real lump in my throat.  Nevertheless, it is what it is. My home had become little more than a boarding house.  I was on my own now.

 

Alienation

The grocery store job marked another turning point in my life. It accelerated my gradual withdrawal at my school.  Saint John's had once been my sanctuary, my lifeline.  On the other hand, thanks to the unavoidable Rich Man Poor Man paradox, I knew I had always been a little out of place from the very start.   

Fortunately I had fit in well enough through the Eighth grade.  Then, starting in my Freshman year, I looked to completely integrate myself into the Saint John's community through sports and begin dating.  However the acne ordeal stopped me cold.  

From that point on, thanks to fact I firmly believed I looked like Freddy Krueger, like a turtle I retreated into a deep shell.  Unfortunately I never came out of that shell after the problem eased up.  My classmates had always been ahead of me socially to begin with.  Now this disease had cost me two full years.  That meant my classmates were even further ahead of me.  The gap seemed insurmountable.

What was the use of trying to catch up and begin dating looking the way I did? 

Consequently I spent all four years of high school on the outside looking in.

Had the grocery store job not come along, perhaps I would have come out of my shell at school.  But once I developed some superficial friendships at the grocery store, I became less dependent on my school for companionship. 

That is when I began to lead my strange dual life.  At the grocery store I was "Rick", a haunted but friendly enough boy with lots of rough edges.  At school I was "Dick", always sullen and silent except for classroom discussions.

Although I was a loner at school, I wasn't a complete hermit.  I had four friends - Walter, Frank, Dave and David.  Thanks to our long lunch hour, we had plenty of time to play chess or pickup basketball at lunchtime every day.  However, other than those four boys, I was practically invisible to the rest of the students.

If it wasn't for my dog Terry at home, the four boys plus concerned teachers like Mr. Curran and Mr. Weems, I think I would have gone off the deep end.  They formed my entire support system.

Unfortunately, I couldn't tell those four boys about the pain of the acne and the loneliness.  That stuff was far too sensitive to tell anyone.

Instead I kept my deepest fears bottled up inside.  With no parent or close friend to talk to on a daily basis, I brooded all the time about the things that bothered me. 

Unfortunately, the loneliness ate at me like an acid on the soul.  I grew more bitter at my fate by the day.  I was such an angry kid!  You would assume with so much pent-up anger, I would get into fights. Surprisingly, that was not the case. 

I got into only one fight during high school.  However that one fight was a real doozy. 

Some jerk had the nerve to needle me about my face.  One can assume I was unusually sensitive on this issue.

One day in my Sophomore year during the acne ordeal, a freshman decided to ridicule me.  As I walked off the track at the end of my physical education class, I overheard a kid bring up the subject of "the Clearasil Kid" to his two buddies.  "Hey, there's the Clearasil Kid! Oh baby, you can use all the cream in the world, but nothing's going to help that problem!" 

Oh, did I bristle!  I was instantly seething with anger.  The three boys were right behind me.  I knew this kid had meant for me to hear that taunt.  He was feeling cocky because he knew I wouldn't dream of taking on three boys.  Their derisive laughter was cutting.  But I said nothing. 

I didn't want to give the three boys the satisfaction of knowing how badly they had upset me.  So I just kept walking.  Meanwhile I was burning with embarrassment and crimson shame.  I am pretty sure a tinge of hatred was mixed in with that.  I wanted to pay this kid back in the worst way.

When that same boy started up AGAIN with more taunts in the shower, I snapped.  I could not have cared less that we were both stark naked.  I walked over and clapped my hands against his ears to stun him.  Then I hit him full force in the throat of all places with my fist.  For good measure I kneed him hard in the face as he crumbled.  The boy collapsed in agony on the wet floor with his shower raining water down upon him. 

I watched him writhing there in so much pain that I knew he wasn't getting back up. I decided he got the point.  I didn't stick around.  I just turned, grabbed my towel and walked away. 

I was pretty shaken.  This was the most serious fight I had ever been in.  I wondered what the consequences would be.  My over-riding concern was that other boys would begin challenging me to fight.  That really worried me because I had no experience at fighting.  Without the element of surprise, I might not be so lucky the next time.

Back in those days, I either rode the bus home or rode my bike depending on the weather.  Shortly after the fight, I passed a garage sale while I was riding my bike home.  I noticed a set of weights for sale.  They were cheap enough that I could pay for them myself.  With the recent fight on my mind, I assumed I would be getting into more fights.  Maybe it was time to bulk up.  So I went home and got some money. 

It took three trips to haul those weights home using a bicycle, but I was determined to begin this new project TODAY.  From that point on, lifting weights became my daily afternoon ritual.  Trust me, I had lots of time on my hands, lots of frustration to work off, plus the added motivation that I could be attacked again at any time.  I put some real effort into that weight lifting. 

Almost immediately, I began to fill out.  Already one of the tallest boys in the school, I soon became one of the strongest as well.

No one at my school ever bothered me again.  Although this fight was the only time I ever lost my temper in high school, that one incident may have been all it took. I never heard another word about it.  However, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that someone said something.  I definitely got the impression that people who didn't know me began to give me a wide berth. 

Of course, it might have been my face... who knows?  Between my ever-present acne scars, my brooding countenance, and broad shoulders, I began to resemble a miniature Hulk.  How odd it was that inside I felt small and weak, but to the world I presented a very powerful young man.  Too bad I didn't feel powerful. 

"Don't tread on me."  That attitude might explain why everyone my age at school gave me a wide berth.

Looking back, it is a good thing they did leave me alone.  I had the world's biggest chip on my shoulder.  I didn't take my anger out on anybody, but inside I was tense, worried and bitter.  From my sophomore year on, I was a walking powder keg.  If someone had rubbed me the wrong way with some more choice words about my face, I might have gone ballistic.  Fortunately, no one ever bothered me again.  No taunting, no nothing.  I didn't have an enemy of any sort at Saint John's.  Most students were cordial and the rest just ignored me and let me go my own way.

Over time, a sad thing happened.  It began to really bother me that no one paid attention to me.  Unfortunately, I was not the most self-aware kid in the world.  It never quite occurred to me that by pushing people away, they start to leave you alone.

As my sense of alienation increased year by year, I never quite figured out that I was largely responsible for my own problem.  All I knew was my fellow students sure ignored me a lot.  I would sit in the Senior Room listening to all the conversations between my classmates, but I never participated. 

I would sit on a couch watching the friendly banter and think to myself, "I am here in this room every day, but no one notices!  Why don't they ever tell their jokes to me? Why don't they talk to me or ask me what I think?"

Lonely man cries for love, but has none.  Either I was disguised as one of the furniture or I had become the Invisible Man.

Long ago I had retreated into the thick shell that kept people at arm's length. I had come out of that shell at Weingarten's, but here at St. John's I had never bothered to try.  I felt too inferior and too ugly to draw any attention to myself. 

I had become my own worst enemy, but I was far too lost in my self-pity to see that.  It was much easier to blame my classmates for deliberately avoiding me.

Modern day readers might wonder if I was "Columbine Crazy."  I can certainly see the parallels.  Loneliness, alienation, bitterness.

Rest assured I never once dreamed of hurting anyone.  No sick fantasies ever crossed my mind.  I wasn't a "bad kid", just a lonely one.  My anger was deep, but it wasn't directed at anyone at Saint John's.  The difference between those monsters at Columbine and my situation at Saint John's was completely different.  I loved my teachers at Saint John's.  I just hated my life, that's all.

I was starved for attention.  I was an only child with no relatives in the area and few friends.  I didn't have a father and I had fought with my mother so much we stopped speaking. What I really needed more than anything else in the world was someone to pat me on my back and appreciate me for how hard I was working. 

My lack of a support system really cost me in my Senior year.  There was a point where I was so worried about how I would pay for college that I came dangerously close to cracking up.  I became so tense and bitter that I nearly ruined my entire future.