MIAMI SENIOR HIGH
MEMORIES
(1957 – 1960)

There is little doubt that during the three years I was in high school there was a surge of spiritual growth that was usually the antithesis to the establishment’s ideas there of and ideals of Western Christian thought.  It was during my last year of high school that my own spiritual emancipation was beginning to more fully manifest itself, not only in the feelings that I had aptly expressed in several poems that are to follow, but most dramatically in a literary project that was required of each senior in order to graduate from Miami Senior High.  Impartial English teachers were assigned to grade these senior papers, and the particular teacher that graded mine insisted that I meet with her so that she could explain directly to me just why she had given me the very lowest passing grade of C-minus despite the fact that I was graduating with a B+ average.  She apologetically yet very authoritatively insisted that I must have plagiarized the various arguments of my senior paper, since no high school student, in her obviously biased and totally uninformed opinion, could have possibly written the inspired contents of such a profound thesis.  She confessed that since she could not actually “prove” her most wrongly conceived assertion of plagiarism, she wasn’t going to give me a failing grade, but that she would instead assign the paper the lowest passing grade.  My paper, titled, “The Reformation As Viewed from Both the Protestant and Catholic Points of View,” was probably as far above her limited and narrow-minded ability to comprehend as it was over my own inspired and profound understanding of the negative ramifications for those who are so blindly accepting any religion as the basis of all reality, and most sadly of all, the absolute basis of all moral issues and morality whether it is in keeping with the empirical reality that is usually lacking in those religions that require only faith and belief as proof of their authenticity.

          You should note the dates of these following poems that were written in the second half of my senior year.  Of course, at that time I had no idea as to where my life was to ultimately lead me to the profound understandings that most of the world religions simply do not possess any degree of empirical reality for their fundamental basis of their individualized mythologies.  Of course, these religions for the most part always require that you have faith and belief as they most often see their unique reality as being something that is necessarily invisible to the empirical eye.  This lack of empirical evidence is usually expressed as the need for the individual to exercise his blind faith as the show of obedience to their religion.

WHAT IS POETRY

            Some sing the praises

                 of life and love.

               Others write the plays

                    of human hope.

                  Some mold with clay

                       the forms of life.

                     Others use the brush

                          for better scope.

                                    I use the pen....

February 21, 1960

          This first poem sort of naturally predicts that I intend to be writing and expressing many of my thoughts with the use of poetry as opposed to any other means or vehicles of expression.  The following poem was the result of an assignment given to students of a drama class.  We were asked to write a narrative that could be enacted by characters on a stage while being read.  At the end of the first six week’s period when the teacher was handing out grades for that period, she had announced that due to the excellence of one student’s contribution to writing the assigned narrative, that it would be a disservice to give any other students the same recognition of the grade, A. It was sort of embarrassing for me to be the very reason for no other students to receive an A for that six week’s period; particularly in an elective class that was often taken for what was perceived as a class in which it was considered easy to achieve high grades without too much effort.  This ended up being the first poem of several in which I would write the ending stanza or stanzas first.

WHEN HIS SHIP CAME IN

Upon a sea, a roaring vicious sea,
That splashed and crashed and tossed and tore about
A man without a saving ship nearby
To hear his battered breathless pleading cry.                  

What man is this upon the sea afloat?
And being brought to isle of des'lete shore
By pushing pulling waves of angry sea.
What man afloat is this, which sea foam bore?

And when the waters of the sea were calm,
And stormy clouds and winds had ceased to be,
There came from sea to shore a lifeless man
That'd lain as though his soul had liberty.

Upon the sands of shore the man remained,
Until the sun of day began to rise
And filled his earthly coil with warming rays;
Impressed on him to move from where he lay.

Then staggering like a newborn colt he rose
To see what he could find within his sight.
And when he found no food, no drink, nor man,
He said, "Without a doubt, I'll have no night!"

Upon this isle he stood with bravery
And said aloud, "I'll stand this feat; I'm strong!"
And though, I'm sure, he felt just what he said,
Some tone beneath his voice revealed him wrong.

In mind he stood erect and strong and brave,
And thought on things he'd done and things he bore.
He sang a sad and dreary song of hope;
Then sat with head in hands as nev' before.

Then searching within for some mundane reason why,
This sea of life had brought him to this isle;
His mind went back and lived his life again,
And found some good, but for the most 'twas foul.

 

Then as this child beneath a stormy sky,
He fell to earth and then began to pray;
"Oh God!, my God, have mercy on my soul,

And show me now why I was lead this way.




And finally, towards God he turned and sought
Salvation from his sins; then peace of mind.
His heart felt light and calm was there at last;
And by that change, there's not a soul so kind.

And when at last in full serenity,
And stood prepared to meet his destiny,
He saw upon the sea a ship appear,
And thought he then it was a sight so dear.

But when his ship came sailing in towards shore,
He left with haste, without a thought in mind
Of what he'd seen or heard, or felt within,
But worst of all, his prayer remained behind.

                              March 11, 1960

The above poem was used and performed as part of the drama department’s presentation that was held in the school auditorium.  The drama teacher had also decided to present this poem and its dramatization as one of the school’s presentations at the state level of competition.  It did not win anything, but I was very pleased to have been chosen as one of the school’s entries.

MY SAVIOR

       Upon the cross they nailed Him to,
       He said He died for me and you.
       And though He gave His life so free,
       He died because it was to be.

         When I in sin and was unsaved,
         And by mortal things enslaved
         To all the evils of this earth,
         He lifted me, and gave rebirth.

           He gave me joy and hope and song,
           And showed me not to ever wrong.
           He shared His truth and gave me sight,
           And prays with me at fall of night.

                              March 9, 1960

          The above poem clearly indicates that I had not yet abandoned my belief in Jesus of Nazareth even though I had a great question about Christianity itself.  I had already understood that there was no real empirical evidence that Christ ever existed according to any historical, or lack thereof, independent historical literature.  In any case, I did fully appreciate, according to the Christian Bible, the teachings of this Jewish man of  Nazareth.  Most particularly, I was quite impressed with his teachings of truth and love.  I guess you could say that I was not prepared to throw the baby out with the wash.  There still remained a lot of questions about my faith and belief or most simply the lack thereof.

WHO AM I

     Who am
        To say what's wrong or right,
     When I'm not
        Filled with perfect light.

         Who am I
            To read without delight,
         When nothing
            Finer do I write?

             Who am I
                To stand above the rest,
             When I'm naught
                Even at my very best?

                 Who am I
                    To show the arts called mine,
                 When it's Love
                    That makes my art so fine?

                     Who am I
                        To rise with all the rest,
                     When it's Love
                        That calls me at my best?

                         Who am I?
                            To say the least:
                         A child of Love,
                            Not of beast!

                                       March 10, 1960

          Just as a reminder, I wish to once again recognize my mother as the individual that preserved my poetry as it was her who had done so and eventually returned the dated collection of poetry to me in my early 40s.  This collection of poems now has more meaning to me today as well as its content clearly pointing the way that my life would likely have taken to the very ideas and ideals that are contained in my view of the Age of Reality.  This next poem expresses my concern for the thoughts and ideas of that time when I was questioning most everything that concerned my particular spirituality.  Little did I know!

      WHY AM I HERE?

I'm not here
    To read what others write,
Nor to see
     Without some guiding light.

    I'm not here to
        To reap what others sow,
    Nor to see
        The arts which others show.

        I'm not here
            To learn what has been taught,
        Nor to see
            My life result in naught.

            I'm not here
                To waste my life away,
            Nor to see
                My each and every day.

                But, then why;
                    Why am I here at all?
                May' because
                    I heard my Neighbor call.

                                    March 8, 1960

          This above poem gave me a guideline to the rest of my life in that I literally stuck to the part of not reading what anyone else might have ever said or expressed about any of the very ideas and ideals that have now come to be my own totally unique and un-influenced thoughts about this Age of Reality.  I had no idea at that time that I was going to be expressing, rather specifically and different from anybody else’s written material, the very essence of this Age of Reality.  I have little or no doubt, that had I been a ferocious reader of all those other modern-day prophets, that there would be no way for me to have claimed that I am indeed, the one and only Father of This Age of Reality.  I'm even now amazed at the number of other individuals that recognized the gross inconsistencies that exist with the Christian religion, but appeared to not understand the full implications of such radical departures that the Christian religion has taken from the actual teachings of Jesus of Nazareth.  Of course, all of these gross departures are to be expected considering that it was a pagan emperor, Constantine the Great that proposed the practicing tenets of his politically proposed religion, Christianity.  I find it very amazing that there exist very learned and educated individuals like that of Elaine Pagels, that so clearly states the problem or the reality, and do this so authoritatively much without having any understanding of its full implications.

          As part of my spiritual growth during high school, I had the good fortune of meeting two significant people.  The first one was a Roy Davis that had the good fortune of studying under Yogananda.  Roy was a guest that spent over a week with our family and during his stay, I had the good fortune of sharing my bedroom.  Besides my learning more about yoga and the physical discipline of the body, I learned the possibility of being very spiritual without the need of a god to be worshiping.

          The other person of great interest was a Dutchman, Peter Hurkos who would demonstrate psychometrics and its use in solving crimes.  This unusually gifted man was considered as one of the world’s greatest psychics.  It was

my stepfather that had sponsored Peter and introduced him to the Miami Police Department for the purpose of using his gift to solve some of the more difficult murder cases.  Gilbert Holloway was a good friend of Henry Belk, whose family had endowed Vanderbilt University with monies used to support J. B. Rhine and his department of psychic studies, extra sensory perception and most noticeably parapsychology; in fact there are those who claim that J. B. Rhine is the father of parapsychology.  It was this friend of Gilbert Holloway, Henry Belk that had sponsored and brought Peter Hurkos to America, first to be studied by J. B. Rhine in his specifically designed laboratory for the study of psychic phenomena.  It was this Peter’s use of psychometry; the ability of knowing or perceiving information about some particular individual with just the touching of personal items of that given subject that was also in their direct possession as in their actually touching that particular item; it is items like their clothing or say jewelry that appears to be amongst the best items for the physic to handle.  Peter Hurkos did not live with my family while in Miami, but was almost daily with Gilbert.  What I had actually learned from this contact was the authenticity of some individuals’ unique ability to demonstrate the greater capacity of one’s mind to work in manners that heretofore was consider as only trickery for the purpose of entertainment.

          It was another friend, Harriet Schoenfeld who was a Jewish girl that displayed some interesting personal traits that were totally related to her upbringing as a Jew.

One of the more strict culinary laws has to do with the orthodox Jews’ eating of seafood.  Apparently she was brought up with the orthodox law that prohibits the eating of any shelled seafood as in clams and oysters that also considered shrimp because of the shell like material that surrounds the tail of the shrimp.  Well, Harriet like so many of us seafood lovers who adore the eating of shrimp did not wish to adhere to the tradition of that prohibited the eating of the seafood delicacy.  So, guess what; Harriet simply eat the whole shrimp, shell and all and rationed that since the whole shrimp was consumed, shell, tail and all, that the shrimp she ate were obviously not a shelled fish or seafood like that clam and oyster whose shell is almost impossible to eat.  I assumed that Harriet, like so many Jewish women that appear to being above average in intelligence, would likely never be successfully challenged on her bending this Jewish law.

          Speaking of eating, one of my very good friends during high school was Gary Graziano, whose father was the owner of the Graziano Italian restaurant; one of Miami's finer Italian restaurants.  My father taught me to eat a special Italian dish that was nothing more than combining an eggplant parmesan with a veal parmesan.  Since Gary was often cooking in his father’s restaurant, I had instructed Gary as to how I liked my eggplant and veal parmesan combined.  Since this combination was not his menu I would always order the veal because it was higher-priced.  What I remember about all of this was one time when I had ordered my dish and it had gotten served to another table.  The waitress had served my special dish to some lady who was making a confused and sad face when she had bitten into my veal and mushy-textured eggplant; she just wasn't expecting anything but the veal that she had ordered.  When I saw her face frowned, I knew immediately what had just happened and inform the waitress that she had given my special order to the wrong recipient.  She immediately informed the lady that there was nothing wrong with her dish; she had simply received her order of veal parmesan with a layer of eggplant beneath the veal.  We all had a good laugh and the lady was relieved to have learned that it was nothing more than eggplant that she must have thought was something else undesirable.

          Other than what I have already shared with you about my high school years, I will only add that my experiences were pretty normal and average.  I had always prided myself with the idea that my friends represented a full gamut of the social order of Miami and that I never had any kind or display of prejudice against anyone for any reason.  And that too reflects the openness with which I apply my unconditional love to anyone who enters my life, then and perhaps even more now.  When I has attended our 40th year reunion, I was paid one of the greatest compliments by Serge Martinez when he told me that I had brought such a wonderful attitude and unique presence to our group of friends and that he would never forget what a joy I was to be around.