University of Massachusetts Lowell - Sojourn / Knoll Yearbook (Lowell, MA)

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Turning Corners Maybe it's only luck. I don't know. It seems as if sometimes there is simply no choice but to go, knowing that you have no idea where you're going. There is al- ways one who makes straight lines, some are able to dive into adversity as if it were the Merrimack River and emerge on the other side undaunted and perfumed. There is, for such a one, no trial. Necessi- ty and reality hold hands. One of the hardest trials for me during my college existence has been to finda decent place to live. My first apartment was a break- through, or rather a break-in. It was in a condemned building being iuiced up for another ten years. I didn't mind. Being an adventurer. it was like hiking for me. I slept on the kitchen floor in authentic freedom. The rent was reasonable, since there was none and the landlord stopped in only occasionally to deliver lumber and other such clutter. Never having lived in Lowell, finding the employment office was a real task. I found it, however and it worked. I re- ceived my instructions and my second morning in Lowell began with a bicycle ride across town to find my new employ- er. The wind was cold and the sky poured buckets. After an hour or so of being lost, pedalling around in circles. I lit upon it, a now defunct chemical waste outfit where for a month I was to sense the darker side of Lowell. Luckily, strange as it seems. and quickly, like a change in the weather, I was laid off and the landlord material- ized looking for money. I was in the street with a new beginning. In two weeks my first semester at ULowelI would begin. and I was on my back. On the rebound, my second apartment turned out to be cherry. fred, so to speakl. Sunday morning papers and cof- fee felt good in my hobbit-size hole. I felt mature and at home. Then came the change. When the fire broke out. I was having coffee and writing. I dropped my notebook along with a certain heartfelt trust in neighborly intentions. The entire building of five floors was loaded with street urchinst snivelling ten year olds with clubs and rocks. and chips on their shoulders. Unfortunately, my kitchenfliv- ing room window was at urchin eye level and had a small rock hole in it. On the morning of the fire, a kitchen match came through the hole and landed on the couch beneath. There were small puffs of smoke but I was there to put the fire out with my coffee. I ran to the door and noticed several kids whom I yelled at to no avail. I saw a few in the pack spar with each other and I mused on the thought of batting one or two of them about. To avoid any future conflagrations, I moved to an apartment three blocks away in Cupples Square. Here I had room- mates whom I slightly knew but none of them were students. Set up like a rooming house, there was a community kitchen and bathroom shared by seven tenents. I spent my freshman year there, studying little. mostly partying. Again, I began to

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N9 3 ff G.K. Chesterson's Observation: l have seen the truth and it makes no sense. A smile can never be kept, it can only be given. - Forbes Mad- zongwe When the goal ahead is an endless fight Through a sunless day and a starless night. Where the far call breaks on the sleeper's dream. Only the gamefish swims upsteam. l know you believe you understand what you thinkl said, But l am not sure you realize that what you hear is not what I meant. - R.M. Nixon Success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles he has overcome while trying to succeed. - Booker T. Washington l've met a lot of hard boiled eggs in my day, but you're twenty min- utes. - Ace in the Hole To do less is more. Do not ask what your country can do for you --- ask what you can do for your country. - JFK Hit me with your best shot! - Pat Benatar To impose is not to discover . . . - Wallace Stevens Adrift in the sea of life, the course you set seems strange. But, re- member as the past-wake de- parts you-that your meaning will change. Roll out your bones and raise up your pitcher, raise up your glass to good King John. - Steely Dan

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feel at home until. at night, when I could hear footsteps, faint wee footsteps in my room, barely audible against the hissing of the radiator. For a few days I loaded and emptied mousetraps until the prob- lem was solved. The mice came in by the hoards. They seemed to enjoy the vibra- tion and rattle of the radiator rocking them to sleep through the long. cold drear of winter nights. but I did not. Nor did I like them. There just wasn't any room . . . I marched through the snow to school and back as if I were performing some odd ritual which I did not understand. My fellow roomies were collecting unemploy- ment and foodstamps, wondering at my self-torture. Their apathetic logic was wearing off on me. Looking at them I saw the ease of flowing within the State and found myself at odds with this workless wonder. I felt I was loosing ground, wast- ing time. I wanted to move, to avoid the temptation to throw it all away. I decided to remain, to more or less find a middle ground where I could work at school, study at home and maintain a social life. Still I leaned toward the social aspect and took my education lying down. I almost gave up, but through some seemingly delicate precision it came to pass that my landlord had decided to rip down the rat nest, dust the domicile, purge me of my purgatory. He wanted to rest cars on the same spot, it being very favorable ground next door to his gas station, so of course, I cleared out. Recrossing the river, I found a place with a buddy of mine that had a washer and dryer downstairs, and I could not believe it, a garage. Ah, Pawtucketville. I spent two years there feeling well on my way up the renter's ladder, looking into the light of tenant heaven, But my new landlord hovered like a storm cloud in the second floor apartment. He lived up there with his father, who was nothing but an aging pest. At five in the morning, all winter long, the old man would trek through our front door and go down into the cellar to chop wood and smoke, un- derneath my bedroom. But I resigned my- self to it, learning to fall asleep between chops. Beside that, for two years I man- aged to stop him from throwing away most of my auto parts which I'd often leave here and there to clean. He was, however, persistent, and managed to sneak some choice articles into the trash. Snow tires, a drill, a transmission mount, I was happy to move when the time was right. Now that l've found the most agreeable place so far. . .I only hope that my ladder holds out. The places where I used to live are all around the corner. I can turn around to see where I 've been but for now I'd rather not.I am well fed and have learned to balance social life and school life as far as possible. Looking into the smokey. grey past it seems as if I have been like a water bug, turning in dreamy revolutions around Lowell, across the riv- er and back, spinning through town. The choices are lost. but now I know, in alittle while l'll be turning wider circles, edging my way out of town. Jim Hayes