1970: My 13th birthday had come and gone. The relative peace in the house too, had come and gone because S. had gone - and returned. It was the beginning of the "70s"! The "Peace Movement" of the 60s had been entered into history books. Mom and I held on to our fringed jeans with the floral appliques and bleached spots. We continued to dance and sing when we could. S. continued to get drunk and violent and run to his mommie on week-ends. And I, for the most part, continued in my "parental" role. I entered my Freshman year at NFA.

And then it happened... the "training and experience" of "parenting" in 1969 came into full swing. Only this year, it took on a new dimension: I became not just one, but both parent. Oma finally got to return to Germany for her first visit "Home" "since the war" (WWII). Somewhere over Europe, she took seriously ill and passed out. An emergency landing in Belgium and a helicopter flight to Germany landed her in the Elizabethan Krankenhause in Bad Kissingen... just short of her "home" in Burkardroth. Cancer. She'd been full of it for years. She knew so but never allowed it to be checked or treated. (Today, I wonder: Did she hope to go "home' to die? She always said she'd never liked having had to leave Germany.) The phone rang in the middle of the night. A call from Germany. Onkel Edmund. Mom had to get her passport immediately and bring 1.000,00 US dollars in cash. In 1970, the phone calls in Burkardroth were made and received at the post office there so, with the time difference, the phone rang through the night.

We all went to see Mom off at Kennedy. She left us, pale, exhausted, frightened. She thought she was going there to bury her Mother. Edmund never told her anything other than that it was very serious, very bad. Mom spent about 3 months in Germany. I kept the house together, cooked meals, did laundry.

Once a week, S. would drive to Lloyd's, drop me off at the door with shipping list and money. I'd go in, dash aisle by aisle to get what was needed and dash back out as he dove back to the door. I'd make dinner for John (now 12), Cyndi (now 9) and Joe (now 5) so they could eat and be gone from the kitchen before S. got in. I had to do the laundry and
Hoover long before he came in because he hated the "smells" of wash and the vacuum cleaner. I had to cook, serve and eat, then set the table for him before he go tin from work because he didn't' want any of "his" children around when he got back from work. Daily, I'd wash the floors. When he disappeared on week-ends, I'd scrub the kitchen from top to bottom, end to end. One evening, I'd left a pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove for him to have with his dinner. I'd presumed he'd eaten and rinsed/washed the pot so I didn't bother to look until a few days later when I cleaned, I lifted the pot - it was heavy - I opened the lid - it had green mold! He didn't eat. He didn't tell me that he hadn't eaten and now, I had to hide this mess! I had to clean the pot thoroughly! It was a small example of almost the entire time Mom was gone. But I never mentioned it to her. It was all part of how it always had been. And now I knew, first-hand, the torture and terror she lived with. S. was miserable, truly miserable. He despised us and, more than likely, blamed us all for his misery. And all the while, Mom did her best to make her children know that she loved us, and did her best to buffer us against his hatred. Meanwhile, my "sibling" connection to my brothers and sister dissolved into something more along the lines of "parental". I wasn't a "brother"... I was a "father" and my "childhood" was gone... forever.

1971: What a year! What a true turning point! The "TRUE" beginning of the very end of absolutely everything good and some of the bad. Reference for this year? The release of the film "Nicholas and Alexandra". It was the year of my first job: packing groceries at Lloyd's. I'd begun working. I was 16 years old. It was the year I finally "fell in love". It was the year I met Dennis Nixon. It was the year of the first kiss that sent me reeling into that bliss that only the "right" kiss, the "right" embrace could manifest. It was the year I moved forward and would never be able to turn back to any comfort, shelter, reprieve, respite. This was the year I simply began moving forward, on and on, moment to moment, picking up momentum, expending energy. It was the year I began living toward dying. I'd worked with Bernadette Cardillo at Lloyd's and we had more fun together at the front check-out. We looked forward to being assigned together. It was what followed that Summer than created quite the "bond" and one that would keep her in my mind and memories forever. Kathy Prisco brought me to what would become my "first real love". I remember that warm, Summer evening as we drove to "The Top" of Downing Park and she told me, in a bit of panic to lock the car doors. She told me that she was more concerned for my safety than hers and she explained that the men sitting on the grass, standing at the road-side, were more "interested" in me than in her. And something inside me "knew"... not only what she meant but that that's where I would find what were "my people".

The evenings that followed, when I returned to "The Top", alone, are still so vivid in my mind and heart. But the most important was that one evening when Bernadette, Don, and Dennis came to Meadow Hill to get me and we went for a long ride, into the night. I sat in the back seat of Bernadette's little Ford Pinto, beside Dennis all the while. The night was beginning and we arrived at Lancer and Paddock where I would leave to sneak back into the house. I was tired. I was preoccupied. Suddenly, I heard Dennis ask "When we really want something, shouldn't we go for it when we can?" Having no idea what he was talking about, I simply said "Yes". He leaned over, put his arms around me and gently kissed me... on the mouth! My heart rushed into my head! My entire body sensed nothing in Creation accept him and his touch, his scent (Love's Lemon), his breathing. My soul left me to join his. There was absolute nothing other than him. There was no "me". I'd become "us". And inside me, I felt and heard my essence cry - I'd wanted this all my life. I'd wanted this from him since we'd met. On that night in 1971, Dennis Nixon became what truly would remain... my first, my last, my everything. It would be forever, of course, not the physical aspect. But even now, on the 20th February 2007, it still is as it was that night, 36 years ago. I freely gave everything I had and was... and I never took it back. Later we'd go to the Brookside Drive-In in Bernadette's Ford Pinto. We went to see "Nicholas and Alexandra". Dennis and I were in the back seat. I never did get to see the movie. I was 16 years old. Dennis was 21. One rainy Autumn night, after I'd turned 17, Dewey Block and I went out in Mom's green, Oldsmobile "Granada" station wagon. Dewey was rather bombed from drinking. I coerced him into giving me directions to "Mr. G's Roundhill Lodge" in Washingtonville. As we walked up the steps to the "Main House" the sound of the juke box came through the door. Dusty Springfield was singing "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me" and above her record I heard... Dennis signing along! As I opened the door and stepped in, I was embraced by his scent. My "all", my "everything" was "at home". This waas where I was meant to be, where I belonged, where I'd find a refuge and a strength so long denied. Dennis never wanted me to find G's. He told me in later years that he wanted to keep me as I was, unaffected, unaffected. But that night, as for many other nights, my concern wasn't for what was happening around me... I was in blissful joy jus tbeing there, where he was. It never mattered whether he was with me or somebody else. In my heart, with all that I was, I was there for him when-ever he felt that he wanted me there for him. Oddly enough... that's never changed.

It was 1971 and I was 16. My life consisted of people I felt "normal" with... people with whom I felt "whole"... people with whom I found peace and comfort. Bubby Royal, Speedie Burns, Jasper Ricket, Bernadette Cardillo and Don Marsh. Ronny Barone, Dolfy, Pat Rainey. George, the owner of Mr. G's would be a life-saver without ever knowing it. G's was my refuge. I'd spend every week-end out there, sometimes working at tables, many nights, taking a room in the Main House. Some nights, alone... some nights, sharing with "guests". But always, those week-ends were the only thing that kept me alive to be able to compile this information today. I met Steve Landes this year. I moved into his house in Monroe...Mountain Lodge Park. I learned to eat bagels and lox at the kitchen table... undressed. I learned what it was like to actually be in a house-hold of peace. There were nights when we'd sit in the living room, looking out into the night, the coloured spot lights shining on the freshly falling snow. Steve gave me a sense of worth. He gave me a sense of security. - One morning, we sat at the kitchen table and he allowed me to help him with the design of the wallpaper that would be his "logo" at his shop in Fishkill. Steve was a wonder and wonderful. He was a blessing when a blessing was needed most. I have to add here: It's now 2007 and the love that I had for Dennis then, still flows through my heart. Like a chant or mantra, he became and remains in my heart. And very much the same, those days and nights in Washingtonville remain a part of what is "me".

1972: 17 years old now and out on the road in my Pontiac Bonneville, life took the twists and turns that would be the very beginning of so very many more obstacles and lessons in life. It was the year of turmoil beyond turmoil, tribulation beyond tribulation. It was the year that the senses necessary to mere survival were honed to better than a razor's edge. It was the year that I was "put out" like e fledgling from the nest, to fend for myself. The year when all those times of leaving home on my own were put into reality, action, life. Mr. G's was still very much a part of my life and survival. I met so many people there. I brought Liz and Kathy Prisco there and they enjoyed themselves. I became an adult there. I grew up and matured there. I was "at home" there and the people became my "family". It was also the year that I learned more than I cared to know. Gerry Greenland taught me what it was to be splayed on a living room floor while I learned what it was to be "Taken". I had no idea what he was doing, it hurt terribly, but I offered no resistance. It was part of "my life", it was part of "learning" and I had some "trust" for and of him.

1973: Graduated NFA, February - Brutally beaten by my "father". - Went to Oma's before going to G's Halloween party. I was badly bleeding and bruised. Mom told me that I had to move or "father" would kill me. Told me to try Albany. - Went on a Monday to find work, got the job, returned to Newburgh that evening. By Wednesday, I'd found the flat and moved to Albany, November. - Worked Allstate Design and Development, Wolf Road , Colonie - Coughtry Art, Albany (Cresenzia) - Lived 419 Quail Street - Ate food from St. Rose Campus brought by Liz. - 26 December, met Nick Gregory in Washington Park... rainy sleet that night. I was thinking: "What would be the ‘perfect' man?" and there he was, in the headlights. I offered him a ride and a place to stay that night. I fell in love and he later met Lance in the loo at Macy's, Colonie and I swallowed Librium with wine and walked across Albany in the bitter cold. He wouldn't open the door,he was with Lance. - John Yavonditte finally told me about Lance. - "Love's Theme" by Love Unlimited Orchestra released. - My first visit to
MONTREAL! With Liz and Mary Pafka.

1974: - January, Sunday, 20th, MR. G'S IS GONE! - Locked out of 419 Quail St, June , cut lock, moved with the help of students from St. Rose, back to Newburgh - Worked Fishkill National Bank, Beacon - Hit by truck crossing the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge - Moved to Kingston, Henry St. - Worked nights at Jeff's Place. - Lived with Frank Sperling - Commuted to Beacon.

1975: Zulema "No Next Time" - Moved from Henry St. to a farmhouse in PleasantValley with Frank, Bill and Allen. - Had to move back toNewburgh. Mom told me that I had to stop coming back to the house. - Got a job at Boeringer Ingelheim, Elmsford. Bought the green VW bug. Stayed at Onkel Gottfried und Tante Irma's on Brook St.Mamaroneck. - Needed one month's rent for225 W. 232nd St.6G - Went toNewburgh to ask Onkel Gene for help. He threw a 20-dollar bill at me and no more. - I lived in the car on the Cross Westchester for a while. - Got crabs from somewhere! - Finally moved into232nd Street.

1976: Moved to 225-227Naples Terrace this Summer. - Moved alone, what little furnishings I had, no help from anybody at all. One block. - Kathy Henricksen came back up North from Bethesda Maryland. Asked for money. I gave her 140 dollars in cash (my rent). The cheque bounced. I had to move to Creston Avenue, dispossessed. She never paid the cheque. - Lucille Schwartz

1977: 21 years old this year. - Creston Avenue. - Joyce! - Black out! Candles and guitar on the living room floor. - We moved to Hamilton Place in Harlem. - First encounter with Welfare for emergency. - Got a job with Zim, 29th floor, World Trade Centre, telex. - Moved to 8005 Henri Julien, Montreal. - Crip, Rollande, Denise, Claude.

1978: Returned from Montreal. - Cyndi says Mom married Al this year. They lived at 71 Atwell Lane, Monticello.

1979: I got a job a Jordache in NYC and commuted from Oma's. Night shift. - Shortline bus to and from. After work, nights at Dakota bar until close and then pass time at Sarge's Delicatessen until time to go to bus. - Burned out in 2 weeks with fever. - Took sofa at Jeff's on 36th and Lex. - Then moved to 59th between Park and Madison, residential hotel. - Followed by flat on 22nd between 2nd and 3rd, shared with Jeanna who was manic-depressive.