I was terribly keen to make my presence felt when the school year began. Incredibly, I really did expect to pick up from where I left off more than three years prior. However, three years is a long time, especially during your teen years. A hell of a lot changes between ages 14 and 17. Some of the familiar faces from junior high greeted me when school began: Danny and Meredith Nunez, along with their little sister Missy. Michelle Ahmed and her younger sister Vanessa along with John David and Michael Shorlo. There were also new faces, kids that I didn’t know and who didn’t know me. Kids who didn’t know that I scored 64 points in a basketball game in March of 1989 to beat the high schoolers. Wait, hold on, how was that possible? I mean, why were there no placards on the school walls detailing this amazing feat?! Perhaps more fitting would have been a work akin to the Bayeux tapestry that documented the incredible saga of the two games where I had led my fellow grade schoolers to hardwood glory. To my reckoning, it was no less epic an event than the conquest of England 900 years prior by William the Duke of Normandy.
Bayeux Tapestry along with my own epic journey back to Chicago. Perfectly reasonable comparison.
Seeing Meredith again brought back some of my unrequited feelings. However, in this respect, the fire no longer burned quite as intensely. My dimmed romantic aspirations with Meredith confronted reality on a school trip early in the year. I cannot recall where we went. We traveled in carpools, and I found myself in a minivan seated behind Meredith. We were driving back from our destination, and it was night. Most everyone in the car was tired and quiet. She leaned her back so that her long curly hair draped over the back of the seat and fell onto my hands which were resting on my knees. I turned my hands palms up so that I could better feel her hair. I stayed as utterly still as I could to take it in. That was as close as I would ever get and somehow, I knew it. Looking back, that chapter of dashed expectations died a quiet death then and there.
This would be a precursor for many of the expectations that I had for senior year.
In the mornings, I would catch the Lawrence Avenue bus just before Cicero Avenue and take it east until I exited at Sacramento. I then walked south for just over a half mile. The walk would take me through a leafy, residential area before arriving at Montrose Avenue. Upon crossing Montrose, I would pass a laundromat on my right-hand side, Horner Park on my left and shortly thereafter enter the school building through the nondescript side door.
My walk through leafy Ravenswood Manor until I arrived at Montrose Avenue.
Getting to know my new classmates and adapting to the changed landscape wasn’t the seamless process I had envisioned. The entire student body totaled just 31 students. There were 10 freshmen, 5 sophomores, 5 juniors and 11 seniors. I won’t profile all of them, just the ones that I crossed paths with who left some kind of impression.
Early in the school year, I would have a run-in with one of my new classmates that would set the tone with how I was perceived by my peers.
Joey Gonzalez: Freshman
Joey had a big mouth and no game. He didn’t care! Puerto Rican through and through. He’s even trying to talk trash in this photo.
Joey Gonzalez was a freshman, and he was your typical loud, opinionated Puerto Rican. I don’t mean that in a negative way. I’ve covered this territory in my 8th grade memoirs. If you lived in Chicago, you knew the type. Joey 100% fit the type. Joey liked to joke around and was the life of the party so to speak. He was also a decent-sized kid for a freshman. Joey had a big mouth but not necessarily in a jerky way. However, it didn’t take long for Joey to grind my gears.
It was gym class, and we were playing basketball and divided up into teams. Our team lost a close game, and I was shocked at the result. Shock quickly gave way to anger. I had done all the heavy lifting and was steamed that some of the guys on my team had been goofing around and not taking things seriously. Joey being one of the main culprits. I laid into him, “I cannot believe that we lost that game! What were you doing??!!”. Joey didn’t back down and replied, “Hey man relax! It’s just a game!” and stepped up toward me. The words were far from inflammatory, but the delivery and body language were confrontational. His response had the effect of accelerating my rage meter to level 10. The red mist descended over me, throwing logic and reason out the window. I quickly walked right up to him and went nose to nose. We had a heated exchange and at that point, I said something along the lines of, “Okay, let’s go.”. Joey was still talking loudly but caught me off guard when he responded, “Yeah, you’d kick my ass. So what?“. I was taken aback by his frank admission. The situation was diffused somewhat. I shook my head in disgust, turned away and walked off. While I was still angry, I wasn’t truly interested in kicking his ass.
For the kids that knew me, it was a reminder of my less enviable traits of hot-tempered insanity when I was wound up playing sports. I really could go berserk when certain buttons were pushed. For my new classmates, it served as an ugly first impression. Worse yet, the girls thought I was a jerk and a bully for threatening Joey. I had laid down the marker that I wouldn’t suffer fools but at a cost. Funny enough, I got along fairly well with Joey for the rest of the year. There were no other dustups, and he was a funny kid with a good sense of humor. We didn’t become buddies or hang out, but there were no hard feelings.
Bruce Marcotte: Junior
The resident heartthrob and school lothario. He and Theo James are likely long-lost brothers.
Joey and most of the other freshmen and sophomores had pledged their undying allegiance and devotion to Bruce. Who the hell was this guy? Well, Bruce was a junior and the girls were gaga for this disgustingly good-looking kid. I had heard of Bruce from Ranjit as he had talked him up as an athlete, so naturally, I sized up the competition in gym class. He was indeed a very good athlete with the right genetics and not an ounce of fat on him. He wasn’t tall, maybe 5’8 at most. Bruce was half Jamaican and half white but certifiably 100% percent ladies’ man.
Bruce was laid back, relaxed and projected confidence along with a certain nonchalance. He was no bookworm, but he certainly wasn’t dumb. I think where academics were concerned, he just wasn’t interested.
I didn’t quite realize how much the girls were into him until I overheard freshman Vanessa Ahmed openly ogling him in gym class. “Look at his legs……” she cooed in a shockingly lascivious way for a 14-year-old. She was taking full inventory of Bruce. I looked over toward Vanessa with a slightly stunned reaction. It slowly started to dawn on me that I wasn’t going to be residing at the top of any school popularity contests. However, I did not resent or dislike Bruce. He seemed like an all-right guy to me. Sure, he enjoyed the attention from the girls, but he was not an ass about it. He wasn’t jumping around showing off like Ravishing Rick Rude.
While I was wary of his athleticism, I did want to test myself. On one occasion, towards the end of gym class, I suggested that we play a game of one on one. I scored on my opening possession; Bruce subsequently missed his shot. I was up 1-0, and then the whistle blew indicating that gym class had ended. That was it. We never resumed the game, and tellingly we never revisited the possibility of playing again one on one.
Strangely enough, other than a few games in gym class, I don’t remember Bruce playing a lot of basketball. I blocked his shot once when we were playing on the outdoor courts. However, bear in mind that I was at least four or five inches taller than Bruce. He almost returned the favor when we were playing in the gym. I found myself under the basket and jumped to lay the ball up. Bruce sprang up like on a pogo stick. I had to awkwardly fade and arch the ball over his hand. I missed the shot badly. I would do just about anything to avoid having my shot blocked. Had we played more frequently, he would have eventually turned the trick. If basketball had been a real interest of his, we would have had some great duels on the court. I recently watched season two of White Lotus and the character of Cameron reminded me of Bruce right away. Disclaimer! I don’t think Bruce was a massive jerk like Cameron, but the physical resemblance and some of the nonchalant confidence….for sure.
This graduation autograph note from Bruce perfectly captured his vibe.
Chetan Bathia: Freshman
Chetan sporting his good boy look, then his wannabe bad boy persona: MC Big Che
A tall and hefty Indian kid who wanted more than anything to be Puerto Rican, Chetan was the unofficial president of the Bruce Marcotte fan club. Chetan was a loud, generally friendly, upbeat, and positive kid, with a quick smile. He was also a delusional braggart and an insufferably transparent brown noser. I had known Chetan from Gospel Outreach Church and its Youth Group. Therefore, I was already familiar with his big mouth writing checks his ass could never cash. Okay, I acknowledge I’m being a bit harsh but jeez he could be annoying.
Chetan very much represented the divide between the underclassmen who were dialed into hip-hop as opposed to the upperclassmen who were more into the house/dance music scene. Chetan tried to carry off the hip-hip persona but usually ended up coming off as a harmless buffoon. For a frame of reference think of an Indian version of the comedian Sinbad.
Ismael Ramirez: Senior
Ismael was easygoing and agreeable.
Early on in senior year, one of the new kids in my class that I made fast friends with was Ismael Ramirez. Ismael was a good-natured, friendly guy with a relaxed and personable demeanor. He was Mexican American but born and raised in the US. Ismael was fun and good company. Slender in build with glasses that sat on a prominent nose. He slicked back his thick, black hair and was usually well-dressed. He could have passed for a Mexican intellectual upon first appearance with his thin-framed glasses. He was not an athlete, nor was he terribly invested in sports. I suppose that he comfortably fit into the category of a beta male. Ismael quickly hooked up with the junior Jenny Hoendervoogt (yes, Rick’s younger sister) and they were a couple for the duration of the school year.
Ismael had been previously home-schooled, but he didn’t come off as a sheltered, naïve kid. He seemed quite normal and well-adjusted. An easy conversationalist, he was your typical nice guy and completely non-threatening. He blended into the social fabric of the school easily and was well-liked by most everyone that I knew. When he wasn’t with Jenny, Ismael was hanging out with me and Danny. Apparently, this didn’t go unnoticed by Tom Peterson and one afternoon I was called into Tom’s office.
I had no idea why I had been summoned to have a sit down with Pastor Tom. After a few banal pleasantries, he came to the point of why he had arranged the meeting. In short, he expressed his position that I was exerting a negative influence on Ismael. I was initially taken aback by the accusation and then bemused by the absurdity of his assertion. I asked if there was something in particular that he could cite as an example of this “bad influence”. He struggled and stammered that it wasn’t one single example but rather an “overall feeling” he had. I slowly nodded my head in a manner that conveyed my noncommittal compliance. The meeting concluded without incident, and I walked out having even less respect for Tom Peterson. It was an oddly bizarre meeting that further cemented my disdain for Tom.
Looking back, maybe it was the gold chain, the Adidas jacket, my single eyebrow that may have been a mark of evil for Pastor Tom. More likely it was that I rarely if ever attended church services and did not give off the vibe of a totally committed, close-minded fundamentalist lemming. Even if I never openly expressed any contrarian views at school, I’m sure that my reticence to the Gospel Outreach message was detectable. A age 17, the Gospel Outreach Church’s view of the outside world as a place to be viewed with suspicion and wariness was not one that I shared. That was my last conversation of any significance with Tom.
I happened to locate a sermon from Tom Peterson online. I was able to make it about 4 minutes into his homily. If you want to experience what Sunday mornings at Gospel Outreach were like at approximately 11:00 am then have a listen. You may need to brew a pot of coffee as well to make it all the way through.
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-anger-and-wrath-of-god/id1468821249?i=1000472243244
Javier Quinto: Junior
Javier Quinto taking his photo very seriously in fall of 1992.
“Suave Jav” as he coined himself was half Guatemalan and half Korean. Javier was a complete original for sure. His physical appearance was a balanced mix of his dual heritage. His dark Mesoamerican skin and features were more prominent, but his Korean ancestry was evident as well. Never more so when I was over at his home and saw a photo of him as a young boy dressed up in traditional Korean clothes! He was embarrassed when I pointed out the photo, and while I gave him some grief I actually thought it was pretty cool. A truly decent, super nice guy. His level of English quickly gave away that he had not been born in the US. His very Asian vocal reactions of surprise (Higher pitched, “Ohhhhh!”) or disapproval (Lower registered “Oooohhhh!…) sounded like something from a Kung-Fu movie and led to a slightly outward comic persona. He stood maybe 5’5, but his lack of height didn’t diminish his love of basketball. Javier was CRAZY for hoops. He was obsessive about his dribbling skills and took his craft very seriously.
Javier was quirky, good-hearted, and excitable with an offbeat sense of humor. But he was also complex and slightly melancholy at times. That melancholy was never more obvious when it came to girls and in particular his pining for Michelle Ahmed. Given my recent experiences with Meredith, I could certainly relate to his situation. But where I had solely composed letters expressing my affections, Javier had gone to the level of composing poetry. But alas it was never to be for the would-be Troubadour with Michelle. What an awful, tortured, wonderful place to be as a teenager!
Javier enjoyed dance music and his herky-jerky moves to The Prodigy’s, “Outer Space” were hysterical. Our shared passion for basketball and dance music allowed us to quickly become friends.
Javier wasn’t linear or logical. That was an essential part of who he was. He never used bad language and was respectful of adults. I was invited to his home for a birthday dinner that occurred in January 1993. His mother had prepared a lovely meal of beef and broccoli. Javier’s mother was a sweet, kind lady. His friends, Justin Mograss and Lawrence Curely, a former Gospel Outreach classmate were also attendees of the occasion. I distinctly remember my growing annoyance with their general comportment at the table. From my point of view, even at that age, as a guest in someone’s home, you show respect and gratitude towards the host
Lawrence and Justin were an embarrassment, barely acknowledging Javier’s mother or saying thank you for anything. Their lack of basic manners made me boil inside. I felt bad for Javier and could see his discomfort. I will always remember the warm and generous welcome I was afforded in Javier’s home. As well as his jackass friends that I wanted to slap.
As far as birthday parties go it was quite tame for a kid celebrating his 17th birthday. Dinner and dessert were followed up by a viewing of “Universal Soldier” featuring Jean Claude Van Damme and Dolph Lundgren. The early 90’s were full of these type of mediocre action flicks.
Javier and Ismael were two of the more significant friendships that I made during my senior year. Two very different personalities but one thing they had in common was an intrinsic decency.
Justin Mograss: Senior
Justin was a fellow senior and African American. He was about 5’8 or 5’9 with close-cropped hair. Coffee complected with the slight notions of a mustache, he wore simple clothes with little flash. His look could have been from 1967, 1977, or 1987. That is to say, there was nothing remarkable or distinctive in his appearance related to a specific time period. As a point of comparison, I would have been easily identifiable as early 90’s with my hair, clothes, and fashion sensibilities in general.
Justin was an odd bird. Some of it was born out of his nervous, yet quiet demeanor. Looking back, he had a stutter and there may have been a genuine speech impediment at play. He and Javier used to hang out and Justin did have a good sense of humor. Much of their shared humor was derived from in-jokes or making bizarre sounds. I wanted to like Justin, but it was hard to get past his guarded, awkward persona to truly have any sense of who he was as a person.
Justin was involved in one of the more memorable moments in gym class. We were playing soccer. I had the ball out wide and saw Justin open in front of the goal. I whipped in a cross, sending the ball toward Justin. He jumped up to meet the pass. The problem was that Justin had no background in soccer and had no idea what part of his body to use to guide the ball toward the goal. The ball ended up smashing him in the nuts and bounced off his crotch into the goal. At least he scored, right? I think that was the last time we played soccer in gym class.
Lisa Padilla: Sophomore
Lisa joined Gospel Outreach maybe a month or so into the school year. She turned heads immediately. Puerto Rican, olive-skinned, with full lips and alluring eyes, Lisa was a knockout. The boys were buzzing about her, including myself. I didn’t waste time and quickly sought to make a move. This was slightly out of character for me as I was normally shy with girls. Perhaps it was early school year hubris, but regardless I made my play. A few weeks after she had begun attending classes I asked Lisa if I could walk her home from school. Jeez, that sounds so old-fashioned as if this was 1950s Mayberry or an episode of Happy Days. Lisa agreed and there was even a smile in her acceptance. I was feeling 10 feet tall.
We walked along Montrose Avenue going west. The walk was pleasant enough and Lisa seemed genuinely nice. I know ‘nice’ can have the connotation of being an insipid adjective to describe someone, but sometimes it is appropriate. She came across as ‘nice’, and very much in a positive sense of the word. When some girls come to the realization that they’re pretty, quite oftentimes, being ‘nice’ is terribly unfashionable. Aside from being gorgeous, Lisa seemed genial and soft-spoken.
Well, after walking past a shoe repair shop right before St Louis Avenue, I bid my whole goodbye, see you later, nice talking to you and she turned left to go southbound to head home. I was proud of myself and feeling pretty damn good about the world in general.
That feeling lasted probably less than 48 hours. I soon found out that Bruce also had designs on Lisa. Shit. I sank with the realization that I stood little to no chance. I just knew. The question was how I was going to handle the situation. I decided to approach Bruce and ask him to take a walk after school. I wonder what Bruce thought I was going to do or say. This wasn’t long after I had threatened bodily harm to Joey Gonzalez during gym class. Bruce and I didn’t really know each other that well.
Seeking to intimidate Bruce or halt the inevitable was nowhere in my consciousness. The writing was on the wall, and I was finishing second in a two-horse race. I was performing damage control. This was a retreat with honor mission. Bruce and I took the same walk along Montrose Avenue, and I quickly brought up the subject of Lisa. To Bruce’s credit, he was quite deferential. “Hey man, if you want to go for it. Go ahead.”. I responded with the only words that I felt would allow me to save face: “No man she’s all yours.”. I gave way to the inevitable.
Those would prove to be the longest conversations I ever had with either Lisa or Bruce. The situation played out as I had expected. Bruce and Lisa hooked up and as far as I knew were a couple for the rest of the school year. I wasn’t heartbroken or crushed by the outcome. The pervading feeling was one of disappointed resignation and a creeping realization that senior year was not playing out as I had envisioned in late summer of ’92.
Synthia Marroquin: Junior
Don’t let the smile fool you. Normally, Synthia kept her guard up. Especially around “Blanco Grande”.
Synthia had attended Gospel Outreach High School for her freshman and sophomore years. She was also part of the Guatemalan contingent present at the school. Lighter-skinned than Javier but sharing similar Mesoamerican traits, Cynthia was cute. She had dark brown shoulder-length hair that curled, almond-shaped eyes, and a countenance that conveyed a solemn demeanor. However, she had a full, toothy, vivacious smile even if she was clearly self-conscious of her overbite. Some of the guys would privately speak derogatively about her lack of perfect dental symmetry. For me, it wasn’t an issue, and I didn’t see it as an off-putting trait that needed to be corrected. Sometimes those imperfections in fact suit a person and make them more visually interesting as opposed to cookie-cutter perfection. Besides, who was I to be pointing out other people’s unusual physical traits!
I got along well enough with Cindy and at times we’d banter back and forth. There was always an underlying tension as she quickly labeled me arrogant and cocky. Where on earth did she ever get that impression?! Normally, she hung out with Michelle Ahmed and Meredith. She also gravitated toward the other Hispanic students. This made sense because, like Javier, she had clearly been raised in a Spanish-speaking household.
Synthia was also strongly devoted to the fundamentalist, Christian teachings of the school. She didn’t attend Gospel Outreach church, but she was fully invested in the faith. This is where I think she differed from Meredith and Michelle. Cynthia was perfectly content in the born-again fishbowl she floated around in. Michelle and certainly Meredith were starting to chafe under the constraints of Gospel Outreach.
Despite her rigid, judgmental, conservative ways, I liked Cindy. Later in the school year, I sent out feelers to see if Synthia was interested in more than just a bit of playful banter. Those inquiries were met with deafening silence. Instinctively, I knew it was a reach. While I did my best to play down being rebuffed, it was undeniably another dent in the emotional armory. Meredith, Lisa, and now Synthia, it was beginning to add up. Hey, to use a baseball analogy I was 0 for 3, but at least I stepped up to the plate and took my swings.
Charlotte Frimet: Senior
Class president and all-around way too sensible and mature.
Another new classmate was Charlette. She was mixed-race Caucasian-African American and a very pleasant personality. Charlette was sensible, smart and serious-minded most of the time. She had frizzy, reddish-tinted hair that poofed out in sometimes unfortunate designs. Lots of freckles were sprinkled on her light brown-complected face. Charlette was well-regarded and respected by everyone as far as I could tell. Her family was related to my old grade school classmate Reggie’s family. Unlike Reggie who could be a complete wild man, Charlette was practical and mature beyond her years.
Like much of the student body, Charlette was obedient, well-behaved, and a believer. I was part of the yearbook committee and shared student council duties with Charlette. We interacted frequently enough at that level. To be clear, I was the junior member in the student council hierarchy. I had intended to run for class president, but I quickly realized that I stood little to no chance of beating Charlette. Apparently threatening to beat up a fellow student and being a hothead given to verbal outbursts on the basketball court hadn’t endeared me to everyone. I took the safe route of running for Vice-President. Charlette would be deservedly voted class president. I would be the Al Gore of Gospel Outreach. To be honest, I would have made a total mockery out of the position of class president. A lot of self-promotion and ridiculous initiatives would have been on my agenda of jackassery.
Gospel Outreach School and High School Memories 1988-1992 