Friday 23rd August 1997,
Today is possibly the worst day of my life so far. I’m lying here in the infirmary, just to get away from Michael Marcus, feeling more exhausted than ever before. I’ve had 3.5 hours sleep in the last 36 hours, and nearly killed myself, and four others, on the road….and why?
On Thursday Morning I was up at 8am, and worked through the day. In the evening, the kid’s luggage needed sorting out, but it all turned into a big unorganised mess, leading to my arrival back at the camp from the airport after midnight. I was then told to be in the office at 5am. I arrived on time, and yet had NOTHING to do until 7, when I just portered a couple of bags 50 yards. At 10, I did the mail run. On my return, I was told that I had to take 3 kids to Scarsdale, New York, a round trip of 270 miles. I protested my tiredness, so they sent someone with me….who couldn’t drive. During the next 6 hours, I consumed countless cups of coffee, even some cigarettes I found, in a desperate effort to stay awake. And yet I still kept blacking out for half a second at a time, and in the moments in-between, the road was just a dizzy blur. I would not have even thought of driving myself 5 miles when I was that tired, let alone sending someone else’s sons on a 135 mile journey. I’d just like to know:
Why couldn’t one of the maintenance guys have gone on the baggage run the night before? I wasn’t driving either way.
Why was I needed at 5am?
Why couldn’t someone else have gone with the kids? and..
Why do they never take responsibility for there own actions/mistakes?
I am now exhausted, and yet unable to sleep, worrying about the lives that may have been lost, including my own, simply because of other peoples inability to manage.
One thing that sort of took the edge off today’s nightmare was the following note, written on my HPC, by Jessie , one of 3 brothers I was taking to New York. I think it’s fairly revealing…
>From the desk of Jesse ,
Today was the last day of camp. I was originally supposed to go on the Westchester Bus which left at 6:45 AM. But the office fucked up and told me that my parents were picking me up at 10:30 AM. I woke up this morning and Jed was gone. He had already been picked up by his parents. He woke everyone up but me and gave me the finger while I was sleeping. What that stupid fuck doesn’t know is that I have his expensive fitted hat and I’m not giving it back. It’s a nice hat and I’ll enjoy wearing it. Anyway, after he left, I had fun writing with a pen on his cubby, Jed “has no friends” Cohen was here in ‘97.
Goodman and I played in their bunk while I was waiting for my Mom and Dad. Unfortunately I found out soon enough that I was going home in a van with my brothers with Kevin Edgar and a cool driver named Jon Horniblow.
So far, we’ve listened to cool music and made a pit stop at Burger King for lunch. So here I am now writing this document in this camp van with everyone sleeping but Jon and myself. I’m getting pretty tired myself so I guess I’ll go to sleep now. See ya’ next year!
Bye,
Jesse
Post continues below
Camp then proceeded to be it’s usual unpleasant self for a while. I asked if I could do some post-camp, as I needed the money. I was told “yes” by MRM, but when Michelle found out, I was told that “I could take my name of that list for a start”. When I argued and started pointing out what MRM had said, Fuller chipped in and told me that he’d be “taking bet’s as to whether I got post-camp work or not”
I knew I was doomed.
Tuesday 25th August 1997. I arose at 6am this morning, and proceeded to assemble my maths paper for sending to the UK. Lukas Horn came to me at breakfast and asked me for a word. I wasn’t sure what he wanted, but then Fuller came and was obnoxious, and I knew something was wrong. I was put to me that I had driven the local Chief of Polices’ daughter around, and bought alcohol for her. She is 17. I denied it immediately, as I was not responsible, but they would not listen to me, and gave me no opportunity to speak
Things became nasty, and I was threatened in various ways, and watched as I packed. Eventually, Amy, one of the office girls, overheard. The next thing I knew, 8 others had quit, leaving Camp Greylock in a bad position for post camp staff.
During the next hour, my innocence was established, and my job was offered back. I did, of course, decline.
We all went to Lee and Pittsfield. Some went with an American friend of their’s, and the remaining 7, including myself, hired 2 cars…one from Rent-a-Wreck, for $27.50, and one from Hertz for $150. We are now sitting in a Motel in New York…sleazy as hell! It has a 24hour porn channel, mirrors on the ceiling, and cockroaches on the bed…but hey! it’s cheap…tomorrow is another day..
Tomorrow came, with some surprises. First thing in the morning, at 5am, Joseph Benesh went and dropped off Kevin Minnott at JFK for his flight, and Amy at the Hotel where her trek was to start from. After awakening later at 8.15 to find the porn channel still fully active, and Uncle Fester watching fixated, we arose, and departed our charming abode. We went to drop some people off at the Port Authority Bus station, where things started getting interesting. We bumped into not only Tomask Guzda, but also Sarah and Louise from Camp Romaca (Greylock’s sister camp) AND Marcus Hawker, who was travelling with Lucia Dello Ioio. Joseph and myself dropped the Hertz rental car off at JFK, agreeing to meet the others later.
We met at the NorthEast corner of Central Park, packed 7 of us into the Rent-a-Wreck Chevvy, and proceeded to grind our way to the Malibu Studios Hotel, where Marcus and Lucia had a $70 room. We paid for an extra 2 to stay at $15 each, and goodness only knows how, but managed to sneak the other 3 in. So we ended up with 7 people in a 7′ X 5′ room. Two people on each single bunk bed, and three on the floor. I kid you not. But not bad at $8 each for a central location.
That evening, before retiring to our particular micron of sleeping space, we ventured out onto Broadway, where we ate far too much Pizza, and proceeded to catch a sub to Times Square, where we drank in “The Irish Pub”, and took a walk, dazzled by the lights, street musicians, and shops full of electronic gizmo’s, most of which were half the price I’d paid for them in Mass. Ho Hum.
Next day, we parted ways, and I drove with Tomask and the two female Polish friends of his, to New Jersey, where he was to pick up his DriveAway to Dallas. The lucky bastard only went and got a brand new Toyota Lexus, with cream leather interior, electric everything, Nackamichi stereo, walnut trim, and 104 miles on the clock. Damn!
Marcus and I then went back to Becket, where I had to return the rent-a-wreck. He stayed with his friend Brehan, and I stayed in an expensive, but very pleasant Motel in Lee for four nights at $55 a night. Ouch! However, it allowed me to watch some TV for the first time since arriving. It was certainly an experience. With corny local adverts for the store just down the road it had a quaint aire about it, but some of the mainstream was fairly bad too. I STILL cannot work out if the Jenny McCarthy Show is auto-referential satire or what…but if it’s rally meant to be a sitcom…God help us!
It was interesting to watch the original “Price is right”, “Supermarket Sweep”, and QVC. I notice they go a big bundle on stuff like Mr Bean… in fact, anything with Rowan Atkinson in it. The radio is an alternative of sorts, but you have 2 choices… National Public Radio (quirky but educational), Country Music (AAAARGHHH!), or stations that play the same 7 songs over and over and over and…
At around 10pm on the night on the 30th, I heard some breaking news on the television. As the evening developed, the story intensified, and many cable TV channels dropped normal programming to show CNN or similar. Then, just after midnight, the first rumours started coming from the NewsWires into the studio. And then, about an hour after that, came the confirmation… Diana was dead.
I must admit, I was stunned. It wasn’t until the next day that the weight of the whole situation sunk in. It may be corny, but whatever you think of her, she did some good…not to the monarchy, but to good causes. A friend emailed me the next day, saying “…except that Diana, Princess of Wales has been murdered by Mossad, MI6, the FBI or Hammas…”. I wonder……
After four nights, I decided that I’d “done” expense for a while, and, on Labor Day, found a Motel in Springfield. The bus journey was $10, and the taxi another $10, but the motel was $20 less anyhow. And boy, does it show! Called the “Knights Inn”, it’s in a part of West Springfield that I’d not care to spend too much time in. Coming straight from the 50’s, the entire road is covered in sleazy motels, and places like “Bob’s Auto Discount Plaza”, with neon signs that got smashed 20 years ago, and no-one really cares. There’s a pool, but I’m not contemplating ending my life enough to risk a swim.
That afternoon, I decided to walk the mile to the movies. Not pedestrian friendly at all, I spend most of my time teetering on the edge of the highway, being buffeted by fat old men and their fat grumbling wives, driving 96′ long 8000 HP Winnebago monstrosities. Eeek!
After having seen the very cheesy “Mimic”, I strolled into the Super Stop’n'Shop, and to my delight, found that they stocked Twinings English Breakfast tea. Marvellous. Went and bought some. Didn’t think about how I was going to make a cup, but I managed, somehow. Also found, to my disappointment, that Staples had reduced the Cassiopeia by $100, but they said they’d sort it out anyhow.
I walked back to my motel, and switched on the TV, to learn that Di’s chauffeur was twice over the legal drink limit, and doing 105 mph when he crashed. Which means that the paparazzi may well get of lightly.
It’s Labor Day evening now and the cicadas are chirping away in their trees. At this point in time, I expect to head back to New York City on the 3rd, possibly meet up with Marcus, and then meet my brother at JFK on the 4th. We leave for Philly on the 5th, and from there on, it’s onto the rockies, a weeks car hire to take in Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and San Francisco, and then a “do-as-much-as-we-can-with-whats-left-of-the-time-a-thon”.
As we pulled into Santa Cruz, Tracy got rather excited. This was where she worked in 1997 for the summer, and never in a million years did she think she’d be back. It really is an “all-American” resort. It’s Blackpool for the yanks. We arrived early evening, and after taking a few sunset pictures, we headed downtown for a rather excellent pizza and pitcher of Bud at the Bar and Grille. The main street through town (and that’s all it is) has a “nice” feeling to it. The populous seems to be a cross between ex-hippy, and worthy youngsters protesting outside the Gap store. That and street artists. Altogether a pleasant experience. Slightly the worse for wear, we then headed toward the Asti bar, Tracy’s old drinking haunt, and so to bed.
