There's not much to say about the early 80's. These were my skinny geek days. My mom remarried when I was 9, and my brother Jonathan was born a few years later. We moved to Fort Mill South Carolina in August 1984. I was 15. At the time, it was the hardest thing I ever did. It wouldn't have been so bad if we had moved to an actual city with culture. Sadly, it was far from that. I was suddenly a target and was asked repeatedly "you ain't from 'round here, is ya?" It was a miracle I didn't get in more fights than I did. Getting my ass whupped wasn't anything new to me, but here, I stuck out more. I was filled with a great depression that lasted a couple years. Although now I see it as necessary, and I'm so glad I was relocated here, at the time, I vowed to move back north as soon as humanly possible. Gradually, I befriended other "freaks" and outcasts - all from other states as well. If anything, our grouping made us even more of a target, as our strangeness was more concentrated. These new friends proved most invaluable in introducing me to all the music I'd been missing in my early years due to a combination of a strict upbringing, and the fact that my parents couldn't appreciate it. Now I knew why Led Zeppelin, The Doors, and others were so popular. I immediately set out to make up for lost time and listen to everything I could get my hands on.

      There was clearly a lack of things to do in Fort Mill. I carried over one of my past times from New York - climbing not only trees, but the tallest, most challenging buildings and water towers (I've always had a thing for heights). We'd drive to Charlotte, NC, the closest real city, but in the mid to late 80's, it wasn't nearly what it is now. About the coolest thing then (we were underage and couldn't go to clubs), was to see midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I worked at Heritage USA (aka PTL) first as a busboy (briefly), then mostly at the horse stables taking care of the usual petting zoo variety animals, as well as horses, camels, and a buffalo. I did volunteer work at a zoo in New York, and I wanted to resume that sort of job. I actually had a great deal of fun there. The property of Herritage USA was 4 square miles, including such niceties as a water park. I won't go into detail to protect the "innocent", but we had connections all through out the park. I started working in a veterinary hospital, assisting wherever necessary toward the end of my high school years.

     My senior year, I met Bryan Rinehart, who is my closest and best friend to this day. I won a contest and got to meet my favorite musical group at the time - Duran Duran this year. I graduated in 1987, surprisingly decided to stay in the south, and moved to Sanford, North Carolina to study to be a veterinary technician. This was a memorable time for me, as it was the first time I really felt free to be myself, since I was 120 miles away from home, and could pretty much do whatever I wanted. At the time, though, I wasn't ready to take school seriously, and my first year away was mostly play time. For example, I went to Mardi Gras instead of taking a test. I was one of only 3 males (one married) in a curriculum of about 50 students. This didn't help me academically either. During this time, I drove an old and unsafe Maverick. I got it for free, so I couldn't really complain. After awhile, my friends got used to the adventure of riding in it "will we actually get there?".

     I rented a furnished basement from an older widdowed woman, who also rented the upstairs where she lived, so I was lucky I had my own entrance. I got a part-time job in a factory that made pool and spa parts. It was working two 12 hour shifts a week, which was rough, but it afforded me lots of time to think and plan during the mindless tedium. Unfortunatly, my peaceful solitude was broken when she wanted more rent, and added another guy named Ricky to the one bedroom basement. I was too poor to move and, although it started civilly enough, he and I grew to despise each other. The room I had carefully arranged just so, was now invaded with a door poster of Bon-Jovi. Ricky's one huge ambition was to be a famous country music singer. While I was impressed and, indeed, inpired by his dedication and commitment to making that a reality, I was never a fan of country music. He had a Mr. Microphone of sorts, and would sing along endlessly to records and tapes in an effort to hone his voice. This usually prompted me to grab my keys and leave, which I now feel was part of his plan. He was 21 and could buy me alcohol, so I dealt with it as best I could. It was he who talked me into going to Mardi Gras, saying we had a free place at his dad's, who lived in an outskirt of New Orleans. His dad was quite a character. Every room of his home had a theme, and one could see that countless hours went into each one. For instance, in "The Lincoln Room", the floor was made of shiny pennies- ALL LINED UP FACING EXACTLY THE SAME WAY! It was over a conversation at the dinner table that I realized that Ricky had completely neglected to tell me that his father flew in The Anola Gay over Hiroshima! It was his dad who introduced us to the video "Faces of death". I was more than a little anxious to leave, especially after hearing stories of Ricky's older brother, who had died, but kepy "visiting" the house and leaving calling cards.

     It got worse, however, as time went on. Not only was Ricky tortured by not yet being a famous recording star, he was plagued with extremely painful intestinal problems that would leave him curled up crying on the floor, and leaving me staring wide-eyed in alarm, uncertain what to do. He eventually had a serious operation which seemed to help. One night, with an intense look in his eye, he asked me to help him pack his car so he could drive to Nashville and knock on the right doors. He said he was coming back a star. I was all too happy to have the place back to myself, but, a week later, he returned worse than ever! Not only had he been shot down at every turn, he had been mugged as well. The depression in the house was such that my friends stopped coming by, and I knew I had to move soon. During this time period I met Michael and David, who I still talk to today. My old Maverick died at this time, which was just as well, as the front left fender was ripped off in an accident.

     I moved back to Fort Mill for the summer and worked on a ride called The Goldrusher at Carowinds. It was a great job for a 19 year old. I met a lot of cool people and had a lot of fun that summer. One event worth mentioning- it was during that summer that, while at a party I wasn't particularly fond of, a guy twice my size thought I had done something I hadn't and gave me a black eye. This is noteworthy because it was the deciding factor to once and for all pick up some weights, gain some muscle, and look more intimidating (it took some years to get to that point, but that was the catalyst).