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| As a boy, Mark was intelligent, | motivated, hard-working and damned good looking. Not much has changed, except, that he has shaved his head! |
Mark! Loooonnng time. How are you my friend? And how can forty years slip by so fast! Where have the years taken you, and what have you done with them? I'd love to trade either the short OR the long versions with you. Where are you living? I have ended up back in Arizona where the golfing is great (although I don't engage in it). I have a wife of 29 years and three daughters, all of whom are really nice people. Talk to me!
You have a wife of 29 years! Jon, that is outstanding news. I have a son of 26 years (who turns 27 this year on 11-11-11). The most interesting (probably) parts of my life, especially to you, who was always trying to bring out my sinner Mark, much as a good guardian angel SHOULD, would be the stretch of life where I became depressed in a major way. Surely the psychologists have the deeper understanding in such matters; best therapist I ever had (excluding the massage therapists), Constantine Bruns, who put himself through UIC hustling pool, and driving stoned taxi late night labeled what I was going through as "an existential crisis" which it was.
This was about the time I realized that my actuarial studies, and successful completion of the exams had turned me into one who counted the sick, counted the dead, raised the health insurance premiums on the aged and the infirm, and helped to design and price manipulated health insurance products to be sold by the unscrupulous to the unwary.
AND THAT, my good man, my good fellow, my good fellow human being, was not exactly consonant with any of the virtues I had been nourished by.
WELL, the human body and mind-body connection are rather remarkable, and they (and guardian angels as well) DO NOT want you to suffer major depression (sleepless, lethargic, taking no pleasure whatsoever from life) and devolve existence into zombieism.
So, I did a lot of weekly talk therapy with Con, avoided accomplishing anything at work that would cause me to further my counting of the dead, the sick, etc, etc, and, eventually, as I was driving to a therapy session the day Harry Chapin died, I was forced to ask the question: "Now that Harry's dead, who's going to play and sing his song?" And there only was one choice: "I'll have to do that."
And do that I began to do, getting better, in small increments, UNTIL, the day I told Con that after our 24 sessions together, it was time for me to move, and I was so grateful that he did not try to continue with hypno-therapy which hadn't worked with me.
At which point, the fat little bearded-bugger gets a sly grin on his face and plaintiffly and quietly asks, "Did you think I gave you no post-hypnotic suggestions whatsoever, Mark?"
Which set my mind to thinkin' - racin' if you will (classic symptom of a bi-polar episode ... roflmfao). And I returned to my HS daze - when I used to go over to Mark Mandabach's (I didn't hang with Keith much) and drink beers with Dave Weaver, Walt Witchee, et al. I never finished a 2nd beer in all those episodes, they always charged me $0.50 for the two beers anyway - ah, THOSE WERE the daze! and then, for the coup de grace ... I, yer' ever faithful servan' Ghunga DEEN Markus POOPUS would carry the empty beer cans away and dispose of them ... in the ditch by Chief of Police Henninger's house.
Ah, the Lord doth loveth we wee drunken fools.
And I had an atomic insight ... MY FRIENDS were not my friends!
Which begins a chain reaction ... speaking of which ... I need to go for a smoke - sorry for not following up early with you on this ... BRB and will probably phone this morning.
And then my thought went to Charles Beauchamp III, the first actuarial student I interviewed, ironically enough, at your old stomping grounds at the University of Iowa. I had read his resume when he came in and shook my hand, we were seated, and then I asked, "Do you have any questions for me."
At which point, the young man started to sob. Oh my. They didn't teach me about this in Interviewing Actuarial Students 101. Okay, says I, and not to worry. You are most fortunate indeed to have run into me as your first interview. For your NEXT interview, think of 2-3 questions, and write them down on a 3 X 5 note card, which you will smoothly pull out of your jacket pocket (the man actually wore a SUIT, and was dressed noticeably better than I) and read 'em off and impress the hell out them.
So, let's look at your resume, I continued. Oh, I see here you were valedictorian at Wheeling High School, very high point of recommendation. Oh, and too, you have passed an actuarial exam. Do you mind me asking what score you made?
Ten (the highest) he answered, and then, to keep himself knocked down appended, "But I only answered 39 questions."
To which I burst out laughing and added, "Well, when I took part I, I only answered 39 questions. HOWEVER, I passed with the six (the lowest passing score); so, I was the more efficient exam taker."
And finally he did get to the heart of his questioning, which was, "Is it possible to pass too many exams while in school?"
I did not know but assured him I would find out and get back to him on the matter.
I ended up seeing 15 students and missed my lunch break. Drove back to Oak Park in a driving wind storm, but, fortunately, the plastic thingee was broken off, and the frigidness of the Eastern winds molesting me in my beloved 1974 Dodge Dart, "BLUE GENE" kept me wakeful till I arrived at my destination, 1219 N. Taylor Street, Oak Park, IL, where I lived in a house with my long time lady friend Susan B. Gillies, who, one day, and not so far off, would beat me scratch, from the men's tees at many different golf courses, and on days when I was sober and hitting the ball pretty well. Hell of a lady; very fine golfer. She married a Viet Nam vet who threatened to cut off my nuts, and then immediately asked if I would like to go to a bar and shoot some pool with him.
Lucky in Love?
Well maybe so.
There's still a lot of things
You'll never know
HOW could this accomplished young man (who was on scholarship and worked three summer jobs) question his abilities? HOW could another young man (Charles was a dead ringer for my own biological brother John, would would, in 1988, die from a heart attack, way too young at 33, complications of the AIDS virus, from his six-month promiscuous period, which overlapped from start to finish MY six-month promiscuous period!)
And then this though, in the chain reaction: my father too, how could he have ever felt those doubts? Do they come like viral infections in the night, or are they bred into us here in the mid-West; don't think too highly of yourself, you'll only get knocked down .. etc, etc, etc.
And in the morning, when I drove to work, thinking about all these things, I broke down sobbing, behind the wheel of Blue Gene, and could not enter work in such a state. When I saw my beloved 2nd baseman, Gerri (I coached the co-ed softball team from Bankers Life & Casualty's Actuarial-Group division, the nirvana of my existence; we were the 2nd best team in a 12-team league; had to field 5 girls and 5 guys, and my gals were GREAT!! ... Susan pitched or played 3rd base; Nancy Lyons pitched or played 3rd base; Pam Babler, who could hit the ball about as far as my dick is long (flaccid) had an on-base percentage bordering on 75, caught or played 2nd base; Mary Whiting, who could run like a doe and had an arm to rival Andre Dawson's was my centerfielder ... let us say simply, that if my managerial philosophy did not include letting all the guys (there were only six gals) play half the game, we would have been the best team - and that was even WITHOUT me playing, and my OBP was about 90%.)
So, I picked Gerri up, told her my stories, dropped her off at her building, and entered work dry-eyed.
And my guardian angels and body had uplifted me from depression - into what is called, in the ridiculous manuals (that once listed nicotine addiction as a mental illness, and homosexuality too, and excessive masturbation ... well, but of course, none of this is nudes to youse) A MANIC EPISODE featuring - lots of booze, little sleep, lots of sexxy conduct and behaviour, LOTS of ORGASIMS, wild and erratic driving patterns, etc, etc, etc ... it was as if I had been made a god. Fare thee well, existential crisis!!
More to follow Brother John. My beloved Brother John.
Be well, and if you can't be well, then do well, always remembering that you can't please everybody, so you got to please yourself.
Yours always,
Mark Raymond Ganzer
