Part 5: 183J Parkcrest Village
There are things you learn about yourself only in retrospect. For my second year at Glassboro, I moved into an apartment at the Parkcrest Village complex. During
the year and a half I was there I went through three roommates. There was Mike Caputo, Warren Riggler and the mysterious Mr. Silverman and they were all assholes.
Except they weren't, not even Warren, a guy I didn't like. I was the asshole. I was withdrawn, egocentric and a slob, in every respect a dismal roommate. But at the time I thought
that Warren, Steve and Mike were the assholes. And what's worse, I continued to think they were assholes right up until I started this little project. It was only the act of looking
back that made me realize the truth. If only for that little bit of self knowledge, the Houses project has justified its existence.
I knew some navy guys, next door to us were three sailors who had three enormous pot plants. The shore patrol could come in any time so they kept the plants at my place. Then the navy guys were gone, recalled to active duty. Too fucking bad, eh? I developed a simple system for harvesting the plants. Once they were dried I would take a stalk and trail it on the floor. My two cats would attack the stalk and beat it into submission. Whatever leaves they'd knock off were the leaves we'd smoke. I was happy and the cats were happy.
Warren was into disco, he was also 26, which seemed incredibly old to me. He would dress up in John Travolta disco suits and drive to Emerald City, in Cherry Hill. He also had a friend
who used to mainline crystal meth. Warren never apologized for much, and he had no need too, I was the asshole, but he did apologize for the meth head. I forget the incident but meth head never came over after a certain point. I try not to judge people but I do have an aversion towards meth users. They tend to drink a lot and a drug that leaves you slobbering drunk but unable to pass out, well, I've had my fill of those people, thank you very much. Not that I was any prize myself.
I used to do a lot of LSD, back in the day. Well, not a lot but there was a time when I was tripping every two weeks. Steve was over at Donna's place, the television at Parkcrest Village
was broken and I called up Donna, weeping into the phone and begging her for a television set. I just had to have television. Steve came over with a portable set and gently suggested that perhaps I should moderate my drug intake. It's a wonder I made it to 25.
All in all it was a fun time. I was working at Garden Lanes Bowling Alley for a guy named Ed Gress as a janitor, so I had money for rent, utilities, beer and chemical inducements. I actually stayed at the apartment and job for a year after I graduated. I was having fun and I felt that I deserved an extra year of college life because I my first two years were spent at home. And, speaking of my parents, they came through for me in my senior year. They paid my full tuition with the provision that rent, food and expenses were my own problem.
Well done mom and dad.
By early 1979 Warren and I were on a month to month lease. New owners bought the complex and told us to sign a year lease or get out. I contacted the Board of Landlord Tenant Relations (yes New Jersey has one, or had one anyway). The advised me to tell the new owners that I was moving out in June and if they wanted me out now they could just evict me. In the mean time I would hold the rent in escrow for them pending a judgement by the court. The new owners backed down and allowed us to stay until June.
For the last few months at Parkcrest Village I was living in a sort of dream world. I was 23 years old and had a college diploma but had taken no steps to, you know, get a real job and join the adult world. But outside forces were conspiring to change that. Tune in soon for the next thrilling chapter.