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Lovers No More (Ch. 3)

Chapter 3: The Jubilant Junior

By Maurice BernierPublished 6 years ago 19 min read
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Photo by Aarón Blanco Tejedor on Unsplash

I had a really good time last year-too good a time. Now, I was more on my own than ever before. I felt like I was no longer a part of the St. Catherine of Sienna crowd even though I still had to identify myself in that manner. It was just a formality or an affirmation. It wasn’t like I was saying that I loved it. I just wanted to be sure that if there was another Maurice Bernier, and it could have happened, roaming CK, I was the one who suffered through SCS. Now, I was beginning probably the hardest time since I entered the place.

I had two classes that were just plain miserable. I never worked hard in one and just couldn’t work hard enough in the other. The first is now my specialty class—English. I just didn’t find the motivation within me to study hard at all. My test grades went from marginal to abysmal failures.

Why I showed up for the final was beyond me, but I guess that I had one last shot. I just didn’t want to keep up with the work. The class composition was no dream, either. There were a lot of social miscreants. I remember many times that the room was just plain noisy and I really resented being in the room, but what could I do? If I had transferred to another class, I still would have had the same material. I knew of no other Brother Pat-type of teacher in the English department. I had to either get by and try or just give up. I either had to swim or drown. Surprisingly, I came very close to giving up.

My math class was a huge letdown. I just finished two successful classes with Brother Pat. I walked into the new class so excited with what I have learned and wanted to learn more about this new subject—calculus. I firmly believed that success in this class would be the key to my future.

If I could understand calculus, I could go even further in math, teach math or pursue music more fully. The doors were clearly in front of me. I have no idea where they found this guy from, but I am sure that they were eager to fill the teaching spot when he came along. I remember many times that this man resorted to yelling and pleas, or "PLEASE!"

I faced a double problem—getting by the noise AND understanding the subject so I wouldn’t fail. In the end, I passed. How? I really don’t know. I can’t remember just one concept (or any concept) at all. I am sure that the school was happy to see him go. I don’t recall seeing him at all the following year. He wasn’t even tucked away in another part of the building. I couldn’t even find his picture in my yearbook. He was, excuse the expression, history.

I was really worried about being in the band. I was looking forward to being the leader of the band. I wanted to fill the huge footprints of Gene. He was an extremely difficult act to follow. We rookies were now the veterans and now Mr. Keeler had to depend upon us more than ever. We also picked up two more well-seasoned players, Tommy and Jimmy.

Tommy was, more or less, a reincarnation of Gene, only introverted. Where Gene was ready to make his presence known, Tommy was quiet and only spoke when he needed to speak. Both of them had the same teacher, therefore, their skill level was almost the same. Tommy was able to sit and read a complicated passage of music as well as he could read a book. He had no problem, whatsoever, with music. He was a dream come true for Mr. K.

Jimmy was a nice guy who just wanted to be another Maynard Ferguson. I felt his skills and mine were just about even. He had this beautiful trumpet which was the same model as my own and just a year newer. He could have bought it just the day before he walked into the band room. By this time, I already resented my hard case, but I loved the hard case he had. My case looked like a suitcase. His looked like an attaché case. At times, I wasn’t sure if he had his trumpet with him. I just wanted his whole set up.

Their warm-ups were very interesting. Tommy took out his horn. It looked like a highly valued Bach Stradivarius trumpet that I wanted so much. I immediately checked the bell. It wasn’t. It sounded very nice. He warmed up by slurring all of his lower notes. Jimmy would put the horn to his mouth and go up on his C scale. He would usually reach the F above high C, turn red and stop.

Then he would put the horn down and say something like, “See that? I could hit that note. Can you do that?” It was his daily battle cry. Honestly, I could not do it yet, but I wasn’t going to walk away from it either. Now, I had two different ways to go. I decided that I could trash both of them with one huge thrust. Yes, let us go after the top spot and see who would win.

I went home and asked my dad if he knew of any trumpet player who would want to teach me. He, in turn, called up my uncle who was a sax player. My uncle, a few days later, came by the house to take me for a ride.

We went to a friend of his—Walter Kelly—and sought his help. Walt was a typical jazzman. He had Clifford Brown albums all over his living room sofa. He also had a trumpet and a flugelhorn sitting out on the sofa. I really wanted to play his flugelhorn.

At this point in time, I had never seen a flugelhorn before. If I had one for band practice, I would really turn heads, I thought. My uncle and Walt would talk about Clifford and others in the typical jazz lingo. I just sat and listened and marveled at the thought of having him as my music teacher. During the conversation, I did pick up on the fact that Walt couldn’t help me because he wouldn’t be able to find the time.

He gave us the address and number of a man who could—Mr. Richard Williams.

We went to the given address. Mr. Williams was a rather tall, very thin Texan with a warm smile. He was very welcoming and genteel with no signs of phoniness. I took an instant liking to him and I am sure that he did the same with me. I knew from the start that this man would be my hero and role model.

We set up a Sunday schedule to see each other. I would go to his house on Sundays at noon for my daily lesson. I showed him my music. He played everything I gave him. Wow. Even Gene didn’t sound this good. I looked at the wall. Mr. Williams had his Master's degree on the wall. I looked at it. He graduated from the Manhattan School of Music. I also learned something else. His middle name was Gene. What an irony. I nearly traveled full circle.

I went back to the next band practice armed with a secret weapon. I was ready to take on Jimmy, Tommy and anyone else. I was the heavyweight contender with the world’s greatest manager in my corner. Mr. Williams was my Svengali.

Whatever he said, I did. I wanted not to be another Gene, Severinsen or anyone else. I wanted to be another Richard Williams. I began to grab hold of my school work and decided that I was not going to sink. I was going to swim and, if possible, walk on the water. I wanted to do much better.

I was getting by in math. My English class still left me behind. Mr. K must have consulted with her. He pulled me over after one practice and stated that if I could keep after my studies, the band would not have a spot for me. I had to do something.

Later that day, my mom sat me down and told me that Joey, the handicapped boy I met at Operation F.U.N. the summer before, was remanded to a mental hospital. His parents called her to let me know of his new situation.

One day, Joey became too much for his parents. He was removed permanently from his home. He was taken to the Queens Children’s Hospital. His parents and I would agree to meet there. It would be the first physical meeting of the three of us.

I got up extra early to get to the hospital. When I arrived, I thought that I was talking to his grandparents instead of his parents. They were such nice people. His mother gave me a scarf. She knitted it herself. She then told me what had happened at home.

I could see through her glasses a mother that had been crying because she had lost her son to the State of New York. I decided right then and there to make a day of it. We had lunch and spent the time talking and playing together. I had the same fun that we had when the summer came to an end. The hardest moment was still to come.

We had to leave for the day. I went to hug Joey first. I felt like I was losing my own baby brother. He wasn’t my brother. He was a stranger. How could I feel this way over someone I have only known a short time? How could he affect me this way? I didn’t want to let him go. We had connected. Despite his learning and mental disability, he understood. I tried very hard and stood back to give his parents the time to say bye to him. I broke me up to watch this elderly woman say bye.

Then, I watched the dad do the same thing. He, too, had just as hard of a time. I just couldn’t bear to watch. I walked to the door. Each step I took made me feel like I was doing the wrong thing. I didn’t want to leave. I had nightmares of the horrendous going on at Willowbrook and the big scandal of the time happening to him. I didn’t want him to be mistreated. He wasn’t a bad person.

He needed someone who would take the time and have patience with him. His parents were perfect with him, but even they need help. Perhaps, they could have sent someone much younger like myself to live with them and help them out. I am sure that I didn’t have to come to this nightmare.

It was almost as bad as a prison. No! It was much worse than a prison. At least a prisoner has some idea of when he or she is coming out of jail. Joey’s future is unknown.

We were rushed out of the door. I figured that the easiest way through this would be to just walk away without looking back. I tried it. I went outside with his parents by my side. I turned and hugged them. I must have gotten a few tears on both of them, but I couldn’t let them see me in tears. I had to be strong for the three of them. My weakness at this moment would do no good for anyone.

As I walked away from the hospital, I turned to see his parents. They disappeared as quickly as they arrived. I never saw them again. I turned in my weakness to see if he was looking out of the window. I didn’t see him. I decided that as big as I was at the time, a tear couldn’t be held back.

I let it go. I walked further and let another outburst go. Here I was, a high school junior, and I couldn’t control my emotions. I have been in actual fist fights, some on the winning side, some on the losing side. I never cried in a fight. I always controlled myself, yet I could not hold back a tear.

Back at practice, I still had some jealousy to work out. Fred and I, at my urging, talked about the possibility of forming a band similar to Gene’s. Fred wanted no real part of it. He didn’t have a fighting spirit like mine. I would go into Gene’s territory and take him on.

Everyone in the school feared to play against him. I wasn’t afraid. I wanted to take over. If I formed a band that was an upstart to his group, I would have been satisfied. I figured that Fred wasn’t willing enough to try it, so I went at it alone. I became a one-man advertisement for my efforts.

I committed the guys I needed on paper, but none of them ever actually wanted to play. They were always afraid to go wherever Gene might walk in. I could have cared less. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to see what I had accomplished in a year’s time since we met. He had to see me.

I intentionally broke up my attendance record with the band. I just intentionally left my instrument home. I then caught Tommy and told him that the next practice was canceled. He left his horn home.

As a result, we both missed the next practice. I felt so bad about doing that later on. I felt like I resorted to the wrong means to beat an opponent. It was like a boxer taking a baseball bat into the ring with him. I was messed up. I should have lost all of my band, playing privileges right then and there, but Mr. K let me continue. Tommy has never spoken to me since that day. Mea culpa.

During the year, Mr. Williams gave me a soft case much like his case. Dad bought me the old, leaky French trumpet and I was on my way to becoming the junior Richard Williams. Mr. Williams also did something that would improve my focus. He gave me a tape of his only solo album, New Horn in Town.

I listened to his cut of “Over the Rainbow” so much that I completely wore out the tape. He gave me another one that I took better care of.

Mr. Keeler had assigned me to visit St. John's University so that I could join their band. So, with his support and encouragement, I joined the St. John’s University band to gain some more experience. I was now learning at a much faster rate.

They gave me some complicated music to work on. I found myself doing battle with some guy from Forest Hills High School. I didn’t get too concerned with him. I figured that I would deal with him much later on.

I desperately needed to find some peace within myself. I had to address my shortcomings. I came to school early in April and headed straight to the girls’ chapel for Mass.

I sat down and really prayed for something that would drastically change my life. I needed something that would bring out the best in me. I had this lovely chance to start life over on my terms and I felt it surely and slowly slipping away from me. I know that the Lord heard me loud and clearly. I felt a response. I looked up at that moment and saw what I always wanted. My prayer was answered. It was her! An angel in the chapel.

She was an angel sitting in the pew across the aisle just a bit ahead of mine. The light from the fixture overhead had shone on her. It was like she was being spotlighted. Her wings were neatly stored away for future use. I took the time to look her over. She looked so gentle, so lady-like. I have never seen anyone like her. I had to meet this wonderful lady.

I formulated my plan and decided that when the Handshake of Peace came up, I would nudge my way over to her and take my chances. I needed a touch of aggressiveness. I couldn’t let this moment pass. I would never forgive myself if she walked away. It would be the best plan of my entire life. I wasn’t about to go back on it.

I was going to follow through on it. My, was I happy that they changed the format of the Mass rather recently. When the opportunity came, I went for it as planned. As I walked over to her, my mouthpiece fell out of my pocket and hit the marble floor with a ringing sound.

It sounded like a bell from “It’s A Wonderful Life.” I don’t know if an angel got its wings, but I saw an angel in the chapel. The unfamiliar ringing sound caused the whole chapel full of occupants to look in my direction out of curiosity. Whether I liked it or not, I was now at center stage. I had to do something real quick. Instead of saying what I should have said, I looked into her eyes and said,

“Hi! My name is Maurice.”

She, in kind, smiled at me and said,

“Hi! My name is Rose.”

We sat together through the rest of Mass and talked after it was over. We only had a few minutes left before the beginning of our classes.

We exchanged phone numbers. I looked at her. Her voice was so beautiful. She had so many qualities that I could see just by looking into her eyes. I looked back into the chapel. The Lord answered my prayer. I looked back at her and smiled. I had her face etched her into my brain. I couldn’t forget her. I felt at peace.

We would meet in the chapel a few more times before choosing another location to socialize. I instantly fell in love with her. Our souls matched. I heard the strains of “Strangers in the Night” constantly ringing in my light-headed brain. Mr. Sinatra must have had this kind of moment in mind. She understood me.

She was a lovely little Italian girl from Brooklyn. Her head came up to my shoulders and her perfume—You’re the Fire—would make me so weak in the knees every time I got a healthy whiff. It was a good weakness.

She had a smile that was just picture perfect. She was Carly, Gloria and Andrea all in one. I instantly thanked God for getting us together. Her hands were so soft and she walked with elegance. She was only 14 or 15 at the time. I was only 17.

All I could tell was that she was a freshman and I was a junior. Just standing there with her gave me the same feeling that I had with Carly and Andrea. For the first time, I didn’t care about either one of them. I just kept thinking about Rose.

As far as I was concerned, there were no other women on the planet who were good enough for me. It was as if I was reliving that night with Andrea all over again except I was with an entirely new person. I was dancing on air. Yes, I was finally in love. At 17 years old, I finally found the one. It usually takes most people, I thought, a lifetime. I did it at 17. I found the one who was ideal for me.

Later that school year, before the end of school, she wrote me a lovely letter. It was a love note. In it, she told me that she would be very interested in pursuing something. She knew exactly how I felt because I wanted to tell her the same thing. I had won the love lottery.

I was really in love. I took a chance and came out on top. I took the letter and placed it in my wallet. I would go to class and put the letter between the pages of the notebook that I had on my desk. When I felt frustrated at the work, I would look at the letter, dream and get back to my work.

At band practice, I sat the letter next to my music. Then, my playing would sound several levels better than it used to sound. While I was reviewing a solo from something we were going to use later that spring, someone remarked that I sounded so much better than the year before. In fact, they said that I sounded really good.

Mr. K remarked that he didn’t know who my teacher was, but I must have been taking on his qualities. True, but only I knew that it was much, much more than that. I had a better focus point. My music had feeling. I was truly in love with someone who loved me. I found true happiness. The music was just the expression of my happiness. I could have accidentally walked in front of traffic without looking because my head was so high in the clouds.

That night, I went to my backyard and took a match to the letter. What I was thinking at that moment was beyond me. I really wish that I had made a copy of the letter. I destroyed it because I feared that I was going to lose the letter anyway, so it would be best to destroy it so that no one else would see it. Only she and I would know the contents.

I walked out of my Math class with a 65. Hey, it was calculus. I worked very hard to get that 65. I took my loss in English, but I went on to Jamaica High that summer to make up for it. I was determined to finally start a school year on a newer and stronger foot. I wanted to make my last year the best.

As I sat back during the summer, I realized that I must have been a part of a great revolution of prodigies of which I was not one. First, there was Gene. Then came Tommy. We also had a guy named Joe who was extremely multi-talented.

I saw other guys who played other instruments as well. Even the guys on the track team were going through some astronomical changes. I recall how the SJU band was nearly made up of people who were much closer to my age rather than a year or two above. They were extremely talented as well. This was truly the time for personal achievements especially for those at the top of their game.

My generation owned the summer of 1973. I felt that I was getting to the top of my area of expertise. I spent the rest of the summer dreaming of the kind of year that I was going to have. With Rose in the picture, I felt that I was going to start the next year, my last in CK, at the top of my game. I had to get my goal in focus and let nothing stop me. I wanted to get into St. John’s University.

Chapter Four: The Nearly Sensational Senior

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About the Creator

Maurice Bernier

I am a diehard New Yorker! I was born in, raised in and love my NYC. My blood bleeds orange & blue for my New York Mets. I hope that you like my work. I am cranking them out as fast as I can. Please enjoy & share with your friends.

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