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Authors: Bill Hillmann
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started up the front stairs.
âAlright. Iâll see ya later buddy,â Rich said.
âOK. Thanks, Rich,â I went through the front door and didnât tell a soul.
Rich was like that. He could be really good to me sometimes, and he could be a miserable son of a bitch, too. It all depended on his mood that day I guess. But to be honest, when I look back on it, I could see that he really loved me. He even really loved JanânâRose, too. He was just all mixed up and living in a fucked-up world out thereâalmost getting raped like that. I mean, that could radicalize anyone. All those crazy radicals out there, all of âem had either something horrible happen to âem, or some kind of mental illness, and Rich had both. That made it rough for him, and it was only gonna get worse.
He needed a guy like Simon around. Sy had sense. He could make sense of the world for these guys. He made them feel like what they were going through mattered and had meaning. That respecting each other and being there for each other was what mattered. The whole North Side knew Sy, whether it was because of his bands or just that he was always around the metal scene back then. People just latched onto him. He knew everyone, and everyone loved him. Sy had a sense of right and wrong, tooâ something Rich had lost somewhere along the way. Without Sy around, I think Rich woulda been doing way worse shit out there in the neighborhood. In fact, Iâm sure of it.
CHAPTER 5
SEEDS
MY BROTHER BLAKE was a terribly sick child. He had a hole in his heart the size of a walnut, and they werenât sure if heâd make it his first five years. He literally could have been rushed into surgery at any moment, so Dad even stepped down from his foreman position in order to take on a Union Steward job, (basically, the Unionâs eyes and ears on the site). He couldnât afford to get laid off and lose his insurance, even for a week, and stewards worked all year round. By the time Blake was about twelve, the hole sealed up on its own. He started playing Pop Warner football with the High Ridge Chargers and ended up being pretty good.
Lil Pat was a brutal big brother to Blake. Donât ask me why. Sometimes, when two eggs hatch, a terrible war unfolds within the nest. That seemed to be the force of nature at work between âem. Rich told me that when they were little, Lil Pat would do horrible things to Blake. Things like literally holding him down and taking a shit on him, or pushing him out of a tall tree, which broke Blakeâs arm. It was a long, cruel list, but Blake survived.
Blake started out high school as one of the smallest and slightest kids at Gordon. He was a little over five foot and about a hundred and twenty pounds. He worked hard on the football field and ran the practice squad. He concocted mock defenses in order to imitate their next opponent. But then, something miraculous happened: his sophomore year, he started to grow. By the beginning of his junior year, he was closing in on six feet in height. By the end of the season, he was 6 ' 1 " and starting receiver and safety for a pretty strong Catholic League squad.
His growth spurt had its ill effects on Rich, whoâd been bigger and taller than his older brother for several years by then, though Rich could never fight a lick, and Blake could always best him. But now that the tide had shifted, so to speak, Blake recalled the brutality heâd endured most of his life inflicted by a big brother. So, he decided to educate Rich on what it was like to be a hated little brother.
One night, the summer before Blake left for Drake, shit got messy. Heâd moved into one of the side rooms in the partially-finished basement. We had a TV and stereo set up down there.
It was about one in the morning, and Rich and Sy sat on the sofa in the basement chowing down on Italian beefs and bags of greasy fries, nodding their heads vigorously to the heavy metal
âAlright. Iâll see ya later buddy,â Rich said.
âOK. Thanks, Rich,â I went through the front door and didnât tell a soul.
Rich was like that. He could be really good to me sometimes, and he could be a miserable son of a bitch, too. It all depended on his mood that day I guess. But to be honest, when I look back on it, I could see that he really loved me. He even really loved JanânâRose, too. He was just all mixed up and living in a fucked-up world out thereâalmost getting raped like that. I mean, that could radicalize anyone. All those crazy radicals out there, all of âem had either something horrible happen to âem, or some kind of mental illness, and Rich had both. That made it rough for him, and it was only gonna get worse.
He needed a guy like Simon around. Sy had sense. He could make sense of the world for these guys. He made them feel like what they were going through mattered and had meaning. That respecting each other and being there for each other was what mattered. The whole North Side knew Sy, whether it was because of his bands or just that he was always around the metal scene back then. People just latched onto him. He knew everyone, and everyone loved him. Sy had a sense of right and wrong, tooâ something Rich had lost somewhere along the way. Without Sy around, I think Rich woulda been doing way worse shit out there in the neighborhood. In fact, Iâm sure of it.
CHAPTER 5
SEEDS
MY BROTHER BLAKE was a terribly sick child. He had a hole in his heart the size of a walnut, and they werenât sure if heâd make it his first five years. He literally could have been rushed into surgery at any moment, so Dad even stepped down from his foreman position in order to take on a Union Steward job, (basically, the Unionâs eyes and ears on the site). He couldnât afford to get laid off and lose his insurance, even for a week, and stewards worked all year round. By the time Blake was about twelve, the hole sealed up on its own. He started playing Pop Warner football with the High Ridge Chargers and ended up being pretty good.
Lil Pat was a brutal big brother to Blake. Donât ask me why. Sometimes, when two eggs hatch, a terrible war unfolds within the nest. That seemed to be the force of nature at work between âem. Rich told me that when they were little, Lil Pat would do horrible things to Blake. Things like literally holding him down and taking a shit on him, or pushing him out of a tall tree, which broke Blakeâs arm. It was a long, cruel list, but Blake survived.
Blake started out high school as one of the smallest and slightest kids at Gordon. He was a little over five foot and about a hundred and twenty pounds. He worked hard on the football field and ran the practice squad. He concocted mock defenses in order to imitate their next opponent. But then, something miraculous happened: his sophomore year, he started to grow. By the beginning of his junior year, he was closing in on six feet in height. By the end of the season, he was 6 ' 1 " and starting receiver and safety for a pretty strong Catholic League squad.
His growth spurt had its ill effects on Rich, whoâd been bigger and taller than his older brother for several years by then, though Rich could never fight a lick, and Blake could always best him. But now that the tide had shifted, so to speak, Blake recalled the brutality heâd endured most of his life inflicted by a big brother. So, he decided to educate Rich on what it was like to be a hated little brother.
One night, the summer before Blake left for Drake, shit got messy. Heâd moved into one of the side rooms in the partially-finished basement. We had a TV and stereo set up down there.
It was about one in the morning, and Rich and Sy sat on the sofa in the basement chowing down on Italian beefs and bags of greasy fries, nodding their heads vigorously to the heavy metal
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