Love in the A Shau

By Denis J. LaComb

"Love in the A Shau" is a love story set in the turbulent sixties. A period of social, civil, and sexual upheavals for so many college students.

Daniel, a struggling freshman from a lower socio-economic class background falls in love with Colleen, the daughter from a very wealthy family. Despite their social and cultural differences, the couple is drawn together; as much by their differences as their physical attraction to one another. Love ensues but brings with it a plethora of unintended consequences.

These differences continue to challenge their relationship and Colleen feels compelled strike out on her own to find herself. Daniel drops out of school, gets drafted, and is sent to Vietnam. Southeast Asia becomes Daniel’s vision quest; a turning point in his life. While recovering from combat wounds, he receives a ‘Dear John’ letter from Colleen. Their relationship is seemingly over.

But Colleen is also changing. After a traumatic seduction, Colleen has found new strength as a woman. She is more self-assured, more independent, and never wants to become vulnerable with a man again. She’s found a new boyfriend, a budding career in journalism, and the end of a stellar college career in sight.

All of that changes when Daniel returns to campus, a radically changed person. Now Colleen must face the consequences of her past actions.

Love in the A Shau is the story of driving ambition between two people. One who has nothing and one who has it all. Both end up fighting against society’s prejudices stacked against them. It is an untypical love story that deals with class in America, Vietnam, old world values, and family traditions that collide with new sexual freedoms and women’s newly emerging roles in society.

Love in the A Shau:
We’re all damaged. The only question is how damaged? And can we be healed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denis J. LaComb
• Release date: Oct 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9780988420328

Denis J. LaComb

Denis LaComb is a storyteller. Dissatisfied with a single title such as novelist, screenwriter, or playwright, Denis decided that the most apt description of his work would simply be: Storytelling. No matter what the genre; novel, play, movie, or children’s books, the essence of Denis’ work is storytelling in its purest form. While the characters may change and the story may vary, at the core of all of Denis’s work is a story to be told. A story that might involve mystery, passion, conflict, or the intricacies of relationships. The catalyst for Denis to begin writing full time was a decision to wind down his video production business. With the threat of retirement looming in his future, Denis went back to work on a Western novel he’d written forty years earlier. This was his first writing project and hence, a new career was born. He rewrote that novel and in short order, completed three more novels and four screen-plays. At that point, Denis decided to take some of the made-up tales he’d created for his grandchildren and turn them into picture books. Skinny Hippo is the first of such picture books. Denis is also writing scripts for television movies and has completed several plays, which he is shopping around for the proper venue. Denis and his wife, Sharon, divide their time between traveling, Minnesota, and Southern California with long layovers in Colorado where three of their grandchildren live.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Blue-Eyed Beauty Queen

The Italian boy was sure he’d get into Colleen’s dress before the night was over. After an evening of strolling through the piazzas and landmarks of Rome’s finest attractions and showering his American date with compliments, Roberto began to make his move. He’d performed his amorous maneuvers many times before. This time would be no different. He casually walked the beautiful young woman back to his favorite hunting spot…the Spanish Steps.

There, along with other lovers, local and foreign, the twenty-something bon vivant began to work his magic. Unlike the other hustlers on the steps, Roberto had refined his seductive techniques until they worked like clockwork. He quickly found a spot on the steps far enough away from the others that they wouldn’t be noticed. Then he and Colleen sat down and he quickly wrapped his arm around her.

Your dress, he began, is so beautiful.

While Colleen tended toward fashionable clothes that showed good taste while still being stylish, she wasn’t a slave to fashion. Her new dress, a Valentino Garavani signature piece, was obscenely expensive. Colleen’s mother, Mary Rose Fitzpatrick, had insisted that her daughter must have it for her time spent touring Italy. Colleen’s father, ever the conservative one in the family, quietly acquiesced to his wife’s insistence that their daughter be among the best dressed women in Italy during their family trip.

It’s nothing, Colleen answered with false modesty. She knew she was stunning in the dress. And her sweet-smelling, amorous date noticed it too.

The wine had slowly begun to take effect on Colleen. She was happy and giggling and blissfully unaware of Roberto’s casual arm on her shoulder. Smiling smugly to himself, the dark-skinned lover felt half-way home even before he began to slide his hand down toward his date’s firm young breasts.

Colleen leaned back against her date and laughed at the other couples. Roberto began to slowly lower his hand as he whispered in Colleen’s ear. He spoke just softly enough to make her lean back even closer against him. He blew softly into her auburn hair that rested on her shoulders. Casually, he ran his hand up and down her arm and caressed her neck with his soothing touch. Colleen was practically purring when his hand slid, ever so slowly and gracefully, down to rest on her breast. Then he slowly began to squeeze the firmness in his hand.

Roberto wasn’t expecting the reaction he got.

Di Neutrailita! Colleen snapped as she pushed her date away and snarled under her breath, Oh, no you don’t, buster!

Roberto caught himself before falling backwards and steadied his hands on the steps. Colleen’s reaction had caught him completely off guard. But the Italian had been there before. He wasn’t about to be dissuaded by this initial rebuff. Instead of retreating, Roberto leaned in again, whispering Colleen, darling and started to bring his hand back up to Colleen’s chest.

No, dico sul serio, Colleen snapped and slapped his hand away for a second time.

This time her reaction was stronger and unmistakable. She meant business and fondling wasn’t in the cards for that night. Colleen stared at her date. No, I mean it, Roberto! she snarled in a clear and controlled voice.

I am so sorry! Roberto began. You misunderstand me. I like you. The hustler smiled through his bright white teeth framed by light olive skin. I like you a lot, Roberto pleaded, moving closer to Colleen for a third time. I want to be your friend. Will you be my friend?

Colleen laughed, this time completely in control. She may have been light-headed from the wine but not enough to make a fool out of herself. It didn’t matter that most of the other women around them were either making out or allowing their dates to grope them under their sweaters or long skirts. Colleen wasn’t about to be felt up by some Italian gigolo she’d just met that evening.

The redhead quickly got to her feet and put her hands on her hips. Roberto, she began, I have to return to my hotel. My parents expect me back by now. Thank you for the dinner and the wine and the fractured conversation. If you’re ever in the states, don’t bother to look me up. She took a step closer to the Italian who was leaning back against the stone railing, nursing his pride. Don’t worry about escorting me home. I can get my own cab. Good night.

With that, she turned and walked away leaving her date to hide his stifled arousal with cupped hands.

The ride back to her hotel on the Plaza Pierzio was short and direct. Colleen moved quickly through the lobby ignoring the calls of several other tour members who had spotted her from the bar. She was angry and embarrassed at the same time. She had no idea why she had put herself in such an uncomfortable situation. The arranged date was a disaster waiting to happen and Colleen had fingerprints on her dress to prove it. When Paul from her tour group met her at the elevator, Colleen simply smiled and said, Sorry, I’m too tired for a drink. Then she left him standing there as she slipped into the elevator.

She rode up the glass-enclosed elevator to the seventh floor and walked down the hallway to her parent’s room. They were sitting on the sofa watching television when she entered.

They don’t have anything worth watching, her father, Arthur Fitzpatrick, announced as Colleen walked through the door. And most of it is in Italian, her mother added.

Did you have a nice time? Mary Rose Fitzpatrick asked her daughter.

Yes, Mom, he was very nice, Colleen said, flopping herself on the sofa next to her parents, Until he turned Italian! We went out to dinner and then just walked around.

Completely missing her daughter’s comment, Mary Rose Fitzpatrick smiled and said, See, Cousin Mortimer was right. She said you and her nephew would hit it off. Was his English good enough to understand?

Oh, yes, Mother, his English was just fine, Colleen answered. I understood him all too well. Right from the beginning…to the end…I knew just what was going on in his mind …and elsewhere.

Will you be seeing him again? Mary Rose inquired.

Probably not, Colleen answered. He’s got a lot of school work to finish before he can go out again. Besides I think he has a stiff muscle to deal with.

I don’t understand, Mary Rose responded, a bit confused.

That’s too bad, Colleen’s father interrupted. He seemed like such a nice young man.

Yes, Dad, I’d say he was probably your typical Roman male. At least he certainly fit the description of most Italian males I’ve heard about or seen in the movies.

I don’t understand, dear, what are you saying?

Nothing, Mom, nothing. He was fine, Colleen said as she grabbed a Vogue, Rome Edition, off the coffee table to read. Besides there are still so many things we need to do here in Rome before we have to go back home. With or without the tour group.

By then Colleen had kicked off her shoes and snuggled into the corner of the long sofa. She leaned toward her Dad and whispered in his ear. Thanks so much for this trip, Daddy. It’s been wonderful and such a nice way to spend our summer vacation before I go off to college.

Roberto wasn’t the first man who wanted to score with the beautiful and classy Colleen Catherine Fitzpatrick. Her vibrant personality, charm and quick-wit had attracted more than her fair share of young suitors. Most were intent on being her friend. A few had aspired to go further than a simple friendship. Their goal was the Promised Land. But none had gotten there yet.

Deep inside, Colleen knew the right thing to do. Going diamond for an old high school flame wasn’t it. Even if she liked him a lot.

In a way it all fit a very consistent pattern for Colleen Fitzpatrick. She was too practical. Too smart. Too sensible. Too leery of lingering high school romances to be distracted from the opportunities that were about to unfold before her once college began that fall.

This European trip was the perfect break between Rochester Senior High School and the collegiate adventures that awaited her in the cities. Even a little distraction like the roaming fingers of Roberto was only a minor bump in the proverbial road ahead.

Colleen Fitzpatrick was born upper crust and she knew it. Her father was a noted surgeon at the Mayo Clinic. She was born and raised on pill hill, the new development outside of Rochester proper where mostly doctors, lawyers and CEOs made their home. Her mother came from old East Coast money.

Her strata of society held its wealth in high regard but never in a manner considered too ostentatious. Understatement was the overriding principle adhered to and embraced among her kind. The homes, the cars and the clothes spoke only of fine taste and refinement. It was all second nature for Colleen. She had the self-confidence and the knowledge to carry herself as she was expected to. And feel comfortable in the process.

Since birth, Colleen had been initiated into the sometimes mysterious ways of the very rich. She was told who to play with; who to be friends with, where she would go to school and what activities were the best for her. She knew the kind of young men her parents would approve of and those they would turn a cold eye toward. It would have been an understatement to say that her parents simply had high expectations of this young woman. Their expectations for Colleen matched their own status in the country club society in which they lived. And Arthur and Mary Rose were both confident they had nothing to worry about. Colleen was a good girl and knew her place. She would not disappoint. They knew it. Colleen knew it.

The European vacation was their way of recognizing four years of hard work, outstanding academic achievement and the full scholarship she’d received to Mother of the Lake Women’s College in St. Paul.

Soon Colleen would be leaving the safe, secure confines of Rochester, Minnesota to spend the next four years in the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. The rigorous academic reputation of Mother of the Lake College both challenged and appealed to her competitive nature. The fact that it was an all-women’s college also had its attractiveness. Colleen didn’t want the normal distractions of the male species to sway her off course. Her focus in college would be academic excellence, enriching summer internships, and a career in journalism at the end of four years.

Colleen wanted to experience anything and everything the cities had to offer. She would enmesh herself in her college career and graduate with the knowledge and skills to be a top-rate journalist. She was about to embark on a whole new adventure and she couldn’t wait to get started.

Chapter 2: Great Expectations

The Time magazine, dated April 15, 1966, lay tossed aside on the ground. Across its bright red cover a banner screamed out about the hottest city in existence—London, England. They subtitled it the swinging city. Inside the magazine, articles went on about happenings on Carnaby Street, the latest English fashions, miniskirts and the glorious bands and other wondrous things happening in swinging London. It was the place to be and to be seen.

But no one was reading the magazine at the moment. It lay half crushed under the thick thigh of Summer Blaze as she thrust her hips up against her boyfriend. Over and over again, she ground her round middle up to meet Daniels penetrating push. She moaned and groaned and half smiled with her eyes closed. Daniel stared down at his rotund girlfriend with a look of bewilderment and concern. If she wasn’t dying, she was certainly in a world of sexual bliss.

Daniel was having sex with his sometimes girlfriend for the first time and it wasn’t going well. After months of persuasion, Summer Blaze (aka Samantha Berkowitz) had finally convinced Daniel that they should consummate their friendship the only way she knew how. And she assured him she wouldn’t get pregnant.

It was over before Daniel started to feel any build up inside. Summer was a pro. Her recreational resume included back seat romps, darkened basement experimentations and open field intrusions. A quick roll in the grass after the last day of school might be adventurous work for an amateur like Daniel. But for Summer it was just another let’s be friends confirmation.

She had Daniel on his knees, out and ready for penetration, before he realized what he was supposed to be doing. She quickly moved under him and guided the projectile on its flight path and scored a direct hit on target. Once inside, Summer took over and controlled the thrust of the missile until it exploded in its intended target.

When it was over and Daniel was left breathing heavily and staring down at his shrinking member, Summer simply moved out from under him and motioned him to lie down beside her. She grabbed the Time magazine crumbled beneath her bottom and began to read it. As quickly, she tossed it aside and reached into her rainbow-colored sack. She pulled out an old copy of the New Musical Express, a British pop music weekly.

Lay next to me Daniel, she said as she adjusted her skirt to cover her private parts, I want to read all about British pop music and see what they say about the Beatles. I want to go there, I really do. You should come along!

Sure, Summer, Daniel offered back as he sat up and moved over to lean against a tree nearby.

Don’t you want to sit by me? Summer asked, patting the ground next to her.

Just keep on reading and I’ll watch for anyone passing by. Tell me all about this London town of yours, Daniel said, his voice just barely covering his amusement at Summer’s fascination with that foreign city.

It says that the pirate radio station called Swinging Radio England coined the term Swinging London. Did you know that?

No, Summer, I didn’t know that. So where did they get the name swinging? Daniel asked.

Summer looked up at him and frowned. "Daniel, don’t you know anything? Swinging means hip, with it, you know…very fashionable. Vogue magazine last year called it the most swinging city in the world."

"Vogue? You read Vogue?"

Shut up, Daniel, Summer threw back with a smile.

So what else does it say about London?

Summer went back to her magazine. She read: This is a youth-oriented phenomenon bedazzled by bright colored clothing, rocking music that is sure to deafen the ears of its ardent followers and a willingness to try what some have euphemistically called recreational drugs. It is a youthful revolt against anything and everything their parents stand for. It is a nose up against government regulations and a welcoming of anything new and different.

Summer glanced up at Daniel, saw he was still looking at her and continued. The edgy cults of James Dean and the Angry Young Men is done. Skiffle and coffee bars have passed their time. Bill Haley and his version of rock and roll are over. Now it’s the Beatles and Rolling Stones that are on the vanguard of a new age of British rock music.

Daniel smiled at Summer’s enthusiastic read of the magazine. She was a true hippie at heart as well as in dress and thought. Far more advanced in sexual ventures, drug taking and far out, esoteric ideas than Daniel. They’d been friends all through high school and he enjoyed her company. She was always the first to discover new trends, new music and what those hip kids were doing after school.

She and Daniel both came from similar dysfunctional backgrounds and shared a longing for something better in their lives. They were just going about it in two very different ways.

Sounds like your kind of place, flower child, Daniel offered. No place for a badass greaser like me. They both laughed. Daniel stared out at the river boulevard that ran by the woods. It was busy that time of day with bicycle riders and walkers both sharing the narrow blacktop pathway. Like a black gash among the swath of green trees and bushes, the pathway wound its way past the open field of grass and down toward the college that Daniel planned to attend in the fall.

The College of St. Paul was one of the oldest colleges in the state. And only one of three in the state that admitted just men. The school’s history was long and storied, having educated most of the children of the founding city fathers. It attracted a wide variety of students including the wealthy from out East who were attracted to its Midwestern business and medical connections.

Aside from the elite of local high schools, there was also a small minority who were admitted only because of the school’s strong religious conviction that the poor and undereducated needed a chance to succeed as well. Daniel fit into that latter category. And he knew it. He was just plain lucky to have gotten in. And academic probation was almost a certainly for him during his freshman year. Grants and student aid would help with the tuition but Daniel would have to work long hours at the grocery store if he wanted to meet his financial obligations.

This summer would be the culmination of four years of struggle in high school and the dissolution of his past life. Daniel was moving on. Many of his old high school friends weren’t.

Daniel knew he would be entering college without Summer as his sidekick and sometime companion. She would be gone within a month or so. Going someplace and never returning to the Twin Cities, she claimed. This was their last summer together and probably their last summer as friends, awkward lovers and soulful intimates whose relics of a past life left little to encourage them on into the future.

The grassy knoll where Summer and Daniel had chosen to slap bellies was a well-known hangout for drinking, pot smoking and the occasional sexual encounter. Daniel didn’t know anyone among his friends, or Summer’s for that matter, that had actually done it in the grass so close to the river boulevard.

Summer grabbed her panties, stuffed them in her rainbow colored woolen shoulder bag and motioned Daniel to come over again.

Come on, Droopy… you got what you wanted, just sit next to me when I read about my next destination—Swinging London.

Daniel looked over at his short, overweight, not particularly attractive girlfriend and shook his head in amusement. Summer had beautiful brown eyes even though she wasn’t very pretty. She was crude, overly sexual and not as ambitious as he thought himself to be. But she was a friend and a confidant and someone who would listen to all his stupid ideas and dreams and not go ape-shit in the process. She encouraged him even when she wasn’t sure what he was rambling on about. She was Daniel’s listening post and he loved her for it.

Yet Daniel knew they would never be a couple. Summer didn’t share the same drive and determination that had propelled Daniel through high school and a chance acceptance to college. Summer just wanted to get through high school, have fun, and as she liked to put it, just enjoy life. And she wanted Daniel along for the ride.

He knew that. And while Summer was the best he had in a friend and he liked her for that, Daniel was on a different track in life. He was focused, determined and burning with a desire to make something better of himself.

I really want to go there, Daniel! Summer said, moving her hip next to Daniel’s. She pointed at the picture of two women in their miniskirts outside of a Carnaby Shop. I want to hop a plane or boat and go to Swinging London. I think that’s my kind of place.

Summer, you don’t have any money. You don’t have a job. Your parents would never let you go. And you don’t know how to drive. So how would you even get to the coast?

Then I’ll go to New York.

New York?

Yes, or San Francisco. They’ve got an art school in Frisco that is supposed to be wonderful. I did well in art class and they let almost anyone in out there if they think you’ve got talent.

And what about Swinging London? Daniel asked.

It can wait until I’ve got the money to fly first class over there. Or maybe I’ll take a tramp steamer like Jack London did.

Now you’re talking nonsense, Summer. You’ll probably get a job at Burnick’s Department Store downtown and end up a senior clerk. Or something like that. Daniel wrapped his arm around his girlfriend and gave her a hug. But keep dreaming big, girl. That’s what I love about you.

And what’ll you do? Summer shot back, pushing Daniel’s arm away. After you graduate from that snobbish college of yours? Summer paused to collect her thoughts. Then she laughed and grabbed her crotch and said, Maybe marry some rich virgin from that girl’s school and have lots of perfect little babies.

You’re something else, Summer Berkowitz. Daniel said.

Blaze, dipshit! Call me Summer Blaze. That’s my name now. Not Berkowitz. That’s my parent’s name. Not mine!

Doing a Bob Dylan, are you? Daniel asked.

They both laughed and Daniel put his arm back around the girl. He looked out at the loose string of people meandering down the pathway, some lost in their own thoughts. Others rushing by, going someplace in a hurry.

Daniel turned to his girlfriend and said. It was good, Summer, while it lasted. I’m glad we became friends in high school. You made it go a lot easier. We’re two of a kind, you know. I’ll be sorry to see you go but if you decide to go out West or back East, I think you’ll do just fine…love beads and all.

It was good, wasn’t it, Daniel? Summer answered. They grew silent and went back to watching the foot traffic stream by.

Who were those people? Daniel wondered as he looked out at the foot traffic. Were they in college? Or just part of the working poor like Daniel and Summer? He wanted to ask those questions out loud. He wanted to share his thoughts with Summer about college and what might lie beyond. But he knew that would be a waste of time. There was no reason for them to talk about their goals or ambitions after high school. They were on two different life tracks and two different wavelengths.

Summer had made it clear right from the beginning that she knew her place in the world. Just like her working class parents did before her. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that a college education would amount to anything for her. Working hard, getting ahead; that was what counted. And not, as her mother kept telling her, Finding the right man who would take care of you. Unlike her worthless father who had walked out on her mother soon after Summer was born. Summer had other ideas. And finding the right man wasn’t a part of it. Except if it was Daniel. Daniel was different. He was kind and gentle and listened to her dreams. Even if he laughed at them sometimes.

Whenever she was feeling maudlin, Summer liked to point out the sad similarities between Daniel and herself. Alcoholic fathers. Single parent upbringing. Piss poor grades in grade school. Not much better in high school. And for the most part, loser friends, the outcasts in school. They’d all been put in one category and labeled JDs (juvenile delinquents), hoods, greasers or worse.

Summer knew her place in society and it wasn’t at the Town and Country Golf Club—the most exclusive country club community in the Twin Cities. Both tried to get jobs there and both were turned down. It was unwritten but understood that their kind didn’t work at a place like that.

It bugged her that Daniel thought he might someday be a part of a different crowd. He was no better than Summer and her friends. He certainly wasn’t country club material. He barely had enough money for freshman year at college. His student aid was only good if he kept his grades up. His mother was barely literate and of no help whatsoever. Hardly the stuff of academic legend. Yet Daniel kept talking about finishing college, getting a good job and settling down like the saps on Leave It to Beaver.

Summer would argue with Daniel that he was no better than her or her friends. He was one of them. And always would be. That was a fact and he couldn’t change it. Daniel would just let Summer ramble on and finally would plant a wet kiss on her cheek to shut her up. It usually worked.

Summer, we’ll stay in touch, Daniel lied. Two outlaws like us gotta stick together.

Wanna try it again? I think I can make you hard.

No, Daniel said moving his arm back as he stood up. I’ve got to start the evening shift at old man Dryer’s grocery store. Gotta break in the new high schoolers tonight. Being a shift manager is a lot of responsibility, he chuckled.

Why don’t you try to get a job at McDonalds? Summer asked. I heard you could work your way up to manager pretty quickly, if you’re good.

No, Daniel answered, I think I’ll stick with what I know. And right now, that’s Dryer’s place.

I’m gonna stay here for a while and read more about my kind of town, Summer answered and waved Daniel off. He hiked up his pants and started off through the tall grass.

Summer was still clutching the Time magazine as Daniel strolled out of the grassy field and pulled up his bicycle from the shallow spot where he’d hidden it. As he rode away, he smiled to himself. Awkward though it was, he sorta enjoyed having sex with Summer. It went fast and furious, hardly the kind of experience to brag about but he liked being so close to her, feeling her warmth and experiencing emotions he had not felt before.

Daniel’s sometime girlfriend had no money but he knew that wouldn’t stop her from going wherever she wanted to go. Swinging London was probably too far away, but New York or San Francisco were both just an extended thumb ride away. He knew she would be gone before he started college.

The rest of Daniel’s summer break was spent working at old man Dryer’s grocery store and getting drunk on weekends with his friend William. Occasionally Summer Blaze would sneak over late at night and climb through his bedroom window. Once they screwed under his bed, just to be safe, and almost got caught when his mother came home early from a date.

With the end of summer fast approaching, Daniel’s erstwhile girlfriend announced one afternoon that she was leaving the next day for San Francisco. Summer was going to attend the San Francisco School of Art and Design.

Later that night they went back to the same grassy knoll where they’d first consummated their friendship earlier in the summer. They had sex one last time under a moonlit, star filled night. Daniel was much better this time and kept up with Summer until the end, grunting through mutual climaxes.

As they lay on the ground, still naked from the waist down, Summer leaned over and looked at Daniel.

This is it, kid, she began, tomorrow I leave town and you enter the monastery. May the better man win. She paused. Are you going to write me?

Of course, I will, Daniel answered.

Liar. You’ll be screwing some freshman virgin after the first sock hop. You’ll see. They’ll figure out what a stud you are and they won’t be able to keep their hands off your tool. You’ll become all high and mighty and think you’re better than the rest of us. Just you wait and see.

No, Summer I won’t forget where I came from. And you won’t let me. Just come see me when you’re back in town.

What if I don’t come back?

Then I’ll come see you. How’s that?

Really? Summer asked.

Sure, when I’ve got the time next summer, I’ll come out to see you. If you haven’t moved on by then. You know, a rolling stone gathers no moss.

What do you mean? Summer asked.

Forget it.

Daniel and Summer continued lying on the damp grass, staring up at the stars. Neither one of them said another word. Their fingers found one another and clasped together one last time. But as they lay there, Daniel felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. He realized that this was, indeed, the end of his friendship with Summer. She was leaving his life and he knew in his heart that she wasn’t coming back. Summer was the bookend to that sad chapter in his sorry life thus far. And she wouldn’t be around to give him shit as he stumbled through the next one.

Summer left the next day and made San Francisco in a week. Her first letter, mailed shortly after she arrived, said she only had to screw one guy to complete her ride into the city by the bay. He deposited her at the corner of Haight and Ashbury and Summer was, at once, in her new home.

Summer’s last letter to Daniel, dated three weeks later, told him that she was enrolled in school. She’d found a place to live. And had made many new friends already.

But Daniel knew his old girlfriend far too well. He could read between the lines. The reality, he guessed, was that Summer was probably panhandling in the streets. If she had new friends, they were probably a group of like-minded lost souls to crash with. Her hint of romance meant she was deep into a sexual relationship with someone else already. That was his Summer. Impulsive, impetuous, and thoroughly confused about herself and life.

Summer represented the end of another phase of Daniel’s life he wouldn’t miss. High school, with all of its trials and mishaps, was now but a fractured memory away. And fast fading in the ever-approaching reality of freshman year in college.

A week to go and he would be starting the College of St. Paul. Daniel was excited and scared at the same time. He worried about his poor study habits and tenuous financial situation. But mostly he worried about the ability to survive in a brand new world of subtle wealth, academic overachievers and challenging college studies. He wasn’t really prepared. He didn’t kid himself about that. But Daniel was determined to give it his best shot. However it might turn out.

Freshmen Year: 1966-1967

Chapter 3: Beanies & Dingbats

Orientation Week at Mother of the Lake College followed a pattern set down over the ages; always trying to distinguish itself from other colleges in the Twin Cities. The week was meant to introduce freshmen to their esteemed school with an emphasis on its storied history and many traditions.

It began with a Freshman Tea on Sunday right after noon mass. By that evening all the parents were gone and the young women were on their own. The rest of the week continued with the placement tests, dormitory assignments and purchasing books at the student bookstore. There were orientation classes covering everything from extracurricular activities to volunteer opportunities. And of course, time for a mixer or two with those fellows down the road, the College of St. Paul students.

Colleen met her new roommate, Peggy Scranton, the first day on campus. It was like a mutual admiration and competition dance between them from the start. They challenged each other’s high school records, their own summer activities and the collective number of boyfriends each had garnered thus far. By the end of the day, they’d become fast friends. Both of them were tuned into the vibe on campus and both were eager to make their respective marks academically and socially—with a greater emphasis on social for Peggy and academic for Colleen.

Like Colleen, Peggy came from a very well-to-do family in the Twin Cities. She’d gone to Blake School, an Ivy League prep school for the affluent and entitled. Her family lived in Edina, a decidedly upscale neighborhood just southwest of downtown Minneapolis. Her father was a business executive and her mother, a stay at home mom. Peggy had all the energy and charm of Colleen but with a bit more spunk that Colleen hadn’t quite mastered yet. Together they made a very formidable pair. Their shared laughter at some of the silly formalities of Orientation Week reverberated down the hallway of their dorm.

One evening during that first week, Colleen and Peggy were sequestered in their dorm room, pouring over class assignments and perusing the pile of books that towered over their small study desks. Peggy looked up from her book.

Can you believe the number of books we have to read this first year? Peggy asked.

Hold on, Colleen retorted with a smile. It just gets more complicated as the year goes on. I’ve heard that by the second semester, the number of books we have to read doubles or triples for most classes.

Speaking of the challenges ahead, Peggy continued, are you going to the mixer this Friday?

I suppose, Colleen answered. Are you?

Absolutely, Peggy answered. We’re supposed to get involved in extracurricular activities aren’t we? Attending the mixer is a great way to meet new friends from down the road and perhaps a future classmate.

Classmate? Is that what we’re calling them now?

Classmate, Colleen, not roommate!

Yeah, right, Peggy, Colleen said with a smirk on her face.

Anyway, let’s plan on it, Peggy continued. I’ve got a darling red dress that will catch everyone’s attention. And French cut undies to go with it. What do you have to wear? If you don’t have anything, I’ve got a ton of clothes I brought along.

Peggy, what I wear to the mixer is the least of my concerns right now. Journalism 101 is my top priority, followed by Chemistry and Algebra. After that, I can worry about what to wear.

Suit yourself, Miss Academic. We all have our priorities.

They laughed at Peggy’s last comment and went back to studying.

Colleen kept leafing through the pile of reading material in front of her until she came to a colored flyer. Oh, my God! she exclaimed.

What? What is it? Peggy asked, looking up.

I can’t believe it!

What, Colleen?

Nancy. She’s going to be here. She’s the guest speaker during Founder’s Day. I can’t believe it.

Nancy who?

Are you kidding, Peggy? Nancy Dickerson, the news correspondent, Colleen answered enthusiastically. I’ve been following her career since high school. She’s exactly who I want to be like. She’s a brilliant journalist. She’s thorough in her research. She cuts to the chase in her interviews and she writes wonderful articles. She’s even been on television a number of times. She is everything I love in a journalist. I can’t believe she’s going to be here.

I assume that means you’re going to Founder’s Day? Peggy asked.

Peggy, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s being held at the St. Paul Hilton. Want to come with me? You’ll love her, believe me, she’s great.

Sure, Colleen, count me in. I’ve always wanted to get the inside scoop on Washington and what goes on inside the beltway.

The first freshmen mixer of the semester was quaint, quiet and very boring. It resembled a high school sock hop rather than the elevated collegiate affairs shown in the college advertisements. The boys from St. Paul College lined one side of the gym and the girls from Mother of the Lake, the other. Even Peggy’s bright red dress didn’t bring on the boys.

The second mixer a week later was a little better but neither Colleen nor Peggy made much headway in meeting new boys. The more sophisticated men could pick out the more experienced girls in a second. They made haste connecting and securing those eager women for the evening. The rest of the girls, Colleen and Peggy included, were left to dance with each other or line the walls and sit in chairs for most of the evening. It was another bust.

Finally, Peggy told Colleen about the first official dance of the school year held three weeks into the semester. It was not just for freshmen but for all the students from both colleges. It would be at the College of St. Paul again but in their gymnasium this time. There would be decorations, refreshments compliments of the faculty and a really good band.

It can’t hurt to try it again, Peggy urged Colleen who by then had little interest in trying for a third time to meet some of St. Paul’s finest. Colleen just shrugged her shoulders. You’re too desperate my friend. Boys can sense that a mile away. Why don’t we just skip the dance and focus on our studies?

Colleen Catherine, I am not desperate and I do intend to give it a try again. With or without you. Peggy paused and gave her roommate a broad bright smile. So won’t you come along with me? Please!

Colleen put her book down and let the pages flip over. She flicked her finger under the cover, closed it and then slid the book across her desk. Yes, my desperate friend, she answered with a return smile. Yes, I will go to the dance just to make sure you don’t offer yourself to the first male specimen that comes along. But I’m not staying if it’s like the first two.

This time will be different, just you wait and see, Peggy chortled. Let’s see what you have to wear. She walked over to Colleen’s closet and opened the door. She paused and smirked. You didn’t tell me you’ve got a closet full of designer dresses and outfits. She began leafing through a stack of Colleen’s sweaters.

Peggy!

Well, Her roommate answered with a smile, not everyone comes to school with outfits from Mary Quant.

My mother insisted on buying those at Bazaar, Mary’s store in London, Colleen answered. She got up and reluctantly walked over to Peggy. And remember what I said, Peggy, if it’s a bust, we leave, she advised her.

Now wear something cute. But not white, Peggy added.

Not white?

Your underwear, silly. If you wear white they can see your underwear.

Desperate! Colleen said, shaking her head as she went back to her book.

Chapter 4: College of St. Paul, Fall Semester

Freshmen orientation on the College of St. Paul campus mimicked Mother of the Lake very closely. There were the mandatory classes designed to acquaint incoming freshmen with their academic heritage—both its traditions and long hallowed histories. There were classes on academic life, study habits, social events and faculty expectations that far exceeded those of high school. In short, it was a fast-paced introduction to the wonderful, wild, wacky world of higher education; sans the lecture on sex, alcohol and recreational drugs.

Pep rallies were designed to instill in the freshman’s malleable brains the rich tradition of the school’s sporting history. Clubs, social activities and fraternity pledging would come later in the week. Finally, there were the dreaded placement tests designed to put the collegiate newcomers in their respective classes all based on test scores and their academic standings back in high school.

Registration Week proved to be Daniel’s first collegiate test filled with card table stations for class assignments, dorm selection and extracurricular activities. There were notices to pick up and stuff in his backpack, cards to sign and bills to be paid on the spot. There was even a table to sign up for lectures from visiting professors on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Amazing, Daniel thought to himself, college really does go on seven days a week here.

After traversing the minefield of table stations and overzealous sophomores eager to help, Daniel found himself alone in the campus quadrangle, trying to catch his breath at the whirlwind of activities all around him. He grabbed a corner bench and watched the eager freshmen, most with their parents in tow, passing by him. He should have been so lucky.

Daniel felt alone among the milling crowds of confused, scattered freshmen and TA’s answering their multitude of questions. He thought about high school and the fact that he was just plain lucky to be on St. Paul’s campus in the first place.

Without a father or father figure, Daniel had pretty much stumbled through, faked and barely passed the academic requirements to be accepted to college. He’d missed academic probation by only a few points and knew he was on notice to improve his grades or seek an education elsewhere.

Daniel was out of his league and he knew it. Already at the bottom of his class academically, Daniel assumed he was also one of the poorest freshmen around. The number of new cars in the parking lot attested to the financial muscle behind most of his classmates. He felt uncertain about his chances of succeeding at St. Paul and even being able to make tuition unless he got a better paying job next summer. It was one big lottery and he’d placed all his bets on this first year. It would make or break his college career.

Slowly, he got up and started walking toward the bookstore. It was certain to be another onslaught of pushing and jockeying for position as he tried to buy his schoolbooks for the year.

St. Paul’s bookstore turned out to be the challenge Daniel had expected. It was crammed with like-minded freshmen all determined to find the cheapest used books they could stuff under their arms. As Daniel jostled his way through the crowd he couldn’t help but be amazed at the tenacity shown by his competition to find books and other classroom materials. He was beginning to realize that high school was more than just a mile away and a year before. College was an entirely different mindset and a thoroughly stepped up field of competition.

To identify and humiliate the freshmen, the College of St. Paul had a longstanding tradition of making all freshmen wear multicolored (in the school colors) beanies for the first two weeks of the fall semester. In addition to the beanies planted on top of their heads, all freshmen were to be addressed as Dingbats for that two-week period of orientation. Daniel took it all in stride. If this was the price to be paid for being a part of the freshman class, he would gladly accept the stupidity and silliness of it all.

The famous Inns of Court, a fraternity just off campus, had set up their table outside the student commons. As Daniel passed by, one of the members yelled at him to come over and sign up as a pledge. Several others joined in shouting at him.

Sorry, I don’t have the time, Daniel responded, not breaking his stride.

What do you mean you don’t have the time? one of the fraternity members asked. You’ve got time to study. You’ve got time for mixers. Why don’t you have time to sign up as a pledge?

Daniel stopped and turned to face the fraternity men. He thought for a moment of a curt response but then just shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Sorry, was all he had to offer.

Freshmen! one of the members said sarcastically. The other fraternity boys around the table laughed at Daniel as he left. Someone swore at him but soft enough that only he heard it.

Daniel kept on walking, a smile planted firmly on his face.

There was only one freshman that Daniel knew from high school. William was more gifted academically than Daniel but sorely lacking the same desire that fueled Daniel’s presence on campus. Tall and lanky, William was labeled a slacker by his friends and enemies alike. It was a moniker he wore with pride.

As they had planned, Daniel met up with William in the campus coffee shop after his foray through the bookstore. William, ever the old kindred spirit, had two cups of coffee waiting as Daniel walked into the coffee shop. He was holding something in his lap as Daniel sat down.

What’s that? Daniel asked.

Jack Daniels for the soul, my friend, William answered with a smirk. Want something to lighten up your coffee?

What? Daniel muttered under his breath. Are you frickin nuts, man? Stuff it. Jeez, if they see us with that booze, they’ll kick us both outta here for sure.

William frowned and pushed the flask back into his pocket. Daniel leaned in close to his friend. You are a putz, William, he said. I mean certifiable.

Well, BFD! William answered then added, How’d you do at the bookstore?

Got screwed.

Typical, William answered. But they screw everybody. I heard the only ones who don’t get screwed are the seniors.

Why’s that?

Because by the time they become seniors, they’ve learned how to play the game and get their books during their junior summer. They have the pick of the crop, mainly used books. So they come to campus locked and loaded, ready for class.

Why can’t we do that? Daniel asked.

Because we’re not as smart as they are. We’re freshmen, remember.

You’re probably right.

As improbable as it seemed, William proved to be a good counterbalance for Daniel. He was bright while Daniel certainly didn’t see himself that way. He was an extrovert, while Daniel was more reserved. William was sarcastic and rude at times. Daniel was the peacemaker. So while Daniel worked on his friend’s social skills, William educated Daniel on ways to survive his first year in college. While Daniel had to study long and hard to grasp his course work, William hardly ever opened a book. But he was always there for Daniel to clarify a point or help Daniel with his homework.

"So what the hell are two losers