"Women seem wicked when you're unwanted, Faces look ugly when you're alone."  -- The Doors, People are Strange

Following my father's betrayal, I was convinced the whole world hated me.  I told no one what my father had done, not even my friend David.  I walled myself off from the world.  Lacking a way to release the pressure of my college dilemma, my bitterness increased daily.  I was tormented with the thought that while my classmates went to bed dreaming of fraternities and sororities, I expected to be sacking groceries at this time next school year.

I hated myself, I hated my father, I hated my mother, I hated everyone.  Everyone but me had parents ready to ensure their college education.  This thought caused endless torment.  My father's broken promise was bad enough, but the knowledge that I meant so little to him hurt even more.  I brooded day and night over my miserable fate.  They say Depression is caused by anger turned inward.  That's probably true.  Unable to express my rage towards my father, my mind became twisted badly out of shape. 

Despite my attraction to Nietzsche, in my opinion, this was not "Language", this was "Literature".  For that reason I saw no need to memorize it.  That's what encyclopedias are for.  If they wanted to test us, better to have us write an essay in German about one of the men.  Bitter at the world, at the moment I could not force myself to memorize stuff I considered unimportant.  Why?  I was so out of control that my vaunted self-discipline had seemingly disintegrated.  My father's broken promise was beyond painful, but it was just the tip of the iceberg.  The animosity I felt towards my mother over her ill-advised decision to turn the house into Little Mexico had robbed me of all remaining patience.  I was worried about college, I wasn't sleeping well, I didn't have an appetite, my dog had been hurt and the constant mayhem at home was driving me insane.  It was impossible to study over the loud music and shouting voices.  Nor did it help that I had to listen to squeaking beds and moans of passion in the middle of the night.  I worried how Terry was treated when I wasn't home.  Lately he had taken to sleeping under my bed, not a good sign.  Both of us were trying to hide from the world.  There were days when I did not want to get out of bed till the world told me it was sorry.  Hmm.  Good luck getting an apology.

They say overwhelming frustration causes self-destructive behavior.  No argument from me.  All that anger has to go somewhere.  If you can't hurt the person you are mad at, you hurt yourself instead.  The stress I felt was so oppressive, I snapped.  I decided the world had been unfair to me.  Consequently, the injustice gave me the right to do whatever I wanted.  Feeling entitled, I gave into my feelings of being victimized and decided to cheat on the Literature section of my German test.

"I, Rick Archer, hereby declare I am entitled to skip memorizing stupid stuff I will never need later in life."

Which of course is true.  A knowledge of German literature has yet to come in handy.  But that is neither here nor there.  Fairly certain I would be allowed to take the test in privacy, if I cheated, there would be no consequences.  No one would be hurt, so why not?  I did not care that no one would ever hear my protest.  I would do this for no other reason than to be perverse.

As expected, during German class on Tuesday morning, Mrs. Anderson told me to meet her this afternoon in this same room during Study Hall time.  I liked Mrs. Anderson.  Always cheerful and very complimentary of my work, she was one of the many fine teachers who went out of their way to offer support.  I knew Mrs. Anderson liked me.  As well she should.  I worked hard in her class and gave her infinite respect.  This is why she trusted me.  Hmm.  Did I really want to do this?  Probably not, but I was going to do it anyway.

At lunch time, I decided to cover my bet.  What if Mrs. Anderson changed her mind and asked me to take the test in Study Hall instead?  I would not dream of cheating in Study Hall with all those prying eyes.  My scheme depended on being totally alone in our German classroom.  Just in case, I briefly studied the information anyway.  As a result, I knew enough to get most of it right without cheating.  As it turned out, I made 95 on the test.  Had I not cheated, I would have made a 90.  In other words, this elaborate farce was worth 5 points.  But making a better grade was not the objective.  I was cheating as a form of protest, a chance to thumb my nose at a cruel world.  Besides, there was no way on earth I would ever be caught, so who cares what I do.  This was my own private ceremony.  And what did I hope to accomplish?  Who knows.  All I can say is that I was deeply disturbed.

When I got to the classroom at 2:30 pm, Mrs. Anderson was waiting.  Handing the test to me, she said, "When you're done, just slide it under my office door."  Then she left the room.  Convinced she would not return, I decided to go through with my protest.  I sat alone behind a windowless closed door.  Our classroom was located upstairs in the most remote corner of the school.  Lacking a hallway, there was no passing traffic to worry about.  Nor would anyone visit the room at such a late hour.  Mrs. Anderson indicated she wasn't coming back, so I had nothing to worry about.  Besides, in the unlikely event someone came up the noisy wooden stairs, I was certain to hear them approach.

20 seconds after I opened my book, a classmate named Bob Franklin threw open the door and burst in.  No warning, no knock.  Bob took three steps into the room, then froze the moment he saw me. 

Oh my God, what is Bob doing here!?!  And why didn't I hear him coming?  Had I heard Bob coming up the stairs or if he had knocked before entering, I could have shut my textbook in a flash.  No such luck.  His sudden entry caught me red-handed.  However, I might still wiggle out of this.  Although my book was wide open, maybe he wouldn't notice.  Or maybe he would assume I was doing homework.

By his startled expression, I could tell Bob had no idea I was in the room.  Embarrassed at interrupting me, Bob apologized.

"Rick, I am so sorry to barge in like this!  I'm sorry I didn't knock.  I didn't know you were in here." 

"Uh, it's okay," I stammered.  "What are you doing here?"

"I was in Study Hall with German homework, but I couldn't find my book.  The last place I saw my book was in this room during German class earlier today." 

Wouldn't you know it, I was sitting next to the desk where Bob was headed.  A quick glance revealed his missing book nestled in the storage space below.  Now I was in real trouble.  Well aware his path would take him right past my desk, I panicked and closed my book.  Dumb move.  With his eyes drawn by my suspicious action, Bob made sure to look down.  When he saw the test on my desk plus the tell-tale textbook, his expression changed in a flash.  Based on his puzzled look, Bob was not sure what he had seen, but he could tell it did not look right.  Bob did not say another word.  He grabbed his missing book, turned his back and abruptly left the room.  I sat there stunned.  I did not know if Bob would report me, but I did not like the look on his face as he departed.

Oh my God, what have I done?  And how could I have ever been so stupid?

20 seconds after I opened my book, a classmate named Bob Franklin threw open the door and burst in.  No warning, no knock.  Bob took three steps into the room, then froze the moment he saw me. 

Oh my God, what is Bob doing here!?!  And why didn't I hear him coming?  Had I heard Bob coming up the stairs or if he had knocked before entering, I could have shut my textbook in a flash.  No such luck.  His sudden entry caught me red-handed.  However, I might still wiggle out of this.  Although my book was wide open, maybe he wouldn't notice.  Or maybe he would assume I was doing homework.

By his startled expression, I could tell Bob had no idea I was in the room.  Embarrassed at interrupting me, Bob apologized.

"Rick, I am so sorry to barge in like this!  I'm sorry I didn't knock.  I didn't know you were in here." 

"Uh, it's okay," I stammered.  "What are you doing here?"

"I was in Study Hall with German homework, but I couldn't find my book.  The last place I saw my book was in this room during German class earlier today." 

Wouldn't you know it, I was sitting next to the desk where Bob was headed.  A quick glance revealed his missing book nestled in the storage space below.  Now I was in real trouble.  Well aware his path would take him right past my desk, I panicked and closed my book.  Dumb move.  With his eyes drawn by my suspicious action, Bob made sure to look down.  When he saw the test on my desk plus the tell-tale textbook, his expression changed in a flash.  Based on his puzzled look, Bob was not sure what he had seen, but he could tell it did not look right.  Bob did not say another word.  He grabbed his missing book, turned his back and abruptly left the room.  I sat there stunned.  I did not know if Bob would report me, but I did not like the look on his face as he departed.

Oh my God, what have I done?  And how could I have ever been so stupid?

So much for Faith and Virtue, our school motto.  My Virtue was in short supply today.  St. John's had drilled the importance of the Honor Code into my mind the moment I entered the school nine years ago.  I knew for a fact they enforced this code seriously.  There had once been a star athlete who cheated on an exam and had been expelled.  Given that I had committed a serious violation of the SJS Honor Code, I expected to pay a very severe price if Bob turned me in.

It was not just the penalty that I feared, it was the look on Mr. Salls' face when he learned what I had done.  There was not a single person in this school whose respect was more important to me.  In a manner similar to Mrs. Ballantyne, the woman I admired so much, I had been powerfully drawn to Mr. Salls from the moment I first met him in my Freshman year of high school.  I would not call Mr. Salls a father figure.  He was too remote for that.  However he was definitely my favorite person to analyze.  A brilliant teacher who carried himself with dignity reminiscent of an army general, my respect for him was off the charts.  However, Mr. Salls also had a reputation as a strict disciplinarian.  Now that he was Headmaster, I had no reason to expect leniency.

Oddly enough, I was more concerned over the Supernatural overtones than my inevitable punishment.  It is said that a purpose of Suffering is to draw people closer to God.  I could certainly believe that.  Yes, of course I feared the wrath of Mr. Salls.  But what about the Wrath of God?  I could not think of a single "Realistic" explanation for the split-second timing necessary for Bob to catch me.  To me, it was Divine Intervention.

Bob's uncanny timing could not possibly have been more perfectly orchestrated.  I assumed Bob had been doing his homework in Study Hall.  Unable to find his German textbook, he checked out of Study Hall to retrieve it in his locker.  Unable to find it there, he decided to try our classroom.  Each period was 45 minutes long.  Bob had at most a one-minute opportunity to catch me.  So I suppose that gave him a one-in-45 minute chance.  But that was not the only curious detail.  Why would he forget his book TODAY?  Why didn't he notice it was missing earlier?  Why did he burst in rather than walk in like a normal person?  Why didn't I hear him stomping up the stairs?  After I added up all the reasons why this should not have happened, I concluded my calamitous downfall was a near-impossible event given the laws of probability. 

That left only one answer.  I decided Bob had been guided by the Hidden Hand of God.  Deeply suspicious God had intended to teach me a painful lesson, I was in awe at the possibility I had just witnessed a case of Divine Intervention.  Full of goosebumps, I sat there in futile exasperation.  This was way too weird for an 18-year-old boy to handle. 

Starting with the curse on Adam and Eve for disobedience, I knew the Bible was full of stories where God had punished evil doers.  But why me?  It was not like I had hurt someone.  I was an insignificant kid guilty of nothing more than a serious case of poor judgment.  Yes, I had made a mistake, but it was not like I was hurting anyone.  It was incredible to consider the possibility that I was being punished by none other than God Himself.  Well aware of the metaphysical implications, I took a closer look at the circumstances. 

I had been completely alone in an upstairs room in the furthest, most distant corner of the school.  There was at most a narrow one minute window for someone to catch me.  No one but Mrs. Anderson knew I was in there and she didn't care.  But maybe I was wrong.  If so, did Mrs. Anderson send Bob to check on me?  No way.  The look of surprise on Bob's face when he walked in was genuine.  So was his apology for barging in.  Furthermore, why would I be under suspicion?  I was an Honor student.  German was my best subject.  Since I had never cheated before, why go to special lengths to catch me now?

Besides, even if I was under suspicion, why would a teacher recruit a student to do the dirty work?  More likely Mrs. Anderson would have walked in unannounced to survey the situation.  Or better yet, if she was suspicious, all she had to do was insist I take the test in Study Hall.  Furthermore, how would Bob know when to bust in?  The door was closed.  This second story room had windows, but someone would need a ladder.  This was ridiculous.  Why would anyone feel the need to conduct surveillance?  I was just being paranoid.

Given that no one could see into the room, how would someone guess what would be the best time to enter?  Should Bob come in at the 10 minute mark?  Or the 20-minute mark?  How would Bob know which of those 45 minutes to make his move?  If he guessed wrong, I would never have been caught.  Furthermore, why didn't I hear Bob coming?  I certainly had no trouble hearing his stomping footsteps when he left.  Given how he barged into the room, Bob was in a hurry.  So how did he manage to race up those rickety steps in total silence?  Why would he tiptoe? 

Ultimately this event violated my sense of the Material World so badly that I became deeply suspicious.  After a considerable amount of thought, I concluded this was either the most freakish coincidence of all time or it was an extraordinary Supernatural Event. 

As I feared, Bob did turn me in.  No surprise there.  I deserved it.  Moreover I would have done the same thing had the situation been reversed.  But here's what makes this story even stranger.  I was never punished.  That in itself is crazy.  Caught red-handed, there could be no doubt I was guilty.   Well aware what I had done was wrong, I was ready to accept whatever punishment Mr. Salls saw fit to deliver.  However, apparently he chose to spare me.  The following day Dunham Jewett tracked me down in the hallway.  Dunham was Head Prefect of the Student Council. 

"Rick, there was an odd incident yesterday I have been asked to speak to you about.  You were seen with an open book while taking a German test.  I know how good you are at German.  In fact, I consider you such a great student that I cannot imagine someone of your TALENT would need to cheat.  Don't worry.  You may consider the matter closed."

Dunham patted me lightly on my shoulder, then walked away without another word.  Obviously he preferred not to discuss the matter further.  It was over in 20 seconds.  Paralyzed with shock, I fixated on the way Dunham had stressed the word 'Imagine'.   He made it sound like it was inconceivable to suppose I had cheated.  That was a very curious conclusion considering Bob had gotten a good look at my test right next to a book that had been suspiciously closed at the worst possible time.  My mouth fell open at the sheer audacity of Dunham's approach.  He did not accuse me of cheating.  Nor did he ask if I had cheated, a question that would have really put me on the spot.  Instead Dunham had complimented me!  In his opinion, I was too smart to even bother considering the thought.  Since when?

I scratched my head in confusion.  What in the world is going on here?  After careful thought, I decided Dunham had acted on orders from Mr. Salls.  I based this on something Mr. Salls had said back in September during his aggressive attempt to interest me in applying to Johns Hopkins.

"Johns Hopkins University is on par academically with Rice University.  For that matter, Hopkins is just one notch below the Ivy League schools.  In my opinion, Johns Hopkins is a perfect fit for a student of your TALENT."

My "TALENT"...  Hmm.  Due to the curious wording, I assumed Dunham had been coached by Mr. Salls.  That made sense.  Only the Headmaster had the authority to let me off the hook.  Although I was relieved to escape punishment, that did not mean the guilt went away.  The shame was unbearable.  Mr. Salls had been lenient, but surely in the privacy of his own thoughts I had deeply offended him.  My Headmaster was a stern man well known as a disciplinarian.  Painfully aware of other students who had been suspended or expelled, I did not understand why he had spared me.  Over the past three years, I had been one of the hardest-working students in his German class.  I did this specifically because I wanted so much to earn his respect.  Now in an act of blinding stupidity, I had surely lost that hard-earned respect.  The stigma was unbearable.  The guilt from letting this esteemed man down was so excruciating, I desperately wanted to knock on his office door, fall on my knees and beg his forgiveness.  Maybe if he understood, he would forgive me.  But I lacked that kind of courage.  Deciding I had burned my bridges here at St. John's, my thoughts turned to college as the only way to restore my disgraced reputation.  No one had ever needed a fresh start more than me.

I was going downhill fast.  Unable to play sports due to my blind eye, unable to date my poised female classmates due to my low social status, my face scarred by acne, forced to live in a madhouse, forced to work after school because my father was a jerk, the list was endless.  Indeed, St. John's had turned into High School Hell.  Every day I was consumed with bitterness towards my classmates for their carefree approach to college.  Everyone but me!  Over the past four years, the only thing that kept me going was the thought of college.  Why else would I study so hard while my affluent classmates partied?  Golf, tennis, shopping trips to the mall, beach houses, country clubs, ski trips, European vacations.  For me, college was the only way I could escape this terrible loneliness that enveloped me.  College meant escape from my mother, escape from Little Mexico, escape from feelings of inferiority whenever I compared myself to my ultra-confident classmates.  However, unless I could find some way to pay the exorbitant tuition at Georgetown, I was out of luck.

I have one striking memory from this time.  I suffered from an extreme case of tunnel vision.  For some reason, I felt like it was Georgetown or die trying.  After my father's betrayal, I had every right to be disappointed.  However, I do not know why my desperation was so intense.  So what if I couldn't pay for Georgetown?  All I had to do was sit out a year and reapply to the University of Texas for the following school year.  If I waited one year, by working full-time at the grocery store I could easily pay for UT out of my own pocket.  However, the thought of waiting out a year was unbearable.  So, you say, why not start in January in the second semester?  Here again, for reasons I will never understand, that thought never occurred to me.  I thought I was seeing an entire school year go down the drain. 

Desperate to escape Little Mexico, my impatience rendered me psychologically incapable of accepting any alternative.  I deserved a scholarship, of that I was convinced.  But how was I supposed to obtain one?  My friend David had me convinced that Georgetown would not dream of giving me a scholarship unless my estranged father cooperated with financial aid forms.  In that case, my father's hefty salary was a serious deal-breaker to any claim I made of destitution.  As for my mother, given the bitterness I felt towards her, I did not want her help.  But how was I supposed to pull this off all by myself?  How was a teenage boy acting alone supposed to explain his bizarre home situation to some anonymous financial aid person at Georgetown? 

"Um, Mr. Georgetown, sir, it is true my father makes a boatload of money.  However, he uses that money to send my half-brother and half-sister to private school.  He has made it clear that I am on my own.  My father has no intention of helping me.  That is why I have come to you for help." 

"I'm sorry, young man, but how am I supposed to know you are telling the truth?  Money doesn't grow on trees.  If you wish to be considered for a scholarship, tell your father to fill out the forms like everyone else.  We need to verify your status."

I imagine Mr. Salls could have solved the problem.  He had contacts with college administrators across the country.  However, I was certain I had burned my bridge with the the cheating incident.  Consequently I did not dare go anywhere near him.  God forbid, what if he asked me to explain the cheating incident?  Bottom Line, I was totally on my own.  Which was a real problem because my current batting average hovered at zero.  Nevertheless, I had to try something. 

Determined to find a way to pay for Georgetown, I cooked up a grand scheme called "Foot in the Door".  Here is how the plan worked.  I had been accepted at Georgetown, but now I needed a way to pay.  Assuming I won the Jones Scholarship, I had roughly $3,500 under my control.  Tuition, room and board was $6,000.  I could not afford to pay tuition for an entire year at Georgetown.  The breakthrough came when I realized I did not have to pay for the entire year at once.  Since I had enough money to pay for one semester, I would use every last cent to enroll at Georgetown and take my chances.  At some point I would make an appointment on campus to speak to a Georgetown financial aid officer and beg for a scholarship.  If the man said no, at least I tried.  But I did not believe that would happen.  I was certain my good grades plus a heartfelt face-to-face would convince someone I was telling the truth and decide to help. 

Since I saw this plan as my only way to escape my home situation, it was worth the gamble.  If worse came to worst, I would drop out after one semester.  Since Uncle Dick lived nearly, I would ask for a temporary job at his computer company.  That would save me from heading back to Houston.  In the meantime I would apply to the University of Texas for September 1969, the following school year.  Or I could apply to the University of Virginia using resident status.  If I going to waste a year, any place was better than being trapped at Little Mexico. 

Looking back, this was actually a fairly good plan.  However, first I had to win the Jones Scholarship.  Not a problem.  I was a shoo-in.  Or so I assumed.  Unfortunately I was plagued with the same premonition of doom that had haunted me prior to my father's $400 rebuke.  As the clock ticked down, the fact that no one at my school had said a single word to me felt like a very bad omen.