 The mid '60s were a time of great uncertainty and tumultuous rebellion for my friends and myself. We were in our senior year of High School, Vietnam was raging, and most of us didn't have the money or the grades to attend college. More than likely we would be heading off to war shortly after finishing school. Some of us had planned on entering the military as soon as we graduated from High School anyway, the rest were quickly drafted shortly after the school year ended. There was a lot of heavy partying going on among my group of friends. We all drank on a daily basis and most nights needed a place to sleep off the effects of the cheap wine we were consuming by the truckload (Thunderbird was 69 cents a pint and $1.20 a quart at that time. It tasted terrible but had a powerful kick with it's alcohol content of 20% by volume). My parents were not happy with us drinking but felt it was better to have us sleep off the effects of each nights partying at our house instead of having us driving around town running into parked cars and telephone poles. Some nights there could be as many as 6 or 7 guys sleeping in my 10' by 10' bedroom up on the second floor of the tiny Cape Cod my parents owned on Evans Place in Saddle Brook. You don't actually sleep after consuming a quart or more of Thunderbird, it's more like being in an alcohol induced coma. We were totally unaware of the shuffling around in the room during the night. You see, my little brother John (around 6 years old at the time) would come into my bedroom each night and rifle thru our pockets for change while we slept. He went to Saint Philip's School and each of the students were given a small (2” by 4”) cardboard collection box with a coin slot in the top of it to collect money for the poor. Our family was both amazed and filled with pride at how often little brother John came home with the award for being the schools largest cash donor for the families in our community that were less fortunate than us. This went on for several months until someone (I think that was either Tommy Stachelrodt or Richie Gardner) woke in the middle of the night to find little brother John with his hands in their pants pockets pulling out all of their loose change. Under the threat of an ass beating he readily admitted that as we slept he would relieve us of our pocket change and give it to the poor. So here's the dilemma, do we warm his little bottom for stealing? Do we rat the kid out and embarrass him in front of the his friends and family that were so filled with pride based on his altruistic nature? Or do we just consider him a young modern day Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor? We opted for scenario number three, but with a stern warning. If we caught him stealing from us again we would beat his little ass until it turned red. Saint Philip's cash windfall fell abruptly after that day and John never again received an award for his participation in bailing out the towns less fortunate families. On a positive note we had a LOT more money available for purchasing Gallo's reasonably priced, horrible tasting, thoroughly intoxicating, nectar of the gods. The decision is up to you........was he a Saint or Sinner? On one hand he never kept any of the stolen money for himself (at least that's never been proven), but on the other hand all of the money that he donated to the poor was stolen. “Saint or Sinner?”.....guess he'll find out on the day of judgement........personally, I'm going with Saint, his intentions were always honorable. © Jimmy McKee SBHS '65, January 12, 2018 |
The Rope | The Hut | Brother John's Unusual Request | Wasn't Cut Out To Be A Boy Scout | A Friday Night Party at Mike's
A Brook Tale
Celebration & Inspiration