Tool Keeper

WITH dad’s prodding, I continued my studies by going to night classes in another school. Dad had me hired by a family friend who owns a huge vehicle repair shop near the former Fort Stotsenburg as a tool keeper and earned a measly seventy dollars a month.

In my new school, I had to put up three more years with either hopelessly dim-witted or excessively over-aged classmates who were all duped into believing that earning a high school diploma would deliver them from the rut they were all in. I easily topped my junior and senior class (except in PE and military training) even if most of what I did during those years was to party, smoke pot, get drunk and get laid.