The Kid That Became A Guy Part XIII: The Conclusion

I want to begin by thanking everyone that read this, I hope it was at least entertaining. I wrote in the introduction that this was a work, partly truth, partly fiction. The only fiction was the name, Ray Cusumano. This has been my confession of sorts. Nobody has heard any of this before, not even my children and I didn't want to die without anyone knowing my story. My youngest daughter contacted me last year and came to spend my birthday with me. I wanted to tell her then, but she had her husband and another guy with her, along with my granddaughter, Sabina. We never had any time alone, so I didn't get the chance. I had originally intended to talk about some other things that I decided to omit because they might lead to my incarceration or death, or both.

When I was young there was a stigma to being an orphan. Children with no parents were bastards and I never wanted my kids to know I was a bastard, so I made up a family. One of the hardest thing I ever did was to put on my student loan application that I was an orphan. All of my life I've been a throw away person- a ghost. Now I'm old and don't have that much time left and I will die as I lived, anonymously. We all end up the same, either a pile of ashes or food for insects, so it doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. I do want to recognize some of the people that have made a difference in my life.

My Uncle Arthur, who rescued me. He taught me so much that I was able to use in life. Sonny and his wife Patty. They were like surrogate parents. Sonny, even though he was a gangster, taught me to be a good man, a man of honor. Always to keep my word and never turn my back on a friend. I never have. I've tried to lead my life as honorably as I can. There were a few women in my life that have helped me to become what I am.

I didn't want this to become a fuckalogue, bragging about the women I've been with. But a few have made a big difference. Janine Logan: When I came back from Vietnam, I had malaria and was pretty sick. I spent a couple of months in the hospital in San Diego where Janine was a nurse. We spent some time together and I contacted her when I went back to California. We had a son she named Nicholas. She had married and I never got to see him, but I hope they are both well.

Beautiful Roz: A little while after I had come back from California in early 1968, all the hippies in Boston hung out on Boston Commons. I met Roz when she was on lunch break from working for her dad as a secretary. She was only 16 or 17 and she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her dad was some rich lawyer and they were part of the Beacon Hill aristocracy. She was so incredibly beautiful, her nickname was "Beautiful Roz," I didn't make it up- it's what everybody called her. We hooked up and started going together. Everything about her was perfect, even her toes. I owe her, she motivated me to make something out of myself. I don't know if it was to impress her or what, but not long after, I became the acid king. I motivated her father to send her away to school in Switzerland and I never saw her again.

Janet King: I think I already talked about Jan, we had a son together that we named Tyrone after Tyrone Power, the actor. She disappeared with him when he was around three and I never found him. She did a lot of meth and I would imagine she's probably dead now. I hope my son is well and doing good.

Cindy: Cindy lived with me during some of my worst drinking. She wanted to be a model and I told her that although she was very pretty, she wasn't model pretty. I'll be damned if she didn't prove me wrong. I had paid a friend to do a portfolio for her, more to humor her than anything else. Cindy was the person that made me realize I was an alcoholic. After she left me, I picked up a copy of some catalogue and there she was. She may not have made it into Vogue, but she did realize her dream. I give her credit for that.

There are a couple of things I didn't mention when writing this. One was six months in the 70's that I spent in Central America, on a fake passport, working as a consultant for Coca Cola. That's all I'm going to say about that. The other thing is pretty humorous.

I flew out to California to visit friends in 1970, I think it was. I went to San Francisco and visited friends there, then went up to Santa Rosa to see my old buddy Tom. Tom was living with a girl, I think her name was Meredith, her dad was the guy that did the Charlie Brown cartoon. There was this kid living with them, I guess he was around 19. He kind of attached himself to me. He wanted to go to Boston so I told him he could come back with me. I turned my plane ticket in and I had some cash and I bought a 1960 Impala and we were going to drive back. This guy started acting just like me, walking like me, talking like me and at first it was kind of flattering. After a week, it was getting on my nerves. By the time we hit Denver, I wanted to kill this motherfucker. I sent him into a store to get something and took off and left him there. You might think I was a prick for doing that, but at least I didn't kill him. I picked up a guy named Ron hitchhiking and headed for Boston.

We got to some little town in Iowa and the transmission went in the Impala. We were stuck, so we went to a campground to spend the night and figure out what to do. We noticed all this pot growing in the cornfields...a shitload of it. So, we picked 15-20 lbs and hitched a ride back to Nebraska, Lincoln I think and shipped it via Greyhound to Ann Arbor, Michigan because I heard there were a lot of hippies there. We took off hitchhiking to Ann Arbor. In Indiana we got picked up by some guys from Ann Arbor looking for wild pot in Indiana. They gave us a ride to Ann Arbor and put us up for the night. They were really cool guys, they ordered pizza and we partied. I told them I had pot coming, but I don't think they believed me. The next morning Ron and I went ti Greyhound and got my box. I had written "Books" all over the box so they would think I was a student sending his books to school. We went back into the apartment and dumped 15 lbs of weed on the floor. For the next two months we drove to Iowa picking this weed about 150 lbs a trip and sold it. This stuff was total crap, it was hemp and wouldn't get you high no matter how much you smoked. We sold it for $100 a lb and we couldn't get it fast enough! Unbelievable. When it snowed, Ron went back to Denver and I flew to Boston.

Another thing I forgot to mention happened in around 2006. I was in my office at the cemetery when a Vietnamese guy came in. There was a man named Khoung Le buried right behind the office and he had a photo on his stone. The photos are in plastic or ceramic and his (plastic) had faded. His friend wanted a new one. We got to talking about Vietnam and it was my old friend Hue Pham. He has emigrated after the fall of Saigon. He told me he had become a Colonel and had been put in charge of a helicopter squadron somewhere up by the Ia Drang, around Pleime or Pleiku. When he was with me, he was a Captain. He told me that even with the new relationship we have with Vietnam, if he went back, they would kill him. We rekindled our friendship and used to visit often. He died in 2009, I still go by his grave sometimes.

Now I'm old. In 2014 I got really sick and started throwing up buckets of blood. I had a perforation in my stomach and they cauterized it. It didn't take, so they did it again. In October of that year I had a heart attack. I lost my home and was going to end it. But, I had a problem, my dog Bruno would need a home. I called my former boss, Lindy and he told me that he was coming to get us both. Lindy has some medical problems so now I keep the house and do repairs and look after him. I get food stamps and medicaid for my medical problems. In addition to my back being shot, my hips, shoulders, elbows and knees are shot as well. I can't move without narcotics...I take enough pain pills to keep Manhattan in a coma every day. Basically, I'm homeless, I have nothing except Bruno. I learned one thing when I had my brain tumor- you can't cheat death without paying a heavy price...it was what they call a pyrrhic victory. I should have just died in 2009 with a little dignity...if you call drooling and falling down dignified. I've tried to live my life with honor. I've tried to be a good man. I may not have accomplished much, but I'm not ashamed of anything I've done.

My kids don't talk to me now. They haven't had much to do with me since I ran out of money. I thank everyone that's read this. There's probably not much here that's useful, but I hope that it's at least been a little entertaining. Thanks again for listening.

Finis

https://steemit.com/story/@richq11/the-kid-that-became-a-guy-part-ii-uncle-arthur-and-back-to-boston
https://steemit.com/story/@richq11/the-kid-that-became-a-guy-part-iii-sonny-patty-and-uncle-sam
https://steemit.com/story/@richq11/the-kid-that-became-a-guy-part-iv-vietnam
https://steemit.com/story/@richq11/the-kid-that-became-a-guy-part-v-haight-ashbury-and-the-hippie-life
https://steemit.com/story/@richq11/the-kid-that-became-a-guy-part-vi-the-businessman-i-go-to-work
https://steemit.com/story/@richq11/the-kid-that-became-a-guy-part-vii-i-hit-the-road
https://steemit.com/story/@richq11/the-kid-that-became-a-guy-part-vii-arkansas-and-beyond
https://steemit.com/story/@richq11/the-kid-that-became-a-guy-part-ix-phoenix
https://steemit.com/story/@richq11/the-kid-that-became-a-guy-part-x-lemonade-out-of-lemons-the-kid-becomes-a-guy
https://steemit.com/story/@richq11/the-kid-that-became-a-guy-part-xii-back-to-ft-smith