You had warnings – you had big warnings – you had warnings as big as Portland.
Flunk one more class, you lose your 2-S.
Guidance Counselors are good at straight face and point blank.
Lose your 2-S, you jump to the head of the line – Draft Board calls – Uniform – Marines – boot camp – Vietnam – Body bag.
Flashes across your brain and repeats over and over – You’re going to die – you can feel it in your bloodstream.
Finals – you hate this class – Biology. You picked up a book maybe once.
Too much going on – people to meet – places to be – things to do – important things. Biology wasn’t one of them.
Big test – two weeks – life depends on it.
You remember a buddy – high school – Dad’s a pharmacist. Buddy shows up with a jar full of pills.
“Take two – helps your brain” – Dexamyl – never heard of it, but you’re desperate. The books are waiting.
If two work, four must be better – you’re one of those “bigger is better” people – you take six just to be safe.
The Old College Try – determination of steel reinforced concrete – open up to Chapter One and dig in.
Fifteen minutes; tingles – twenty minutes; life’s not so bad – an hour; you’ve got this thing aced and you love everyone.
Four hours later you’re still on Page One – it’s so interesting you forget – you’re crazy about this stuff. You’re going to take 20 units next semester, even Night School – You’re going to work on your Doctorate. Life is amazing. You want to call people, but you can’t – you promised – your brain is going to explode – you are perpetually rocking – feet are tapping like a box full of woodpeckers.
You make it to Page Two. You never realized how fascinating Biology was – you’ve been missing out on life – you’re dying of thirst.
You hear birds – the sky is getting lighter – where did Five o’clock come from?
Jaw hurts – you’re coming down. No way – gulp four more – school bus at 7.
Sweating buckets, you make it to class. You’re so brilliant you can’t stand yourself. You are going to get laid this weekend; you know it – you can feel it – you deserve it.
Test hits your desk. You break your pencil three times before you answer the first question. Teeth are grinding – People are looking. Teacher squints.
You finish your Final fifteen minutes early – fifteen minutes before everybody else.
Surprise – you wound up not answering a single question right. Your essay was one runon sentence of total gibberish – even you couldn’t read it.
Not only did you get an F – you got a page-size-in-bold-print-red-letter-F.
Color your life over – picture yourself with a shaved head and square jaw.
You’re a nervous wreck, but it dawns on you they already had the lottery.
Number 346 – saw it with your own eyes.
You could sleep for a year. You still like school though.
Whether you’re cramming for a Final or staring out the window – here’s 90 minutes worth of Ron McCoy from KNAC-FM, Long Beach on February 10, 1972.
