Walking to school with my books tucked under my arms, I was the perfect target for snowballs or tomatoes, depending on the season. In September, it was the last of the summer tomatoes to dodge. Butch DeSal was the one to look out for. He nearly got me one time before I had even got off my own back porch. Mom made me wash the tomato off the bricks before going on to school. Mike Perze was another to watch for. Mike introduced himself to me with a fist in the face. Mom said there had to be a reason for him to hit me. I guess it was the same reason the Bealman twins said I had cooties. School wasn't much fun, but it was less fun getting to school and back.
Mike, my oldest brother, was an altar boy so he was gone before I was even up. His advice was to carry green tomatoes with me since they hurt more than ripe ones, and to use the snow in the street because it makes harder snow balls. No fighting was the rule at our house. So I practiced my throwing skills. Trees were perfect targets. That first green tomato that hit its mark, Butch's face, put a stop to those ripe ones coming my way. I didn't mind sitting in my room that evening missing Gangbusters on the radio. Just meant I had more time for drawing.
Mike Perze was not so easy to deal with. Ruined school books meant more time in my room drawing… Gary Cooper as “The Virginian” from Life Magazine was my lesson for fighting and ruining school books. My brother encouraged me, saying that getting beat up the way I had would make Mike Perze think twice about picking on me. It did slow Mike down some as far as the thinking about beating me up went. It didn't stop him though. Roy Rogers was my lesson that time. I didn't read the comics I drew from, just drew from them. Tom Mix and Hopalong Cassidy were drawn for getting beat up by Bobby Hurst.
By sixth grade it became known I wasn't worth picking on. Yet, still my drawing in my room continued. Daydreaming in class, or drawing during religion class were reported to mom. Then came being seated at the dining room table instead of being sent to my room... Homework actually got done there.
Drawing during school classes became routine for me. The nuns knew I was doing it. Some used a rule on my head, some just called my dad. Few took those drawings away from me. Even now, as an adult, I sketch everything all the time.
