It’s still Spring Break at numerous campuses around the US, Canada and the Cartoon Network. Most were last month to either coincide with March Madness (yawn! Marquette got knocked out in the second round, again), midterms or Easter. I thought about what was the lamest one I ever had in 1989 but I missed the window of opportunity to post it so I’ll save it for its 25th anniversary as the many 20-year points of reminiscing keep slipping through the deadline cracks. However, 25 years ago my brother and I had an extended Spring Break during the transition from Houston to Indianoplace, one of the crappiest, dullest cities in America.
The official reason why we moved according to my parents was money yet I suspected it was my mother’s insistent nagging on returning to the Midwest. This did seem to be a plausible explanation at the time. Dad was already looking for another gig as the phone call from South Africa proved. There was also some kind of revolt going on at his job with HL&P regarding salaries. The suits were continuously blaming Governor Mark White since the gouging power company was a major issue in the 1982 campaign. From the bits and pieces I picked up from Dad’s conversations with co-workers and Mom, nobody was buying the explanation.
Then shortly after 1984 began, my parents left Brian and me at home for a couple days to check out an offer from a contracting group in Indiana. The actual job was in Kokomo, about an hour north of Indianoplace but thankfully they looked into being closer to civilization. Our weekend without adult supervision was relatively uneventful. I stayed home, geeked out with my paperback books, KLOL and corresponding with Kim, the only person in Springfield who stayed in touch. Brian had some kind of late-night adventure resulting in his friend’s mother calling me and demanding to know where Brian was. I covered for him because I probably planned on using it as leverage against him at a later date. Besides, he wasn’t doing anything criminal, just hanging out past curfew and if he listened to me then, I would have immediately suspected him for an alien impostor.
When Mom and Dad returned, they announced their acceptance of the Indiana-based offer so the move was a done deal. How pissed I was. I felt they had broken our understood agreement: If I did well in school then I could go to concerts, hang with friends at Bayshore Mall, etc. More importantly, they weren’t going to uproot Brian and me again as they did during the recent Summer of 1983. We were also in the middle of the school year, were they nuts? How quickly I forgot them doing this in 1979 and 1975 along with their D&D abrogation, regardless of my straight A’s. I should’ve gotten the uprooting part in writing instead because after this, I never trusted them very much on important matters regarding the future until I graduated from college. I know it’s a horrible thing to state or think about one’s parents but high school is a volatile time in many people’s lives. Stability, consistency and patience are as critical as finances. We couldn’t be any further apart philosophically in their minds because the same bullshit came pouring out of their mouths, namely the “friends don’t matter” litany. Every day I still ridicule their flawed mindset. The many friends I’ve had over the last 20-plus years have proven them dead wrong.
We left Houston at the worst possible time in my opinion. Spring was in full bloom there and the Midwest remained in the throes of snow and ice. The drive north was completely depressing as the temperature gradually dropped every few miles (perceptively) and the radio stations kept playing the same hits, thus certain songs invoke the ugly memories, namely “Talking in Your Sleep” by the Romantics. I’m confident I radiated a sphere of gloom throughout the trip while reading 2010. I always got stuck riding in the older, crummier car with Dad and our dog Louie which amplified the terrible mood.
Our arrival to Indianoplace was delayed by a detour at Grandma’s house in Bloomington, IL for three weeks. Dad left after a day as his job was starting soon yet the rental house wouldn’t be ready for a bit. Grandma didn’t suspect anything, it was Spring Break after all. When our hanging out exceeded two weeks, I think she finally had a feeling Mom was hatching an announcement. She received it the day we left too. Classy move on my mother’s part. The excuse was Grandma’s gossipy nature. Personally, I couldn’t care less what a bunch of senior citizens think on where I live. I don’t even know who they were and they certainly had no effect on me getting into college.
Meanwhile, Brian and I killed time around the house while relishing what little time we got at Bloomington and Normal’s excuses for malls. Mom told us not to sweat any truant officers, if they still existed then.
By the time we did get to Indianoplace, we were stir crazy and having to reside in a hotel another week wasn’t helping, especially with a dog. Out of boredom, we took tours of the local schools. I remember not being impressed by the private Catholic one, the name escapes me, nor was I keen on returning to a Catholic prison so we checked out the public school, Lawrence Central. The building wasn’t as nice as Clear Creek’s but I figured it would do, I only had six weeks of school remaining, I wanted to complete sophomore year without needing correspondence or tutoring. Brian had a hissy fit over public school and demanded attending Pope Pius Grade School because he wanted the pomp and circumstance of graduating from eighth grade like I received two years earlier at St. Agnes. Had I known that his choice would result in the both of us being press ganged into the same Catholic high school next Fall, I probably would’ve expressed stronger objections.
For now it didn’t matter. I had some serious catching up to do in my classes out of fear. My worries were quickly put to rest in all subjects but two, Chemistry and Latin. On average, most kids at Lawrence Central were morons, a stereotype I continue to attribute to most Indiana residents. I had little to sweat. Latin was more effort because it’s a useless language involving memorization and translating boring accounts of Roman battles or mythology. There was little interest in it too. So little, I had to take a shuttle bus to Lawrence North, a nicer, newer, cleaner high school which employed the only Latin teacher. I remember how irked I was when I learned how much closer North was to our house but I wasn’t allowed to go because of busing. Being stranded at North during my lunch hour didn’t help neither; who wants to eat without their friends? Chemistry was an utter nightmare. Unlike Texas, Indiana still taught it to juniors or higher therefore the teacher covered mathematics I wasn’t familiar with yet, namely the quadratic equation. This didn’t come to light until he spent time with me trying to assess my failing grades, five weeks later. The instructor, my parents and (probably) the class advisor realized I shouldn’t have been in the class so I received a passing, pity grade. My former teacher, Mrs. Martin at CCHS, focused on the joys of chemistry, not the math.
Outside of school, Indianoplace really sucked. Never before and never again have I lived in a town so stuck on itself which amplified my hatred all things Naptown. It may have been in the Midwest but the Eastern time thing was annoying when just trying to watch a sitcom or the news. The people’s tastes in music was less diverse too; remember, the Classic Rock backlash was starting to gain momentum and this place was one of the epicenters for it. Girls I met were jealous over knowing I saw Duran Duran in Houston. Guys were less enthusiastic because the big-deal morning show of Bob & Tom told them those Brits were untalented creations of MTV. (Those two windbag-Stern wannabes are now syndicated on numerous stations and became more boring, something I didn’t think was possible, thanks Clear Channel.)
The big news of the day was the Baltimore Colts relocating and playing in the Hooiserdome. Locals on TV ranted how they were a real city now. My rebuttal was, “Oh, like Green Bay?” To me, Indianoplace was a larger version of Springfield because all the good Rock tours usually skipped them for Chicago or Cincinnati, unless it was Metal or Dinosaur Rock. There were smaller club venues yet you had to be 21 so I couldn’t see Berlin, we only ran into Terri Nunn at a movie theater by accident, oblivious to it being her; we figured it was a fan who could afford a Berlin jacket.
There were several bright spots. We lived less than a mile from a the nearby Castleton Square Mall which had a movie theater, Farrell’s ice cream parlor (where my first job would be), Aladdin’s Castle, a record store and Waldenbooks. What more did a 15-year-old geek need? Indianoplace is one of the few cities with White Castle too. Nothing like junk food to take the pain away and replace it with gastric problems.
The city’s location held a mixed benefit. We were a day trip to Grandma’s and our unsold house in Springfield. The latter meant me tagging along with Dad to make quick repairs several times. Those Saturdays were such a blur sandwiched between three-plus hour drives, each way. Seeing our grandparents was okay because they didn’t get on our (teenage) nerves yet we did want to work on the new friendships we were developing.
We ended up living there for a mere 10 months, a Maggi record I’ve been told. I don’t think my incessant complaining about Indianoplace would’ve ceased though. Houston may have been a hot, smelly, dirty and dangerous city but unlike Indianoplace, it was a real diverse metropolis. Most people could find their niche to be happy in eventually. Myself included. Clear Creek and the party in Springfield were the clean breaks I needed to get back on track into becoming a better person. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Indianoplace resembled a giant suburb of Chicago filled with dumb, Republican bullies. It wasn’t a healthy change but a setback.
So now you know why I cheer against any team from Indiana, especially Notre Dame and the Dolts, winners of the Peyton Manning Derby.
