The True Sparanos Story

By Patrick Armond Francke

My autobiography is about my life involved with gambling, sex, alcohol, drugs, prison, loansharking & court trials. My father was a cop, my mother a housewife. I am the middle of 3 sons. My uncle is Benny (The Hat) Sparano, the man who sued the h.b.o. Sopranos show. I talk about my 15 years as a fugitive, surrendering in 2009. My life now includes writing this book to defer other want-to-be wiseguys from this lifestyle. I began a Remembrance charity softball game to honor all the guys who died from my hometown area due to drugs, suicides, cancer, murders & accidents. Wasted talent is the epitome of a lifetime spent watching over my shoulder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503551077

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Copyright © 2015 by Patrick Armond Francke.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Rev. date: 04/15/2015

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I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO:

Armond Francke Sr. (Nov. 2, 1930-May 14, 1998)

Marie (Sparano) Francke (June 21, 1934-Jan. 4, 2002)

Lorraine Sparano (July 17, 1912-June 29, 1988)

Antoinette Grace Della Penta Francke (March 13, 1911-Feb. 18, 1986)

Family Introduction

I, Patrick Armond Francke, was born at 9:13 P.M., Jan. 14, 1957. I had two brothers: Edward Joseph Francke, born Nov. 17, 1954; and Armond Joseph Francke Jr., born Oct. 12, 1965. We grew up at 308 Riverside Ave., Rutherford, NJ, with our parents.

My father, Armond Joseph Francke Sr., was born Nov. 2, 1930. He served as a U.S. Marine in Korea; then in the late 1950s he became a Rutherford police officer. Shortly thereafter, he was transferred to the Bergen County Police Force. He quit the force because of the low pay, and also my mother didn’t feel comfortable about that profession. Dad then bought an Esso gas station on Main Street in Lodi, N.J. Then in the late ’60s, he bought the Fireside Inn Lounge on Main Street in Fort Lee, NJ. (Intelligently he sold that when I became eligible to drink.)

His final profession was as a private investigator in the company name, Armond & Sons Inc. He retired in the late 1980s.

My mother, Marie Francke (maiden name Sparano), was born June 21, 1934. She was the typical housewife, raising three sons (two normal and me). Mom was very attractive; my friends always commented on how beautiful she was and how great her meatballs tasted. My parents followed as many activities of our lives as they possible could. We were all involved in sports.

My brother Edward has three children: Edward Jr. (Eders); Jennifer, who has two children (Isiah and Isabella); and Melissa, who has two children (Kaitlyn and Joseph).

My brother Armond Jr. married a beautiful girl named Laura, and they have two children, Julia-Marie and Domenic (Mimmo).

My grandmother Lorraine Sparano (Nanny, maiden name Occhinegrella), whose family came from a town called Andria, a province of Bari, Italy.

She had three children: Pauline, Marie, and Benjamin. She lived upstairs from us my entire childhood and worked as a seamstress her entire life. Nanny was a great person—raised her children alone when my grandfather Patrick Sparano walked out.

My aunt Pauline was also a wonderful woman. She raised her family alone when my uncle George walked out.

She had twin girls, Paulette and Georgeann, and two boys, Daniel and Thomas.

Paulette married Ted Caputo; they have two children, Regina and Nicholas.

Georgeann married Sammy Ventola; they have two children, Jason and Tara.

Daniel (Danny, the Snake) married Nora; they have two boys, Anthony and Thomas.

My grandmother Antoinette Della Penta (Francke, family originated in Campobasso, Italy) had three children; Armond (with her first husband, Edward Eugene Francke, my grandfather whom I never knew died at the age of 42).

Later she remarried and had Mackiel and Robert (Bobby) Berentis with her second husband.

Aunt Mackiel married a great guy named Alfie, and they have a son named Alfie Jr.

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Marie Sparano & Armond Francke; wedding photo, 2-13-1954

Our entire family enjoyed wonderful gatherings at 308 Riverside Ave. in Rutherford. We also celebrated with our relatives, the D’Alessandros from Lyndhurst (Uncle Dominic, Aunt Kay, Esther, and Joey) and the Della Pentas from Lodi (Uncle Tony, Aunt Marie, Cindy, and Judy).

My father built an in ground swimming pool, along with a billiard and Ping-Pong table, boxing equipment, and a basketball court.

My parents enjoyed watching everyone enjoy themselves. I loved my parents and that house.

We went on vacation every year, either to the Pocono Mountains in Pennsylvania or the Catskill Mountains in New York, plus we’d always go down to the New Jersey shore. One of my earliest memories was in Seaside Park, N.J.; I was swimming in the ocean and got stuck on the rope used for a boundary line. The waves were coming in over my head. I was choking, scared, and couldn’t get free. Suddenly my mother came out by pulling herself along the rope. She then pulled me under the rope, saving my life. I was embarrassed but alive.

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Armond Francke Sr., Bergen County policeman

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Antoinette (Grace) Della Penta Francke and Lorraine Sparano

Sometime in 1966, my mothers’ brother Benjamin (Benny the Hat) Sparano arrived at our two family house and resided upstairs with his mother Lorraine (Nanny). Benny had just been paroled from Trenton State prison following a 12 year prison sentence for armed robbery. My father allowed him to work at the station to satisfy parole. He was a welcome addition to our family and everyone enjoyed his company, little did we know.

My parents best friends lived across the street, their names were Frank & Teresa Piersimoni. They had two kids, Frank Jr. & Anna Marie. On Feb. 10, 1970 Teresa was found dead from an apparent staircase fall. My mother was devastated from the loss of her friend and it began a long period of depression.

Teresa Piersimoni_w-name.jpg

So now Nanny, after having visited Benny weekly during his 12 years of incarceration, was now doing all she could for her daughter Marie. Nanny proved to be quite a special person and the backbone of the Sparano/Francke Family.

Still an Almost-Normal Teenager

I had just finished an adorable childhood, and then in 1970, John Koole and I were playing stickball at Lincoln School. There was a sign: No batting of balls.

A police officer named Mcgarvin (Mr. Mac), a good friend of my dad, told us to leave four times. We left four times and we came back four times. The fifth time, Mr. Mac was pissed off; he brought us to the police station. My mother had to come get me. I was only 13 and my first time in custody in a police car.

John Koole.jpg

John Koole

There came a time in 1971 when I got my hands on a .22 rifle. I was in my backyard shooting at garbage floating by in the Passaic River. But strangely, every couple of shots I heard, ding, ding! I thought, "What is that noise?" I continued shooting until I finally realized the bullets were ricocheting off the water and hitting the guardrail on Route 21 across the river. This meant I could have killed anybody driving by. I was scared, so I went into the basement and nailed some boards together and continued shooting. Suddenly one of the bullets penetrated the wood, hit a metal table leg, and ricocheted, hitting the garage door two inches from my head. I stopped immediately; even I realized shooting indoors wasn’t too smart! I was never really interested in guns after that day.

The Godfather

March 15, 1972, a movie premiered called The Godfather considered by many the greatest film ever made. At the Francke/Sparano house, it hit a little closer to home than most homes. Benny The Hat not only dressed like a gangster but brought other gangsters to our home. One was named Frank Schiano, (Cheech, who was a legend in Hoboken with numerous hits) and the other was Rocky.

They were my uncles’ henchmen, collectors, hit men. Whenever they showed up at our house, I would send my friends home. I’d watch and listen to my father, Cheech, Rocky, Benny, Nanny, aunt Pauline & mom laugh and tell jokes while having coffee & cake. To say the least, The Godfather movie became the feature film at the Francke house.

Benny & Little Benny.jpg

Benny (The Hat) Sparano

In fact, shortly after Benny moved into the neighborhood, three local youths (Dean Briccola, Keith Errico & Mike Tarantino) noticed blood dripping from a car on Pierrepont Avenue in Rutherford. They called the Rutherford police, who found a body in the trunk. I remember thinking that was a little too close to home.

Friends for less than a day

June 3, 1972, I attended a party at Donald Dawsons’ (Duck) house. I met a boy named Paul, and we talked and joked most of the night. He told me how excited he was to be getting a new bike for his birthday. The next day, I was pitching a game at Tamblyn field.

When I came to the dugout, Tommy Jurkowski (Little Jug, Jugger) said, Paul McCarthy died.

I asked, From the Beatles?

Jugger said, No that’s Paul McCartney.

I said, I don’t know Paul McCarthy.

Jugger said, Yes you do, you were talking to him at Duck’s party last night for two hours. I was stunned and visibly upset. When I went back to the mound to pitch, I began crying. Jugger and coach Bob Letsche approached me and asked me if I wanted to continue. I said yes and proceeded to hit the next batter in the back. I was even more upset when I found out Paul died on his new bike.

Paulie McCarthy.jpg

Paulie McCarthy

holding Nephew Frank McCarthy (1971)

Jacks or Better, Six?

I enjoyed gambling at an early age. One day, Steve Dembowski (Bowser), Mark Davis, and I were playing poker: Jacks or better draw three cards. First hand someone opened, someone raised on the open; then we drew our cards and we bet, and we raised again…

I had a straight, Mark had three of a kind, and Bowser won with a full house.

I said, Wow, three good hands.

Second hand was almost identical. Someone opened, we raised, we drew cards, we raised again, and Bowser won again.

Third hand, someone opened, raised, raised, we drew cards, raised, and raised again.

I said, OK, Mark, what do you have?

Mark said, I got two pair: aces and jacks.

I said, What do you have, Bowser?

Bowser said, I got a full house. But when he put it down, I saw three kings and two jacks. I had three tens and two jacks. There were six jacks on that table. I grabbed the deck and turned it over; we were using a pinochle deck.

I started grabbing the money, saying, This doesn’t count! You have to give the money back!

Bowser’s saying, Fuck you, it counts!

Then the table turned over in Mark’s kitchen; the money was all over the floor. Mark was hysterical while Bowser and I were fighting for nickels and dimes. I was mad because I lost.

Bowser’s yelling, It counts! It counts! To this day I always check the deck!

A Quarter?

Freshman year, Rutherford HS, I came to school one day and my friend Robert Tart (Roy, Measy) said, Hey, Francke, you owe me a quarter.

I said, No, Tart, you owe me a quarter.

A few seconds later, I’m standing in front of my classroom when Tart comes running up and pushes me. I went flying into the classroom, taking out two desks. We started fighting; then the school bell rang, and everybody went to homeroom. We kept fighting.

While we’re fighting, we heard Mr. Furey over the intercom announce, Pat Francke and Bob Tart, report to the office!

We get up, knowing we’re jammed, and go downstairs to the office.

Mr. Furey says, Come on, let’s go. (He takes us into the library.)

Furey says, What’s this all about?

Tart says, A quarter.

Furey says, A quarter? I’ll give you each a quarter.

Then Tart gives out his unique laugh, Hyuh hyuh hyuh hyuh.

Furey flips the table over on my lap and walks out. We get a two-day suspension. We left school and went to Tart’s house.

I called my mother and said, I’m at Bobby’s house, having lunch.

My mother said, I thought you just had a fight with Bobby?

I said, I did, but we’re still friends. Mrs. Tart made us hot dogs for lunch, and then we played a little basketball (hoop) in his basement.

In the afternoon, we decided to go back to school and hang out (screw-off) in the cafeteria.

Two wise guys, wising off get caught. Now we have to spend our suspension days in school. We weren’t happy just being out of school!

The following weekend there was an expected boxing match, Bobby Tart vs. Dexter Ellis.

Except Dexter chickened out, so someone said, Pat Francke, he’ll stand in. I agreed.

Roy asked me, Do you want the 8-ounce gloves or the 14-ounce gloves?

I said, The 14-ounce gloves, thinking they’re heavier. Hello McFly, they’re heavier because they had more cushion.

By the end of the fifth round, Roy was bleeding, and then in the sixth round he accidentally hit me in the throat.

When I regained ability to breathe, I found myself in the laundry room; I wanted to continue but Robert McAllister said, It’s over.

I said, What do you mean it’s over? I lost? I hated losing, especially when I’m fighting with pillows on my fists, but Roy won (with 8-ounce gloves).

He’s Charlie Walters!

One day freshman year I was walking up West Passaic Avenue in Rutherford, when I found a wallet with a Fairleigh Dickinson University identification (ID) card and a military ID belonging to Charlie Walters. Well, I threw the college ID away and took the military ID, which stated he was 29 years old, and that night I went to ShopRite Liquors to get beer for Bobby Fecanin (Fic) and I.

Fic says, Pat, you’re going to get caught. You don’t look 29. I walked in nervously; I get two six-packs and give the cashier the ID.

He says, Are you sure this is you?

I say, Yea!

He says, You’re sure this is you? Now I’m scared; I start edging towards the door.

I say, Yea, why?

He says, Because this is me. I couldn’t believe I found the guy’s wallet who was working at ShopRite Liquors. I’m handing this guy his own ID.

As I’m ready to run out, he says, Where did you find this?

I said, West Passaic near the college. There was no money in it! I confessed that quickly and ran out the door.

Fic’s yelling, Yea, I told you! as we’re running towards the library.

I say, Shit, Fic, that was his wallet. He’s Charlie Walters! We started laughing. I should have known at that moment that crime wasn’t going to pay for me!

Sophomore year 1973, Rutherford HS baseball tryouts, I was trying to make the varsity team. When I didn’t, I really didn’t mind because my dad told me I probably wouldn’t play as much as I would on junior varsity. But then I realized my brother Eddie’s name wasn’t on the varsity list; I was upset. I remembered he batted .460 as a junior; he was a shoe-in for varsity. But this jack-off Coach John Botti always picked his favorite students. What really upset me and our family was that Eddie sat the bench for three and a half years of football. Finally, in his senior year, when George Shypailo went down with a knee injury, Eddie got his first opportunity, and did he ever take advantage. In the four games my dad and I watched, Eddie had seven quarterback sacks and knocked out three quarterbacks, two in one game. Following the season, Coach Jim Furey gave my brother a very emotional speech at the dinner banquet. I was especially proud of Eddie because he had the courage to sit the bench for three and a half years. Big, strong, fast, and quiet describes my older brother best. When Eddie got cut from the baseball team, I knew I’d never play for John Botti or Rutherford HS again.

The summer of 1973, I spent almost every day down Memorial Field playing baseball and basketball with Fic. I also met the most fascinating girl; I told Fic I wanted to marry her. Her name was Patricia Krowe (Patty). Now since Patty went to Saint Mary’s, a Catholic high school, which was also in Rutherford, I had two reasons to leave Rutherford H.S.

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Here Comes Mr. Francke

Karl Zeidler (Ziggy) was throwing a Friday night party. I started by drinking a bottle of vodka in 5 minutes.

Everyone was saying, You’re going to be fucked up.

I said, Eh, I don’t feel anything.

Then I started feeling fucked up, so Fic walked me up West Passaic Avenue to Carmita Avenue. Then we turned around and began walking back. I started pissing while I was walking; I pissed almost all the way down to Riverside Avenue (250 yards).

Fic said, You’re still pissing?

I said, I’m going to piss all the way to Ziggy’s house! We were laughing.

When I got to the house, I passed out upstairs. Ziggy put me on my stomach because he knew I’d start vomiting. Mrs. Zeidler was a nurse, the nicest woman I’d ever met. They said I threw up 30 or 40 times in my sleep. When I awoke on Saturday, I was covered in vomit (puke); Ziggy made me clean it up.

He was yelling, You better start cleaning, motherfucker!

I was vomiting as I put the sheets in the washing machine. My friends were upstairs laughing. Then I realized I have a junior varsity baseball game in Leonia. I arrived at the clubhouse and was lying on the trainer’s table, sick as a dog.

Coach Ludwig walked in and said, Francke, you’re pitching today.

I said, Oh, Mr. Ludwig, I can’t. I’m sick. I got the flu or something. Everyone started giggling. He looked at me; he knew the deal.

He said, All right, Paul Resch (Rocko), you’re pitching. Now we only had nine guys when we arrived at Leonia.

I said, Coach, put me in right field. Normally Rocko and I switched at first base.

Next thing I heard, Here comes Mr. Francke. My dad came to every game; didn’t matter when or where, he was there. I loved him for it.

My teammates always asked, Hey Pat is your dad in the mob?

I’d always answer, No, my uncle’s in the mob. We’d all laugh but I had a big mouth.

Now I’m in right field and Rocko’s pitching when I start dry heaving, Ehhhh ahhhhhh.

I’m making all these sounds. Rocko’s laughing on the mound. He had to stop his windup and step off the rubber I don’t know how many times. By the time the third inning came around, I was on my knees in right field, unable to stand up. Rocko stepped off the rubber and looked at me with his arms crossed.

I started waving and yelling, Go ’head! Go ’head! Pitch!

It didn’t matter; I couldn’t get up no more. My dad was looking at me; what a mess. When I came up to bat, I just stood there—wouldn’t you know, he walked me. My teammates were more surprised that I showed up for the game than anything else!

Mr. Francke Sr coming to the game.jpg

Public to Catholic and Back

I started my junior year at Rutherford HS, but after a few months, I decided to use my life savings ($600) and go to Saint Mary’s High School to play baseball and be close to Patty. I was selected to the varsity baseball team.

Coach Wladyka says, Team rule, anyone who goes into a bar is off the team.

So one night, Frank Bucci (Horace) and I go to Hub’s Tavern. Apparently this jerkoff ex-Saint Mary’s alumnus named Farrell Sheridan (Stoolpigeon) saw us.

He called Wladyka, saying, Francke was in a bar last night.

Sheridan said he ratted on me because in his words, I have pride in Saint Mary’s. The funny thing was Sheridan didn’t rat on Bucci, so where was his pride?

I told Wladyka to put Bucci back on the team since he honestly gave himself up. Wladyka refused. So Bucci and I hung our uniforms up on the backstop at Tamblyn Field on opening day in protest. Season was over for us.

Party at Johnny DeCicco’s (Johnny D) house—Me, Bucci, Brian Bagdan (Baps), Mike Johnson (Lardo), and Ralph Nunziato (Nunz).

Someone pulled out an Instamatic camera, so I dropped my pants and click, a photo of my penis (dick, pecker, cock, hammer, prick, salami).

Funny thing, next day in school, I hear a big commotion. I ask, What’s up?

Lardo says, Come here, look. I see inside the bulletin board next to Sister Margaret Ellen’s office the photo of my dick stapled over the face of Coach Joe (Dickhead) Wladyka. Now when Lardo did this, he jammed the lock with a paper clip so no one could open it. The sisters needed to go find the janitor first.

I went to science class, when the teacher, Mr. Panagy (Mr. P) calls me out in the hall and asks, Patrick, all kidding aside, is that your picture upstairs? I started laughing. I say, Mr. P, that’s not my photo. That’s a detestable act, and I had nothing to do with it. Why, do the nuns want to examine my dick? We both laughed.

Losers Walk

When I left Rutherford HS, I left behind Fic and all my other friends. I still saw them, especially Fic; we only lived a few blocks from one another. One day, 16 of us met at Memorial Field to play a pickup game of tackle football. When choosing sides, I always wanted Fic on my team. This day our team won 10 touchdowns to nine. The funny thing was Fic ran back eight kickoffs for touchdowns; you couldn’t catch Fic. You couldn’t even block for him, because you had no idea where he was going. Everyone was shaking his head. I’d run over and congratulate Fic.

Then I’d say, Losers walk (meaning the other team had to walk to the other end of the field).

Friday night, May 31, 1974, we were hanging out at Mama Rosas pizzeria. We all said our goodnights and headed home. The next morning I walked into the kitchen. My mother was on the phone, looked at me and said, Bobby Fecanin is dead. To this day it brings tears to my eyes. I loved Bobby Fecanin. Seemed Fic drove his car head-on into a tree on West Passaic Avenue in Rutherford. He died instantly. The entire town was devastated; the funeral service was 150 cars long. It took that entire summer for me to realize Fic was really gone. I visited his grave daily for months until my mother told me it’s better just to go on Sunday. The following year Fics’ father, Michael Fecanin died.

I asked Ernie Fecanin, (Michael’s brother & a Rutherford Cop) What did Mr. Fecanin die from?

Ernie Fecanin told me, My brother died from a broken heart.

I didn’t believe it; I thought that was impossible. I went home and told my dad what Ernie Fecanin had said.

My dad said, Sure it’s possible. I still had my doubts.

Rutherford High School Class of ’73, varsity football Team:

1st row, #67 Edward Francke, #62 Louis Petronio, #63 Robert Quinn, #77 Pete Rogers

3rd row, L to R: #27 Karl Zeidler, #21 Robert Fecanin, #89 Patrick Francke

4th row (left, in T-shirt): John Brundage (JB)

Last row: Robert Tart (2nd from left); Paul Resch (Rocko, 6th from left)

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I attempted to play football my senior year following an operation on my foot that summer, but for some reason I wasn’t on any squad. So what I did was I’d go in for Tommy DeLuise on the kickoff team, just so I could get in the game. One game we kicked off, I made my first and only tackle inside the 20-yard line. Except I hurt my foot, so I came to the sideline, took my spike off, and was trying to look at it. When Dr. Loreti saw me, he checked me; then he called the ambulance over, and they took me to the hospital.

Halftime came, someone said, Francke’s in the hospital.

Coach Bruce Bartlett said, Francke’s in the hospital?

They said, Yea, he got hurt.

Bartlett said, How can he get hurt? He doesn’t play!

Everybody started giggling. DeLuise said, He goes in for me on the kickoff team.

Bartlett was pissed; he said, You assholes, Francke’s not supposed to be playing! Bartlett knew from my operation that I wasn’t supposed to be playing, but he wanted me to stay on the team because I was good spirit and support.

I said, Sorry, coach, I’m out of here.

Basketball season, I was the second—or third-best player on the squad, but Coach Joe Dickhead Wladyka cut me; I figured he was still pissed off about the photo. Now I’m just waiting for baseball season. When baseball season arrived, so did Saint Patrick’s Day.

Dickhead Wladyka told the team, We have a doubleheader scrimmage. Anyone who doesn’t show up for practice is off the team. He knew all the seniors cut school and went to the Saint Patrick’s Day parade because we did it every year. This year all the seniors went to the parade except me; I went to practice.

Next day, all the seniors are kicked off the team, which left 10 players. Joe Dickhead Wladyka was almost in tears when the other team arrived, and he had to cancel the scrimmage. Dickhead Wladyka tells the remaining players, If the school forces me to put those seniors back on the team, I’ll quit coaching.

Then Good Friday came, three days before opening day against Saint Cecelia, which I’m scheduled to pitch.

When I arrived at Tamblyn Field for practice, Father Kakolewski said, Patrick, come on in. We’re having a meeting.

I see the five cut seniors sitting outside. All my friends, guys I cared about.

I say, Hey, what’s up, guys?

They say, Ah, nothing.

I go in, and Father Kakolewski starts talking about Jesus Christ dying on the cross 2,000 years ago. He’s going on and on, and I’m thinking, "What’s going on here?"

Then Kakolewski says to me, Listen, Patrick, since you’re the only senior on the team, we’re going to ask you to vote first on whether to put those guys back on the team or not. Now I understood.

I said, Listen, Father, nobody did a fucking thing last year for me and Bucci when we got thrown off. You want me to vote against my friends? It’s not going to happen. As far as I’m concerned, you could put them back on the team. It doesn’t matter to me. Then I walked out.

The team voted to put the guys back on the team; the school was getting pressure from some of the parents. Two of the boys had college scholarships wrapped up. I was playing well and glad to have my friends back. We practice that day for four hours; Dickhead Wladyka left and returned when practice was over.

Then Coach Katt called me into the coach’s room after practice.

Joe Dickhead says to me, We’re not going to be using you this year.

I got cut from the team, the only senior that didn’t go to the parade; that’s what I get for not going to the parade.

I never considered myself good enough for the major leagues, but I was hoping on a scholarship, maybe a semipro contract as a relief pitcher. Now the scholarship was history. I didn’t play ball for Saint Mary’s or with Patty my junior or senior year.

No one could believe it—the whole school, my friends; coaches from Rutherford HS were shocked when I saw them.

Coach Katt said, Patrick, why don’t you go out for the American Legion team.

I said, I can’t even make Saint Mary’s HS squad.

He said, No, you know why you didn’t make it. Funny thing, no-class Wladyka never quit coaching like he stated he would.

The following Monday, Patty Krowe says to me, Your father’s in school.

I said, My father’s here?

She says, Yea, he’s looking for Wladyka.

I said, I better find him before he finds Wladyka, because he’ll kill him. My friends were stunned.

I said, My old man’s nuts. Wladyka better not fuck with him.

Wladyka was lucky he was in the teacher’s room, because if he was in any classroom, my father would’ve found him. That’s the kind of father I had.

While I was searching for my father, I see Father Kakolewski in the hallway.

He said, Hello, Patrick.

I said, Get the fuck out of here.

He said, What’s the matter, Patrick?

I said, What’s the matter? I got cut Friday after your big speech.

He said, I’ll have a talk with Mr. Wladyka.

I said, Don’t do me any favors. I wouldn’t play for him or this fucking school.

My friends were all standing around listening to me curse at a priest. I had it by then. I didn’t really care about school too much after that; I just wanted to get out. I stopped studying; I stopped going. I knew my grades were barely enough to graduate.

Then I get caught cheating on a 10-point quiz in front of Sister Sweeny. I got a two-day-in-school suspension. I was ordered to do a 300 word composition on every president. I did it; it was 52 pages long, except there was nothing in the library on President Ford. So I got a note from Sister Nuts stating there was nothing in the library and to excuse me from the last president.

I hand my report to Sister Sweeny, and she says, Where’s Ford?

I said, Here’s a note. There’s nothing up there on Ford. I can’t do him.

She throws the report in the wastepaper basket and says, I’m going to get you expelled for not completing suspended assignment.

Well, I felt like smacking this nun, but instead I swung to make her flinch just then Donna Falken and Mike Deluca (Duke) grabbed me and ushered me out of the classroom. The nun charged me with trying to hit her.

I got kicked out of Saint Mary’s, so I went back to Rutherford HS. When I arrived at Rutherford HS, Mr. Pepe (guidance counselor) says, You’re only coming back because you weren’t going to graduate in Saint Mary’s.

I said, That’s not true. My grades are good enough to graduate. They kicked me out for swinging at a nun. I added, Look at my grades, they’re passing—first semester: 77, second: 72, third: 68, fourth: 65. Two Cs and two Ds.

Pepe says, Yea, except Saint Mary’s doesn’t have Ds, so your 68 and 65 are Fs.

I said, OK, so I got 2 Cs and 2 Fs. That’s a D average.

Pepe says, Yea, and a D is an F in Saint Mary’s.

I said, That’s ridiculous. If you do it numerically, I graduate.

He says, The only person who can change this decision is Mr. Bauman, the principal.

I go to Mr. Baumann. I tell him, Listen, Mr. Baumann, if you grade me numerically, I graduate. Even though I got screwed in Saint Mary’s by a lying nun and a fat English teacher. (It seemed Mrs. Slone was giving grades to students without checking their papers. She was ordered to write a letter of apology to all second semester students. Except I had her first semester, which explained to me why I received D grades when I was handing in my girlfriend’s A and B papers.) I failed English and History, but if you just grade me the right way, just add up the four semesters and divide them by four, I graduate.

He says, Yea, but Saint Mary’s doesn’t have four semesters. They have two semesters.

I said, So divide it by two twice. It’s the same answer.

Mr. Baumann, the principal of Rutherford High School, says, No, it isn’t.

I asked, No, it isn’t?

So he picks a number. He divides it by four, and then he divides it by two, then two again…

He says, You see it doesn’t come out the same. I’m in shock sitting across the table.

I say, What are you talking about? I grab the paper and turn it around. He made a mistake doing the division.

I say, It has to come out the same, look, you made a mistake.

He’s so embarrassed, he says, Well, it might work with that number, but it’s not going to work with any number.

I flipped the table over on him; it pinned him against the wall. I explained to the secretary what this idiot principal had just said to me, and then I steamed out.

My