Fifteen was a weird fucking year for me. I had fallen back in love with comic books, & had discovered a used book store nearby where they carried "direct sales" comics (you can read about that here) which was far more reliable than the comic book stands in convenience stores. I was also being exposed to tons of new music thanks to MTV. We didn't have MTV - we couldn't afford cable - but there were plenty of shows, some syndicated, some like Friday Night Videos on network stations, playing those smart artists who made videos. I think I talked a little about this last year, but in late 1982, my friend Russell made me a David Bowie compilation tape, & I also became intrigued by Elvis Costello around that time. By the end of 1983, those two - plus John Lennon, whose Beatles songs I came to prefer over the others', as well as his solo stuff - became my musical holy trinity.
But 1983 began better for me than it ended. At school, I had a best friend named Scott who had introduced me to Dungeons & Dragons & who read books like the Michael Moorcock Elric series (I got teased a lot for reading those books - "Look, Dickerson's reading about more cock!" was common) like me. We had friends whom we hung out with at school. I didn't hang out with him, but I did chat on the phone a lot with my friend Russell - & for a time I ate lunch with him & his friend Lee. They were smarter than me, though, & less excitable - I was often the butt of their jokes. I remember one time Lee made a comment when I was rhapsodizing about some John Lennon song, he said, "Too bad he said the Beatles were better than Christ." I said, "No, he never said that!" but Lee had obviously meant to play my naïve enthusiasm against me, & as I tried to defend Lennon, the two of them laughed & laughed.
At home things were not great. My mother had taken the chance of moving in with her boyfriend, a tall, skeletal man named Ed, who was an alcoholic, probably with his assurances he wouldn't go on a bender while we were there, but of course he did, & at some point, toward the end of the year (1982 that is), we moved out. I don't remember if it were before Christmas, probably not, but we ended up living with my sister Pat & her husband Dan. The crazy thing about this arrangement was that, a) they lived in a small, two-bedroom house - my mother got the second room while my little brother & I slept in the living room, with my little brother getting the couch & me sleeping on the floor (I can't say why that happened, except that he probably made a fuss & I was more & more tired of fighting with my brother about most everything), & b) my sister was about eight months pregnant at the time.
My sister is no longer with us, & my brother-in-law hasn't communicated with me for some time, but I feel weird about describing the weird circumstances of our brief time there. My mother probably didn't ask, but rather told, my sister that we needed a place to stay. & my sister would not have refused my mother. But it seemed rather fucked-up. I suddenly had to find a different way to school, I didn't know how long we'd be staying there, & I hated sleeping on the floor, not the least reason of which was that my sister's house had a roach infestation. Not during the day, but at night, if you got up to get a drink, the kitchen floor would be swarming with them. The entire kitchen actually. It was not sanitary.
Strangely, I think it was just the kitchen. I don't remember the bathroom being as bad. But I was sleeping in the living room. Next to the kitchen. On the floor. Where they might just come by to have a look at me.
My nephew was born in February so we obviously had to go. It turned out that they had built a small apartment complex - six units, three separated by a driveway with a small parking lot at back - just down the street from the convenience store where my mother worked. The store which her alcoholic boyfriend owned. Yes, this entire time, she kept working for him. My guess is that he arranged for her to get the apartment, probably also paying the deposit. Why would I guess that? Because he moved in to the small complex, too. He was in number five, we were in number one.
The place is still there, some thirty-six years later. It was brand new when we moved in - we were the first family to live there. It looks like this now:
Image courtesy Google Maps. I lived in this place - shared a bedroom with my little brother once again - all through high school. It was closer to my comic book shop, but about equally far from school.
For some reason I don't remember how I got to school in those days. Maybe an older sibling was forced to take me. My little brother still went to middle school at this point. In any event, the last bits of ninth grade came to a close & I endured a number of humiliations as one does but was glad I had a friend in Scott, with whom I often walked home, & with whom I talked on the phone & tried to share things with.
At the end of ninth grade, though, he called to tell me terrible news: his mother & step-father were divorcing, & he was moving back to Illinois.
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