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"#"#RRd�D��RR�From Zero to One


My name is Nick Jordan
When I became conscious for the first time, I was lying on my back, in a crib staring at a ceiling. The walls of the room that surrounded me contained wallpaper images of ducks, horses, teddy bears and other little animals.
When I examined myself, I discovered I was a tube � a tube with arms and legs over which I had very little control. I tried to recall how I became a tube but I could not remember having existed before that moment. 
Someone lifted me from the crib, carried me into another room and placed me in a high chair where I could have a better look at my surroundings. At one end of the room stood a black double sink, old painted cupboards and a washing machine. Against another wall stood a gas & wood stove. The smoke from the stove passed through a black metal pipe that went into the wall. At the time, I did not know the names of these items and I could not form words with my mouth, but I could see what went on around me.
As I grew older, I discovered that I lived inside a house that was over two hundred years old with three fireplaces, a vegetable cellar and an attic. The attic contained twelve-inch square timbers, which the builders had secured with large wooden spikes. The builders finished the rest of the house with rectangular, iron nails.
As the years passed, I began to explore the interior and learned that monsters lived in certain hiding places. Two of the monsters hung out in the bathroom and waited for me to show up to relieve myself. One lived inside the toilet out of sight while the other lurked inside the water closet close to the ceiling. I was most vulnerable sitting on the bowl and worried it would come up from below and grab me. If it dragged me down into the toilet, no one would ever know what happened to me. When I pulled the chain, both monsters roared at the same time as I ran out of the room and slammed the door behind me.
 One day I found out the house in which I had appeared sat on the surface of a giant rock that floated in space. When I looked out the window at night, I could see other rocks floating in space, just like ours.
As the days passed, I began to watch and listen to everything around me and discovered that I was a human being. I lived at 37 Rocky Hill Road in the Town of Larkspur, Vermont, USA. I also discovered that other humans existed besides my family and me - human beings who came to the house to visit and leave things. 
Every few days a man came to our door with a big block of ice he carried between two steel tongs. My mommy, Tina would open the door and the man placed the ice in our big black icebox. The icebox was shiny on the inside and the ice fit neatly into one of the compartments. The icebox kept our food cold so it would not spoil.  One day, two men arrived at our door with an electric icebox called a refrigerator, and took away our old black one.
In the wintertime, things changed. The oilman parked his truck on the hill and pulled a long red rubber hose across the snow-covered yard to a pipe on the side of the house. The pipe led to a gigantic stainless steel oil tank in the cellar that fed the furnace. The fire inside the furnace heated up the water pipes, which fed the steam radiators in each room. As the radiators filled with steam, they began to bang from the pressure. It was a sound I enjoyed hearing on cold winter mornings. 
One of my favorite places was the attic where my daddy, Owen, set up his amateur shortwave radio equipment. Daddy could talk to other ham radio operators all over the world and exchange postcards, which he tacked to the big wooden beams overhead. The attic was also a good place to hide from Nina, who was beginning to find more reasons to spank me, my brother, and my sister, for naughty behavior.
The back yard contained a swing, an old apple tree and space for a garden. After my daddy got a good deal on a load of stainless steel pipes, he pounded them into the ground and strung them together with electrical wire. We planted corn, string beans, summer squash, tomatoes, cucumbers, beets, lettuce, and some tall flowers called hollyhocks. Over the next two months, the little seeds grew into vegetables and flowers right before my eyes. I could not believe it. I had witnessed my first true miracle.
One-day daddy brought home a big television with a small screen that someone had given him. He made it work by changing some tubes inside but the picture was fuzzy so he installed an antenna on the roof with an electric rotor that turned to pick up the signal. The black and white picture was small and sometimes dim but we were able to watch Lassie, Howdy Doody, The Cisco kid, Superman, The Lone Ranger,  Hopalong Cassidy, The Mickey Mouse Club, Amos n' Andy, Boston Movie Time, Kate Smith and Lawrence Welk.
Some shows we could not watch like My Friend Flicka because the boy got mad at his parents - or Alfred Hitchcock, because it was too scary. Mommy always checked the movies against the ratings in the Catholic Bishops Legion of Decency to see if they were safe for children to watch.



Kindergarten

When I reached the age of five, mommy took me to Mrs. Wilson's kindergarten - a nursery school next door where I learned how to read and write. I sat in a room with ten boys and girls and watched as Mrs. Wilson and her assistant, Miss Miller, taught us from a green chalkboard. The two women wrote words and letters on the chalkboard and we pronounced them and copied them down on paper. Mrs. Miller would walk around the room and check on our progress. Sometimes we practiced addition and subtraction with wooden blocks, or drew pictures in coloring books with Crayola crayons. 
When the lessons ended, they let us play with toys they kept stored in big wooden boxes in the storage room. Mrs. Wilson did a good job of teaching and I liked being in her school except for the times she got mad or was too nosy. One time she got mad at Lewis Garbo who broke down and started bawling in front of everybody. Other times somebody would wet his or her pants and she or Mrs. Miller had to take care of it. 
After our lessons ended, we went outside to play. We could play in the sandbox with toy cars and toy people and build roads. We also played games in the driveway with balls, croquet mallet's and plastic horseshoes. 
At noontime, I went home to eat dinner and came back for the afternoon session. This time we practiced our ABC's, counted numbers and tried to read from picture books with big letters. I liked the afternoons best because we could paint using little paint cups and put together puzzles.
 At the end of school when the big hand on the wall clock was on the twelve and the little hand was on the three, we put everything away and got ready to go home. Mrs. Wilson took out the rope from the closet � the one with metal rings, which we held onto as we walked up the street.

 
Church


Every Sunday morning mommy made us get up early to go to mass at Sacred Heart Church. I was old enough to put on my clothes by myself, except for my shoes, which my sister, Lucy had to tie for me. On most Sundays, we walked to church together except for daddy who did not go to church. If it rained or snowed too heavily or we were late, mommy would make him get up and give us a ride, or sometimes pick us up afterwards. He liked to sleep late on Sunday and did not like it when mommy woke him up. Mommy wanted daddy to become a Catholic and go with us to church on Sunday but he did not want to.
The first thing I had to do when I walked inside the church was to dip my fingers in the porcelain bowl by the door and make the Sign of the Cross on myself. This was important because a priest had blessed the water in the bowl and made it holy. After we all blessed ourselves we walked through the black swinging doors all the way to the benches at the front of the church. Mommy wanted to be as close to the altar as possible because that's where God was. 
When we found our seats, we had to first kneel down and say prayers. The benches contained books called My Sunday Missal, which we used to follow along with the priest as he said the Mass. I could never keep track of the ceremony using the missal, so I just copied what everyone else did.
When Father O'Brien emerged from the sanctuary with the altar boys and began the Mass, everyone stood up. The priest would say the prayer of confessing one's sins to God and we would follow along, reading from our missals. At some point, the choir in the balcony began to sing hymns to God, and the rest of us joined in. Everybody had to kneel, stand, and sit on the benches at certain times. At last, the time came for Father O'Brien to read from the Epistles of St. Paul and give a sermon. For years, I listened very hard to priests give their sermons but I never understood a single word they said. Sometimes I would almost fall asleep until someone nudged me and gave me a stern look.
A Mass said by Father Clifford was the easiest to get through because he was a former boxer who did everything fast, but when Monsignor Tracy said the Mass, it seemed like everything moved in slow motion. Sometimes I would get so tired and bored I would begin to look around, but mommy would always notice and turn my head back to the front.
The most sacred part of the ceremony called Holy Communion was for people who had gone to confession and fasted the night before. They would kneel at the altar rail, receive the Host on their tongues and return to their seats to pray. I liked that part the best because I could see what each person looked like. Most people were well-dressed and looked holy - especially the young women and girls.
At the very end of the ceremony, the priest turned to face us and said, "The mass is ended, go in peace," to which we responded, "Thanks be to God."



Sacred Heart School

When I was six years old, mommy told me I would have to enter the first grade at the end of the summer. This worried me but at the same time, I looked forward to it because I was getting bored at home.
The leaves had begun to change color and the nights were getting colder when September of 1955, arrived. I felt excitement and fear as I stood in a crowd of parents and crying children in the basement of our church. One of the Sisters of Saint Theresa called out our names and one by one, we lined up in two rows. After the roll call ended, Sister John David, and Sister Claire Angela took us into custody.
The door to the outside opened and we marched in a long line up the street toward Sacred Heart School, a red brick building full of classrooms. Twenty-eight of us went into a classroom that contained Heywood-Wakefield desks and chairs, bolted to the floor and green chalkboards on the walls. Above the chalkboards, thanksgiving decorations covered the walls 
Sister John David, my first grade teacher, assigned seats to everyone and gave out books, which we placed inside our desks. The lessons included reading, writing, arithmetic and religion. The Catechism questions and answers proved difficult in the beginning but Sister helped us pronounce the words and made us memorize them.
"Who made us?"
"God made us."
"Who is God?"
"God is the supreme Being Who made all things."
"Why did God make us?"
"God made us to do His will so that after we die we can go to Heaven and be with Him forever and ever."

Classmates

 I found the other kids in the class fun to watch. It looked to me like someone or something had hit Andrew Fischer in the head and he never fully regained consciousness. David Girard looked like he had just escaped from reform school and Bruce Wickham had a wise mouth on him that opened once he was outside the classroom.
In contrast to these three, Michael Mann displayed good manners accompanied by a high IQ. Donovan Callan was a fast runner and Ricky Mahoney was a natural comedian who laughed at everything.
The girls in my first grade class were as smart as the boys were, and some of them were quite pretty. My first experience with unrequited love came when a Japanese girl appeared in our class for one semester. I fell madly in love with her but I was too scared to risk rejection from her or teasing from the other kids. She disappeared when the semester ended, and left me with a broken heart. How sad.
When recess time came, Sister sent us outside to play after the bigger kids left the schoolyard. We played hill-dill or ball tag in the sand or marbles in the dirt. Marbles was not my favorite game because I was not very good at it. I would bring a brand new bag of marbles to school and lose it before the bell rang. The plan was to scatter the marbles and then roll them, one by one, into a hole called the "pot" with a gentle nudge from one's curled forefinger. A grain of sand or a depression in the dirt could deflect the marble around the hole or it could roll in one side and then out the other side if you pushed it too hard. The last marble into the hole won the pot for the player.
My favorite marbles were the clear or semi transparent ones and the worst marbles were the solid white ones with streaks. The most valuable marbles were the giant cat-eyes, which serious players saved for championship playoffs.
The girls played their games in a different area of the schoolyard. They played hopscotch, jump rope or stood in groups and talked. There was a clear line of separation between the boys and the girls, which no one crossed. 
After twenty minutes of exercise, the bell rang and we lined up in front of the building and marched inside. Sister John David gave us lessons in reading, writing and arithmetic, until midday when the kids that rode the bus opened their lunchboxes. The rest of us formed a line outside and marched home for lunch, except that we called it "dinner". When I arrived at the house, mom had the meal almost ready to eat. 
When dad came through the door ten minutes later, we washed our hands, and sat at the table to say grace and eat. Nina was a devout Catholic for whom the blessing of the food and the family eating together was a very important affair. As the meal began, so did the talking. I had already learned from experience to say as little as possible at the table if I wished to avoid unflattering comments and corrections from family members. When one did speak, the best policy was to choose words that made the family think well of you - a difficult task for a self-centered blabbermouth that couldn't stop talking.
 On bad days, I could smell the cooked liver with onions, before I reached the screen door. To this day, I do not know why Nina insisted I eat liver when she knew I detested it. After repeated attempts to eat the rubbery slab I slipped it into my pocket and later tossed it into the bushes. Our new cat, Muggles, eventually solved my problem by positioning himself under my chair whenever he smelled liver.
After dinner, we walked back to school or dad gave us a ride if we were late.
.At 1 p.m., the bell rang in the schoolyard and we lined up in front of the red brick building and marched inside, single file. The classroom became much warmer in the afternoon as the sun reached the windows on the west side of the building
By late springtime of that first year, the warm afternoons began to drag on longer with art and writing exercises. As I became increasingly bored, I began to look for ways to break up the monotony. At first, I smuggled apples into my desk to munch on. Later I grew bolder and relied on spitballs, paper airplanes, spring-loaded bobby pins, gum, secret messages, and leaky fountain pens to break up the monotony.
As the school year progressed, Sister Margaret John organized spelling bees, art contests and sometimes a surprise visit from one of the parish priests. One-day Monsignor Tracy showed up to pass out shiny new dimes to everyone to boost his popularity. I thought this was the beginning of a new reward system and I waited a long time for him to repeat the handout but he never did.
At 2:45 p.m., we put away our books and papers and gathered up our things to take home. By 3 p.m. the bell rang and we marched out of the building' to begin the long trek home.

When I began the second grade, I discovered something inside me that would cause trouble later on in life. The problem was my built-in logic and common sense. As long as I did not question the information, I had no trouble memorizing the catechism questions and answers. Over time, however I began to feel that catholic Doctrine put me at odds with my body and the world that surrounded me.
At night before I fell asleep, I would raise the curtain in my bedroom to stare at the moon and ask myself - who am I and how did I get here? 
 I would ask myself this question repeatedly over the years but the moon and the stars never gave me an answer - only a feeling of mystery and wonder that I could not put into words. Later, this feeling became very precious to me.
As the months passed, my restless nature began to surface and I decided to join the roster of troublemakers at school. Thomas Gerard and his sidekick, Guy Cobisero, were perfect adversaries in this business and ready to engage me in battle. 
One day I made a tactical error during a game of chase and ended up the boys room, where they cornered me in one of the toilet stalls. The two of them had me upside down with my head in the toilet bowl when one of the older boys came in and put a stop to it. As I ran out of the basement, I could hear Tom vow he would finish the job later.
Two days later, we were back at it again in the school parking lot where I collapsed on the sand, too tired to run any further. At this point Tom got on top of me and pinned me down.
This time things got out of hand. I decided to surrender but Tom did not let me up; instead, he placed his hands over my nose and mouth and pressed so hard I could not breathe. I became terrified and started to struggle but he held on until I began to lose consciousness. In the background, I could hear the school bell ring. Suddenly, he removed his hands and ran back to the schoolyard to get in line. I got to my feet and staggered back, scarcely believing what he had done. It was supposed to be a game yet he had tried to kill me.
I was so angry and upset that I took the bold step of complaining to Sister St. Beatrice. To my surprise, she accused me of being an agitator, and causing trouble with the other kids. My plan for revenge backfired and I decided to stay away from Master Gerard to avoid more humiliation. Several weeks later, however, an opportunity arose when he brought a deck of pornographic playing cards into the boys room and showed them around. I saw my opportunity and reported him to Sister St. Beatrice who responded by contacting Sister St. Helen, the Superior of the Convent. 
The two of them confronted Tom and forced him to surrender the cards, which Sister St. Helen had to inspect to make sure they were indeed, pornographic. Later, in the boy's room, I could hear him declare he would find the squealer and make him pay for opening his sniveling little mouth. I waited in my stall until he left and got out of there, fast.
I found out later that Tom had an alcoholic father that knocked him around at home. I felt sorry for him but it did not justify his attempt on my life.

The first semester passed without incident until one Monday afternoon I was in line, walking up Main Street. The group carried on with the usual jostling and talking with an occasional smack from a school bag. When we arrived at Chestnut Street and crossed over to the traffic island, I noticed a group of children ahead of us had formed a crowd at the crosswalk. When we moved closer, I saw what it was that held their attention. On the other side of the street, a little girl lay spread-eagled on the pavement. As the wind gently lifted up her dress, it revealed a tire track across her bottom. I had never before seen anyone run over by a car and it made everything around me stop and begin to move in slow motion. I stood and stared like everyone else, feeling helpless and not knowing what to do. No one dared to approach her and I felt so bad that I decided to leave. I ran home and felt depressed for the rest of the day. Several days later, an article appeared in the Larkspur Bulletin, about the accident and saying she was going to be okay.

The House on Rocky Hill Road

By the summer of 1958, Nina had four children to raise and a workload that seemed to grow larger each day. She needed more time alone and a playroom where the children could get play without destroying everything. She decided to hire a French contractor named Paul Croteau to turn the wasted storage area into a recreational room.
Paul and his assistants first tore out the rotted wooden flooring, braced the outer wall with wooden planks, and leveled the dirt floor. After that, he pumped in the concrete.
 During this operation, I heard shouting. When I rushed to the scene, I saw the side of the building had bulged outward like a fat man's belly and liquid concrete had begun to pour onto the sidewalk. Paul and his crew raced to avert a catastrophe by removing some of the concrete and reinforcing the wall before pumping it back inside the room. I watched Paul's little boy, Claude, stand white faced, and almost in tears as if the incident was his fault.
Paul and his crew finished the playroom and a few days later, the furniture and equipment began to appear - a punching bag, an old record player, green bus seats and shelving to hold books and toys. Later, more contractors arrived to redo the bathroom, install a laundry storage space and build a doorway that opened directly to the backyard. Our new playroom stood finished and ready to take the beating we were prepared to deliver.
 A month later Owen must have received a pay increase because Nina started turning on the hot water switch on bath night so we could all take baths without heating the water on the stove. I was not keen on taking a bath, but I liked to slide down into a tub of warm soapy water and play with my boats. Sometimes I would doze off and wake up when Lucy or Roger pounded on the door.  
"What is taking you so long? Get out of there! Other people need to use the bathroom too, you know."
"Okay, okay, I'll be done in a little while."
"You'll be done now!"
 Under these conditions, when I had to get out fast I had to wrap myself in a towel, grab my clothes and head for my cold bedroom. I had outgrown my fear of the toilet monsters but I had not overcome my fear of going into my bedroom alone, at night. I always left the door open in case something in the dark room reached out and tried to grab me before I could turn on the light. I had learned from experience that at least one and possibly more monsters lived under my bed at night.
The challenge was to catch the string from the light on the first try so I could turn it on before I panicked. If I caught the string on the first try and turned on the light, a feeling of confidence overcame my fear and I could mentally scream my defiance at the creatures to come out from under the bed and face me. I knew it was dangerous to provoke monsters but with a bright light to illuminate every corner, I could not resist the impulse.
As bedtime grew closer, I began to question the wisdom of my actions. I remembered that I had repeated this provocation before and after I fell asleep, the monsters came and attacked me in my dreams. Monsters have the upper hand in the dream world and they never ignored my challenge. The pact I had made with my teddy bear to back me up did not help.
After repeating several terrible episodes, I decided to call a truce and leave the monsters alone if they would leave me alone. This decision ended the problem. 
With the monster problem under control, I turned my attention to fighting boredom on hot summer nights when I could not fall sleep. I discovered that if I opened the door a crack I could read by the weak illumination from the hall light. My mom warned me I could ruin my eyes doing that but she left me no choice. All I had to do was find books to read that had big letters and hide them in my bed. The only danger I faced was her catching me reading instead of going to sleep. I solved the problem by tying a string to the door handle so I could pull it shut if she entered the hallway. In the unlikely event she opened my door, I could let go of the string and hope she would not notice. There was a small risk that she would discover my ploy, but as the years passed, she never did.
The strategy worked well but sometimes my late night reading left me tired and irritable in the morning.
When I tired of reading books to fall asleep, I decided to try something new. I pushed my bed to the other side of the room next to the window. A few years earlier, dad had installed wooden frame storm windows and drilled three holes through the bottom with a slider for ventilation. This allowed me to open the inner window a few inches and breathe the cold winter air from outside while I stayed warm and comfortable under the blankets. I could also look through the window and watch the outside world.  On a snowy night, the sky turned pink as the snowflakes fell beneath the streetlights. As the snow covered the road's surface, it muffled the sound of passing cars.
 On clear nights, I raised the curtain and stared at the beauty of the universe until I fell asleep. These were the rare moments when I felt at peace with the world.











 








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Anon7 - 2021