When the trailer was all packed up and hooked to the hauler, we followed it to Arizona. Mon & Dad had secured a lot in a “trailer estates” out past the edge of town – a place where you bought your lot and parked your trailer. It was going to take several days to get the trailer set up, so we stayed at a hotel. Which hotel you ask? Why, the one managed by one of our friends we had made near our getaway with the cabin, of course. We got the room for free, there was a pool, and the kids of the manager were allowed to eat for free in the coffee shop, and so treated us kids to lunch repeatedly. So we had moved to a town where we already had friends. And dad’s job paid better than the one before.

I entered school at the beginning of the second semester, and started off on good footing. I joined the fencing club and the forensic society, took typing and German (I was already semi-proficient in Spanish, having taken it for two years in California) and other electives that I liked, and otherwise advanced classes in English, math and science. While at this school, I won an oratory contest at club, city and regional levels, and then completely embarrassed myself with a devastating case of stage fright in front of thousands of people at the state competition. Oops. I made friends at the bus stop, one of whom I’m in touch with to this day. He lived in a big, nice double-wide in the trailer estates, and we played chess and Risk together, messed around with his Ham radio, and built and re-built his train sets. We were certifiable nerds. The kid across the street from us had a .22 rifle and a .410 shotgun, and we would go into the desert and shoot random stuff. Another kid at the bus stop was a complete and intentional jerk and, after more than a year of insufferable crap from him, I punched him in the face one morning. But that’s another story. A woman with two daughters between our house and the bus stop was a Jehovah’s Witness, and determined to convert our family. My dad had been raised by Presbyterian missionaries, his father was a Doctor of Divinity and head of mission (his mother was one of the first female medical doctors licensed in the US), and my dad had gotten his degrees at a church-run college. He was what you might consider a biblical scholar. And he LOVED debating with this woman. Just sayin’. Seems we were not converted.

I spent only a semester and one more full year at this first high school, because a brand new high school opened nearer to our house, and so about a third of the student body, no seniors, were transferred to this new school. At the end of my sophomore year, I was approached by two of the teachers at this first school, and asked would I please agree to attend a two-week journalism workshop at a college some 200 miles away or so, so that I could be editor of the first yearbook for the new school. I said OK. A girl who rode my same school bus was tapped to attend as well, so that she could be assistant editor the first year, and then we would swap for our senior year. She agreed. So, two weeks away from home living in a dorm on a college campus, attending classes. A first for me. It was a very pleasant experience. Coincidentally, my wife and I later sent our eldest to that same university to pursue a music degree. She kind of loved it. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

At the new school, I took all advanced classes, but no college-level studies. My electives were things like Journalism, Chemistry, Physics, Trigonometry, and other classes I was not otherwise required to take. By my Junior year, I was two English credits and one history or social studies credit shy of meeting graduation requirements. So I took stuff I liked – which included math and science and some half-baked computer programming class, US Government, driving, and I joined the Track and Field team.

I edited the yearbook, was inducted into the Honor Society, had my first two “real” girlfriends, learned to drive, bought my first car from my parents with money from an after-school job (a piece of crap half broken down Volkswagen). And when Jay finally got on my last nerve at the bus stop and I punched him in the face and sent him home crying, the Vice Principle and Dean of Discipline, a genuine war hero (and sponsor of the Honor Society) met me getting off the bus and because Jay’s mom had called the school, asked me what happened. I told him and his reply was “Well, it’s about time someone stopped him,” and that was it. I learned the perks of having some status with the brass at school. I lettered in Track (3rd-fastest sprinter on the team), graduated eighth in my class, behind seven girls, None of whom ever dodged homework as hard as I had. But what was that after-school job that had earned me my first bucket of bolts?

I was a “maintenance man” at the hotel managed by our family friend. And it taught me how much I valued working with my hands. It taught me more as well. When working the midnight shift, I was tasked with filling in behind the front desk, stocking the bar, running the PBX (manually-operated switchboard for guest room calls), and making up rooms for late check-ins. This was also when the floors had to be polished with a huge rotary machine, pool chemicals had to be adjusted, lightbulbs in every building had to be replaced (hallways and exterior), mail had to be run to the post office, etc. It was Jack-of-all-trades during the late shift. And after midnight, when I left, there was no one on duty other than the barkeep and the night auditor.

The hotel was four buildings covering two city blocks, comprising 150 rooms and a convention center. There I learned carpentry, electrical, plumbing, glazing, locksmithy, wall and floor covering, bath remodels, minor HVAC, and what-have-you. If it was involved with keeping a hospitality establishment fit for service, I did it. At one point, I re-carpeted 30 rooms on my own. It was my first “real” job, and a solid grounding for the trades. I continued working there after school and did not go to college, despite a scholarship offer from a computer school (still kicking myself over that). I was, no kidding, enjoying working with my hands just too much.

And in my “spare” time, I taught some classes at my church. I was the very model of a “responsible” young adult.