Eddie Gunz:  

AND NOW, THE WHOLE STORY:(VERSION 2.1) Updated June 3, 2008 My wife is a pain in my (guess) sometimes. The novel I've written here was apparently NOT sufficiently complete to suit The Lady, who thinks I'm a good writer, and should pursue it actively... I've told her repeatedly to put down the bottle, and go to the meetings! (No. Not seriously.) In ANY case, this is the FINAL revision I'm making to this weighty digital tome, and if Mrs. Gunz don't like it, she can take a long walk off a short pier! (Yes. VERY seriously.) Those of you that knew me before or after will now undertstand what happened with me, and how I got the way I am today...We will SKIP the grade school years, not because my memory is going, as I have excellent recall of my childhood (Thanks to the three therapists that made me relive it), but because it really is NOT very interesting at all...FAST FORWARD: 1976:America's Bicentennial, Son Of Sam, and I.S. 162, on St. Ann's Avenue. My first days as a human punching bag in quite possibly one of the SICKEST educational institutions in operation at the time. Modelled after a Dickensian workhouse from "Oliver Twist", even the FACULTY was cruel. My homeroom teacher, Ms Ann Beth Cohen, was my personal Oscar Schindler in this totally fascist school. She saw I was being routinely victimized, and got me to a guidance counselor, who, after talking to me for ten minutes, decided I belonged with the more civilized honor students, instead of general population. "Honors" was just a polite way of saying they were putting me in classes with more advanced cirriculums, which was okay, but, the one BAD thing was being sentenced to the school chorus, known as (I swear before Almighty God), "The Bippy Singers", run by Mr. Hal Graham, whose insensate evil upon this earth prompted me to literally throw a party upon hearing that the man had died several years later. The school song (yeah, they had one), entitled "Too Much To Ask", and others, like "The Bippy Bossa Nova", and "Les Biciclettes Du Belsize", and, God Help Me, "You Light Up My Life", still haunt my nightmares to this very day. The only real benefit I got from these hellish experiences, was the discovery that I did, in fact, have a fondness for the science of music. The gym classes were dominated by "drill sergeant" James Kozuck, and I was lucky enough to get this class the very year The President's Council on Physical Fitness And Sports decided to stick the government's nose into school business, by making ALL of us compete for the "honor" of being given a patch for completing the government's course, and being given a clean bill of health from the president hisself... WELL, F*&^-A-DOODLE-DOO! I didn't get any damn patch, and "The Sarge" decided he didn't like me, and would look the other way if I was being beaten up, or having problems. I did have a small circle of friends there, kids like Walter Casiano (a brilliant artist), Philip Greaves (who put up with a lot of crap from me), one girl, Clarissa Colon, who must have liked victims, or something... About a year before moving up to the high- school level, I took entrance exams for three schools, and passed them all with ease. All that was left was to decide which one I'd like to attend. Bronx HS of Science was my first choice, being closest to home, and the place I thought I'd be best at. I'd also passed the test at John F. Kennedy, where I thought I might not fit in too well with the mostly white student body at the time. My parents, HEAVY catholics, wanted to pay to enroll me at Cardinal Hayes, even going so far as to try "pulling strings" with their church friends to make it happen. I flat out refused to go to any school where religion would be spoon fed to me along with an education, so we made the compromise that I would go to my third choice, the school my brother Ray had gone to and graduated from... 1979:GRAPHIC COMMUNICATIONS ARTS HS 625. "GCA-625"? Sounds like a planet Ellen Ripley has to visit in an "ALIENS" movie, and it wasn't far from the truth. When I arrived, Principal Pat DeMeo was just a figurehead, while assistant principal Pat Delaney, and his pet toadie, Mr. Esposito, really ran this combination insane asylum/amateur prison. then known as "The New York School Of Printing", which had regular weekly feuds with Park West High just across the street. Maybe it was nice when YOU went there, but for me, it was a study in violence and survival. I had the hell kicked outta me on a regular basis:Punks who didn't like me, extortionists looking for an easy mark, until one day I finally SNAPPED, and bit a kid in the lunchroom (ironic.) Poor Mr. Anooshian, who warded over the inmates as they ate, had to pull me off this thug, who was demanding money from me, until I sank my teeth into his throat. Strangely, no one bothered me after that incident, and I earned a reputation for extreme brutality. Before Metal Detectors and Security Cameras, it was no major feat for me to arrive each morning ARMED with steel spring whips, Brass Knuckles, and once, an unloaded handgun. I had a handful of acquaintances like Mike Fisher, John Loscalzo, Elmore Barnes, Theresa Knight, Shirley Mayo, Donald Johnson, and Andrew Valenti, but I was mostly scared and unhappy there. SO, I started cutting. A Lot. I'd spend the days educating myself at The Lincoln Center Library, and the museums, and the grindhouse movie theaters in Times Square, some of which, actually didn't show adult films! I had also immersed myself in the then-new Punk Rock Subculture of Greenwich Village and SoHo, discovering bands like ...Expand for more