Seeking The Cool Side of the Pillow
A Wayward Youth’s Awakening
by
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Chapter 26
ROCKS AND SWEAT
Too soon, judgment day came. My mother and I drove early that morning to the judge's office in downtown
I was photographed, fingerprinted, issued prison clothing and deloused. And, hard to imagine, before being led to my cell I was first taken to the showers. The water was freezing. They gave me a special soap with a strong medicinal smell, I guess to kill bugs. Just to be sure that I had done it right; when I finished showering they turned on a hose and blasted me with strong jets of water. It hurt. Somewhat shaken, I dressed and then was taken through the corridors to a cell. I believe there were four other inmates, but it's all a bit fuzzy as I was reeling from the whole ordeal. Somehow, I got through the night, sleeping fitfully on a thin mattress on a hard metal cot. Before finally drifting off, I reflected on what actions had gotten me to this place. To jail for god's sake! What was wrong with me that I could not understand that there were consequences for every action? I didn't have any answers, not then anyhow. But I felt remorse, and anger.
In the morning, I marched into the mess hall with around a hundred other prisoners, many of us wearing shell-shocked expressions. I was conscious always of the itchy prison garb, and irritated that the weight of the new boots made me shuffle like an old man. I muddled through breakfast, not really aware of what was served. What I do remember was what came next.
We were taken outdoors, where the day already seared with heat. We lined up outside of the building that overlooked a large rocky open area that slanted downhill. We were then marched towards a tool shed. The poker-faced guards handed out picks, shovels, and sledge hammers. I spoke to a young Latino next to me.
“What the hell,” I said, “You any idea what we're going to be doing with these picks and shovels?”
He responded in a heavy Mexican accent, “Quien sabe? But I theenk we going to deeg somethin.”
And we did dig something. In single file, we marched in ragged formation over the edge of the steep hill that was strewn with rocks and small boulders. We were spaced yards apart along the ridge. The guard yelled out instruction,
“Get your back into this and breakup those rocks. Like this.” He had a sledge hammer and swung it hard and crushed a hunk of stone. “Okay, you got it?”
They had to be kidding. Breaking up rocks was straight out of a B-movie. Maybe that's what I had become --a character in a B-movie. My life had gone bad. But I surprised myself by taking the hard work in stride. I smashed away at the hill without much complaint, thinking, I deserve all of this. By break time, I was exhausted. Sweat rolled off me. I was dripping wet; dust was streaked across my forehead because I kept wiping the sweat that was dripping into my eyes away. I caught a little whiff of my armpits...Putrid!
Despite my fears of being raped --remember that I was a good-looking white kid with blond curls --none of the prisoners that I shared a cell with attempted any funny stuff. In fact, they were rather gentle with me. When they found out what I was in for, most of them described far more serious offenses than stealing a fur coat, which caused me to be labeled, “incorrigible.” They left me alone.
I was held there for three days, and each morning we started the same routine. Smash rocks…eat… sleep. No TV, no radio, no nothing. On the third day, I was given back my clothes and taken to a van that transported me up into the
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About the Book
The Cool Side of the Pillow
Mine was a life of privilege --My British father, a pilot during the First World War, and my beautiful mother are ill-matched, but they have forged a life together in a privileged society.
I have no memory of the death of my first-born brother, but I recall vividly the day my younger brother Christopher, who was one year younger and my best friend, died at the age of four. Two weeks later, blaming incompetent doctors, our parents packed up my sister “Billie,” who was six years older, and me, and headed to Los Angeles.
My sister figures out her life quite quickly, while I, on the other hand, become, in the words of one teacher, “incorrigible.” In my mind, I am the lonely, bright boy who struggles to form an identity as my parents divorce, and I am moved from a safe and responsible farm life and a one-room schoolhouse, to one of the biggest high schools in Los Angeles. I develop a persona that enables me to manage in a tricky world. Soon I am introduced to the darker realms of society, where I try to create a balance between a normal life of dating and fun hijinks and the almost uncontrollable urges to outwit the system. As one who had learned to cover his fears and anger with a patina of arrogance and callousness, I had to be brought to the absolute edge of terror before I would begin my adult life with an attitude of gratitude and responsibility.
About the Author
The author was born in Mexico City in 1934. His father was an Englishman and a former pilot during the First World War. His mother, a beauty, was born in Mexico, but educated in England and Switzerland. She was an heiress. His great grandfather came to Mexico from Ireland with his brother in the early 1900s and developed silver mines. His grandfather founded several Mexican banks. When he was five, after the death of his second brother, Christopher, his parents, disgusted with Mexican doctors, moved to Los Angeles. The early chapters of the book takes place in Mexico, then progresses to his pre-teen and eventful teenage years in the Southern California. At age 19 he moved to the New York City. He succeeded in a cross-section of careers, including advertising, broadcasting and a TV production company. He was sales manager of WINS, New York, the first 24 hour All News radio station. He then went to “Wall Street”, as an Investment Banker and Institutional Sales and Research. He studied journalism in NYC at the New School for Social Research. He enjoyed the good Manhattan life; a penthouse, maids, a home in Southampton, extensive world travel. He even owned a red Ferrari. After three marriages and four children, he decided to leave Wall Street a started a successful bed and breakfast with his wufe, the Newtons'1824 House Inn, in Vermont. On the recommendation of a friend he visited the country of Panama. Last year he moved permanently to Panama, to the city of David. There he had time to write this memoir of his eventful youth.