GARGOZO MANUSCRIPT

I enjoyed thinking that I was the only person to spot the Occidental magazine's horrific screw up, but regretted the grief it must have caused Mrs. Sysmanski.  Camille, who worked in the Alumni Office, had seen to it that my request was honored and I no longer received any mail from the college, including the magazine.  However, Munson remained an alumnus in good standing and continued receiving the magazine year after year.  Every so often I spent a weekend in San Francisco at his place and could never resist checking out my favorite parts of the magazine.   Years ago when I first began receiving the magazine, I discovered a small section at the very back called "Milestones".  Here along with births were listed the Occidental alums who had passed away since the prior issue.  The details were sparse but always included the deceased's name (including maiden name), and their graduating class year.  The college began soon after the turn of the previous

Some 20 years after graduating, I spoke on the phone with a pleasant sounding young lady from Occidental and proposed an end to our association.  The school and I had never been on good terms.  I had been counseled for misbehaving as a freshman and had been given a well-deserved label of asshole.  So in many ways it could be said that I was to blame for us getting off on the wrong foot.  However, over time I developed a deep hatred as my interactions with the administration and faculty demonstrated that the majority were incredibly smug and insular.  I was too naïve to realize that it was probably to be expected from a place that was private, small and granted tenure. I managed to complete all 4 years but I was being driven by a student deferment that kept me ineligible for the draft and Viet Nam.  Added to this was the guilt I had knowing my dad had taken on a second job to cover the tuition.  After graduation my resentment toward the school peaked.  It wasn't

As a college freshman, Munson's behavior was of such a bizarre nature that the rest of us failed to realize that his roommate Palmer, was bipolar.  In our defense, compared to Munson, nearly everyone appeared normal.  Palmer and I first met in a discussion group led by the Queen of Phlegm, Professor Silva Lake.  Once a week, groups of 12-15 freshmen gathered to reflect on the prior week's history of civilization lectures.  We soon discovered that there were some pretty sharp students enrolled and that Professor Lake suffered from a lethal dose of consumption.  She couldn't go more than a few minutes without a violent fit of hacking, wheezing, snorting and coughing that ultimately climaxed with her depositing vile gobs of mucous into one of several handkerchiefs she carried with her.  During these fits, I couldn't take my eyes off Palmer who sat leaning forward with his mouth agape in disbelief.  I went up to Palmer when the session ended and s

Dr. Palmer figured his best chance to bed the local TV news anchor was to win the Easter bonnet contest.    He hadn't known she would be judging the event until he read about it late Saturday night in the Albuquerque Journal.  Ever since she first appeared about 9 months ago, Palmer had been entertaining thoughts about the news anchor that most people would consider as fantasies.  Dr. Palmer was not most people.  He considered these sordid ruminations as prophecy.  Palmer grew up in New Mexico in the 1950s and due to his father's political career, he had concluded that anything within the state's borders was his for the taking. Michael (age 10), Marc (age 6) and I were spending Easter vacation at Palmer's place.  Palmer explained to us with great urgency that he required our help in constructing a winning entry that evening as the contest was to be held the following day.  After a brief exchange of ideas we settled on a massive headdress of balloons