I knew where I could go, what I could do, and more important - where not to go and what I couldn't do.
It helps to be a little invisible, to slip from one group to another, to be familiar with lots of folks and close friend with a few. I'm not sure that was really done intentionally, but it ended up helping me a lot.
Some of it was learning to move with the punches and changing currents that flow around high school hallways. It didn't mean changing the absolutes that I believed in most.
Junior year was the year I finally took driver's education. A consequence of starting kindergarten at age 4 is that I didn't turn 16 until the fall of my junior year. At Craig, Driver's Education was a full semester class. It was also one of the toughest As to earn in the curriculum.
Since we were a General Motors town, all the driver's ed cars were GM. Driver's Ed rotated all of us through three groups: Simulators, Driving, or Classroom. Occasionally for the driving we'd head out to a parking lot marked up with "streets" and little orange cones for us to use to stop, park, or change direction.
The one car that stands out for me was the time I was behind the wheel of a Pontiac Trans Am. I could barely see the pavement in front of the car, the hood seemed to stretch out a long way in front of me. In the driving turns, we might be taken out on the Interstate, along city streets, or into the country.
One time we practiced what the instructors called "panic" situations. We got up to 55 driving along a long stretch of country road. A mostly flat ditch just off the shoulder. At some point, the instructor would instruct us and/or reach for the steering wheel and get all four wheels over in the grass. It was our job to steer the car to a slow pace, keep control, and then return to the road. The worst part of that drill was being one of two kids sitting in the backseat while you hoped your classmate didn't flip the car.
It wasn't too long after I turned 16 that I joined WCLO/WJVL-FM. It was exciting and a fun place to work. Mostly the job was "running the board" during ballgames - making sure the game got on the air, the commercials were played, and the programming rejoined after the game. On the FM side programming was held on five reel to reel tape machines. On AM, it meant a couple of hours sometimes as the evening disc jockey.
It was awesome.
My trainer, Ken, became a good friend - still a good friend all these years later. He showed me how to work the games, take the meter readings of the transmitter (required by the FCC), and pull the carts and prepare the coffee so the morning dj would have everything ready to go at sign-on. At that time, if you read the meters, you needed an FCC license, I long ago lost my certification card, but held on to it tight while I was sometimes the only person on the top floor of the Janesville Gazette building.
We couldn't take requests, but we could choose the particular 45s (look it up on Google) and cue them up on one turntable while the other played. It became a fun challenge to try to backtime a record so it would end just in time for the station i.d. to play before joining the national news at the top of the hour.
I had already been looking into radio as a potential career for some time by now; drawn in from listening to the games and the dj's each night as I fell asleep. It seemed like the most cool job in the world.
It was. While I doubt there were very many people actually listening - certainly not listening to my not quite so bass voice (not even baritone at that point actually) - there was one time a girl called to say she wanted to meet me. For reasons I'm still not quite sure of, after sign-off, I went to say "hello." We talked a while, then I said "good-night." In the fictional version of my life, this story will be a lot more exciting.
As junior year came to a close... I was picking out a college and looking forward to working lots of Brewer games through the summer and lots of time on the back of my bike. Even better, I would sometimes be able to drive when there was a car available.
My driver's test was pretty ordinary except for one thing. I hit a car. Well, not exactly "hit," it was more like a nudge. I was pulling out after doing a most excellent parallel parking maneuver and, thinking my front bumper was clear, pulled into traffic - ever so slightly moving the car in front of me.
Aaaarrrrgggghhhh! (I said silently in my head.)
We drove back without further incident, I was sure I was toast. To my surprise, the examiner said while I needed to practice the parallel parking a bit, I passed the test!
And with that I was allowed to sometimes drive the 1968 Rambler Rebel to work and use for dates.
Yeah, I was completely ready for senior year!
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