A math whiz & one night, a partner in crime

Dave Carlson
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, N.Y. - I can't remember which summer it was, exactly, but I didn't have driver's license yet (or my motorcyle, damn) which when I tell this tale will prove to be a good thing.

But about Dave Carlson... Dave was good in math, good enough that he landed in all the 9-1, 10-1, etc. math classes while I landed in the elementary algebra class mostly populated with people who had failed it once already. We had a teacher whose first name was Carl - an older guy - who we would pepper with paperwads whenever he turned around to the blackboard.

No wonder I failed algebra and went to summer school at Jamestown High (with a Mr. Rizzo, but that's another tale).

But this particular summer - the year after that I believe - I started hanging out evenings at the phone booth in the center of Lakewood. The phone would ring and some bored teen somewhere would chat with whoever was around.

Eventually, the Lakewood gendarmes figured out that this was trouble and started coming by, rousting folks. And this particular night Dave Carlson and I were among the roustees, along with a fellow named John O'Neill, a year younger than us but well on his way to catching up with our deliquency.

The three of us wandered over to a young lady's house quite late - and yes I remember her name quite well but will leave it out of the blog but not The Class of '66 - who pleaded with us to get lost before her father woke up and came down stairs. To encourage our departure, she gave us a nearly full bottle of Scotch.

Can you guess what happened?

The next morning when I awoke (in my house), my mother was alternately slapping my face and splashing me with cold water, convinced that I was suffering from alcohol poisoning. I probably was, but I had been sick enough in the night to make pumping my stomach quite unnecessary.

My Lakewood phone booth days were over for that summer and when I talked with Dave later (maybe weeks later) he had slipped in through a bedroom window and woken up with a buzz from his portion of the Scotch, but nothing like the bellringer I had.

To this day, the smell of Scotch whiskey across a room will turn my stomach.

Dave continued to be a math whiz while I failed Math 11 (with Miss Goller) and ended up in summer school again! But at least that year I rode to and from summer school on a motorcycle, not a Jamestown bus.

And John O'Neill? I don't know what happened to him that night or after he graduated.

Or if he likes to sip Scotch.