19 May 2022

World Youth Day 2000 journal, 13 August 2000 to 15 August 20222



World Youth Day 2000


    World Youth Day 2000 pass


Note: I wrote a journal while working as a chaperone for World Youth Day 2000 in Italy. My youngest brother, Joe, was a member of a group of Maine high school students making the journey.

World Youth Day featured a lot of visits to Roman basilicas for the Holy Year of 2000. Without getting into too much explanation, we were pilgrims in bright orange t-shirts.

We wore them for big events, such as when we visited St. Peter's Basilica and when we to University Tor Vergata for a giant outdoor mass celebrated by Pope John Paul II. The fluorescent clothing helped us from getting lost amid the thousands of fellow Catholics from around the world.

I'm going to post excerpts from what I wrote, trying to keep in the parts that might embarrass me now, leave out the dull and not get into naming people who had unpleasant experiences.

No teen was seriously hurt during the trip, though the heat caused problems. 

I'll try to explain events before each day's posts. For example, I and other pilgrims left the Maine Mall parking lot in South Portland, Maine, by bus and flew out of Logan Airport in Boston. We landed in Belgium before flying into Rome.

At the time of this writing, I was 30 years old and a reporter for the Kennebec Journal, a daily newspaper in Augusta, Maine. Joe was 18 and was about to begin his senior year at Portland High School in Portland, Maine.

When I saw a misspelling in the journal, I made a correction when typing it out. But if I saw a grammatical error that didn't make a sentence incomprehensible, such as putting in a parenthetical remark after a period, as seen in the second paragraph below, I kept it.

    If a sentence needed an explanation, I put it in brackets.


    Sunday, August 13

    It was overcast in the Maine Mall parking lot. I bought a copy of "Brill's Content" at Borders.

    We left on our bus at 2 p.m. We arrived at Logan Airport at 4:45 p.m. (traffic on the turnpike was slow)

    When I saw the crowd at Logan, I asked, "Is everyone fleeing America or is it always this busy?"

    It's an airport, Joe said. I had never been on a commercial airliner before.

    While we waited for our flight in the lounge, I passed a tired-looking former Senator George Mitchell. He was wearing a blazer and an open-necked dress shirt.

    Aboard our Sabena plane, I noticed a tomato sauce stain on the edge of the serving tray in front of me. A projection screen showed our path across the Atlantic. We had 3,474 miles to Brussels.

    As the plane started to move, one female student from Rumford said, "Ooh, we're stahting, we're kind of moving [Maine accent for "starting," also not mentioning this was before takeoff in Boston].

    The windows were tough to look out of at first because of all the condensation on it. I had a window seat.

    The seats on our plane were navy blue with golden fish, roosters, planes, hearts, fish and suns on them. Our little white pillows had suns on them.

    I could not sleep much on the flight. Although I had my Italian books and my tour books, I was too excited to do anything.
    
    Our stewardess speaking French was another reminder of a trip to another country. The flight took six hours and 10 minutes.

    Monday, August 14
    Brussels, 9:22 European time [a.m.]

    I knew I was in a foreign country when the urinals had ashtrays next to them. The towel dispensers were different too —they had towels, but long continuous non-tearable fabric ones.

    I had to watch someone else use them because I tried to tear a sheet with no success. After wiping one's hands, you pull them further for someone else, and the used towels gather in a tray underneath the machine.

    Right now my ears still feel plugged after coming off the plane, so it's like I came back from swimming. It's fitting since I just got off my first commercial airplane ride, quite a change from David Phair's puddle jumper two years ago in Peru at Worthley Pond [I rode in a floatplane during an end of year faculty party when I taught high school at Dirigo High School in Dixfield, Maine in 1998].

    One of the student students sitting next to me in the lounge complained about the smoke in the terminals, but it's Europe. 

    A guy next to me pulled out a 150 ml can of Sprite, another change.

    The flight was fun, even though I could not sleep. I did not realize how quickly jets accelerate into the air. I did like seeing the 45-degree angle everyone was at.

    I enjoyed flying out of Boston, as well as seeing the full moon above the cloud cover. As we headed across the Atlantic, the moon made a small arc in my window. I did like seeing all the fluffy clouds —because they were beneath me, a first. It was strange to see all the patterns of clouds at 30,000, some in parallel lines, some cumulus clouds.

    I had initially thought I spotted a thunderstorm after takeoff only to realize it was just the blinking light on the plane's wing.


Brian was one of the chaperones for the trip. He went with his younger brother John just as I did with Joe.

With the exception of Joe, all the teen boys in our group attended Cheverus High School in Portland, Maine. It is a Catholic school. Mike was one of the Cheverus students.

    Tuesday, August 15 
    6:40 a.m.

    I am riding on a bus to Naples and Pompeii. 

    Yesterday we flew over the Alps in our plane, which was beautiful. It was amazing to look down on snow-capped mountains surrounding Switzerland. Then I fell asleep.

    I awoke while we were beginning our descent to our airport. I noticed all the brown fields were punctuated with some green (I later learned Italy had faced a very dry summer). I wondered how much irrigation Italians used. I spotted lots of tile roofs, and thought how it's for real, not a reproduction.


    I swam in the Mediterranean. Joe, Brian, John, a couple Cheverus guys and two girls from Cape Elizabeth and I walked to the sea. Brian later said the shore reminded him of New Jersey.

    We found what we thought was a public beach. The boys went right in and Brian said he did not know any of these people except us, and headed in

    Aside from the Speedos and the very dark tans a lot of people had, it was not too different from the ones I had been to in Maine. People stubbed out cigarettes in the sand, which people do in lesser numbers now in Maine.

    And despite what I had often heard about Europe, no topless women. I noticed a couple little girls wearing swim trunks and no tops (Mike later said he spotted topless women at another beach).

    The water was azure blue and warm. Cool enough to make me feel like I was in the ocean, but not the bone-chilling cold I was used to. The beach had small rocks on it, and when I swam I heard the rocks rattle as the waves rolled them back. The beach had a steep drop off, and although it did not have crashing waves, I kept bobbing up and down as the waves came in. It was fun and tiring as I swam around.


11:21 a.m., outside Naples


    Naples, which we left, is an amazingly hilly city next to the ocean. It has countless apartment buildings whose terraces are filled with various potted plants.

    The closer you get to the ocean, though, the nicer the buildings are. I noticed balusters on balconies with door-length shutters. A lot of the colors of buildings were different too —mustard color or dark red. A lot of the buildings look like they were built in the same 20-year period, probably after World War II.

    We are now on the road to Pompeii and I can see Mt. Vesuvius looming in the distance. I just took a picture of a church or monastery in the distance. When you pray there, I bet you're reminded of mortality.

    Oops — I wasn't looking at Vesuvius. It's further south.
    

    World Youth Day pilgrims in Pompeii

    10:54 p.m.


    Pompeii astonished me because of all the stores, shops and vendors around it. 

    But now for what I really wanted to know about — the lost city. Most of the frescoes and other artworks are in museums. The ones that remain are sometimes covered with clear plastic sheets. The ash that buried the city did not preserve buildings intact and instead brick walls sometimes held things together.

    So although I thought Pompeii would offer more to see that resembled pictures in my Latin books, I did find myself impressed by its breadth of architecture and the glimpse of city life. I loved the forum area with its temple to Jupiter, as well as the amphitheater at our tour's end. The amphitheater is intact and I would have wanted to stay longer had it not been so hot.

    Here's a moment I want to remember, seeing crowds of fellow tourists walking down the cobblestone [probably not] streets and sometimes walking on the stepping stones used as crosswalks.

    I saw a Japanese guy walking around in a suit. Another tourist wore a t-shirt for Machu Pichu in Peru, another lost city found. Some guides, like the one I was with, used a radio antenna with a Tinky Winky doll from "The Teletubbies" as a way to help people follow her.

    After leaving the baths, some tourists stopped at a snack bar in the midst of Pompeii with Coca-Cola and other treats.

    The heat snuck up on me because it wasn't humid. After a while, I simply wanted to get out of the sun. I liked our look at a wealthy family's house, but because I knew about Roman history, I did not want to hear too much about how people reclined on couches while they ate. I wanted to ask questions. but since our tour lasted over an hour, I did not want to slow people down.

    Another sight I liked — the remains of a baker's shop with brick ovens intact. Our guide said carbonized loaves were found when Pompeii was unearthed. I also liked the grooves left in stone at intersections and other places from carts and chariots. I overheard one guide say this while my guide insisted the grooves themselves were put intentionally into the rocks to prevent slipping. 

    I liked seeing "original" Corinthian columns too when I started my tour. It's so amazing to see remains of post and lintel buildings and pillars. The real thing —and I saw it. At last.

    Final note of the night — while sitting in a restaurant outside Pompeii with two students and a parent, one of them noticed a lemon tree in a yard next to the restaurant. She took a picture. I noticed a lime tree in the same garden.

    I joked how we have Sprite, which is lemon and lime flavored soda, and they laughed.

    O.K. —another —sodas are sweeter here. And the Mediterranean is saltier than the Atlantic, according to Mike.

 

27 November 2017

Chapter 2: Our Gang


Acquiring high school freshman social skills was a steep learning curve. I had to learn to keep moving in a hallway without stopping traffic to talk to someone. Also important: not asking older guys any questions.

By the time our team made it to the state championship football game during my sophomore year, I was ready to cheer and stood right at the front of our rowdy section. A senior yelled at me, “Get out of the way, freshman!!” as I blocked his view.

“I’m a sophomore!” I yelled back.

He pretended to be shocked and said something like: “Whoa.” I moved.

Cheverus High School won the state game and the rest of the year was tinged with the victory. This is one of those chapters that mark a turning point in life, though not in the way I expected.

My high school at the time was all-male and we got all sorts of gay slurs yelled at us. I even heard a joke in grade school about it.


Question: Why doesn’t Cheverus have stairs?
Answer: Because fairies can fly.


No one called me a fairy in high school; it was too nice a term for homosexual. I cringed when teens used slurs against me, which happened a lot when I went running with other members of the cross country and outdoor track team. 

We ran all over Portland and straight past rival Deering High School. Whenever the team practiced outdoors, Deering students might call us all sorts of names.

Winning the state football championship game meant Cheverus could be seen as tough. I hadn’t figured out a guy could be both scarily intimidating and very gay. The thrill of school triumph prevented deep thought.

Our year of awesomeness continued with stories of football-playing seniors getting in fights. I only caught word of them in passing, because a lot of my Saturdays were booked up watching episodes of Dr. Who on public television.

One tale I enjoyed hearing involved an older student stepping out of a convenience store in a letterman jacket. A guy from another school shouted the line I most hated: “Cheverus faggot!” But unlike when I was running, the letterman jacket guy had friends who popped up and pummeled the teen who had insulted our school honor.

A few of the toughest guys knew me from the weight room. Outdoor track runners had to lift a few times a week while many seniors lifted to stay buff. Another one knew me from my last name – the same as the president’s at the time – and would say, “How’s it going, Ronnie Babe?!” in the hallway.

That guy was rumored to be in a lot of fights, including one in which he broke someone’s jaw. I liked being on his good side.

Around the same time, I had become tired of feeling invisible around my peers. I began to act annoying just to get a reaction from classmates. This included scraping my fingernails on the blackboard as I entered Mr. Moore’s English class. I liked how I aggravated the guys who were popular and made them wince. 

But when Mr. Moore looked angry and said, “Don’t do that!” I stopped. I liked him and didn’t anticipate annoying him too.

Any time an upperclassmen knew who I was, it felt good, even the time a senior told me to keep my ass down while I was doing push-ups. Yet I wanted additional recognition.

The same Mr. Moore sometimes went on runs with us at the end of the school day. Before one speed workout session for outdoor track, a few guys did a warm-up run. Mr. Moore, a junior runner and I joined the group but continued on for a longer, three-mile route.

We were heading down Stevens Avenue when the junior and Mr. Moore stopped running. A car had gone by with one door open and almost hit them, they said. In the distance, a guy hopped out of the stopped vehicle and yelled something to us. He had arms that looked puffed out from lifting.

A moment later, Mr. Moore said something like “Forget it,” and we took a turn down Pleasant Avenue. A car’s tires screeched behind us. The muscular guy reappeared and asked if we wanted to start something. Mr. Moore, who looked a little older than we did, said no trouble, that we were just wondering what was going on.

That’s when I saw my teacher get punched. Mr. Moore didn’t have time to say anything else after his “no trouble” comment.

A group gathered around him in a huddle. Another guy began swinging at me. He boxed me in the ears because I was wearing glasses. I was accused of causing problems.

The ambush ended when I was on my hands and knees and taking shots to the kidneys. Buff guy told us nothing would have happened if we hadn’t provoked them. 

The teens piled back into cars as quickly as they had arrived. A fat kid in the front passenger side laughed “Ah-ha!” at us, while they drove off.

Mr. Moore’s face looked flushed. The junior ran for help. As we walked down the street, Mr. Moore said he hoped that kid was eighteen, so that he could be prosecuted.

By the time we had reached an intersection at the end of the street, his eyelids had swollen shut like a boxer’s. Mr. Moore said he couldn’t see. 

I didn’t lead him far because a senior in a hatchback showed up to take Mr. Moore away. I walked back to school, thinking the whole situation was more serious than I thought because the senior looked worried when he pulled up.

That’s when I became famous. For getting beaten up.

All sorts of guys stopped me when I got back to Cheverus. My brother Pat heard about what had happened while he was playing in a baseball game miles away. 

Seniors, including guys who never approached me, now stopped me to talk. I wasn’t hurt. My ears had rung after the beating, but that was all.

The desire for notoriety had become like one of those fairytale wishes that turned into a curse. People wanted to talk to me about the most violent scene I had witnessed in my life.

The junior and I had to go to the Portland Police Department to make a statement. Although I said I never saw Mr. Moore hit anyone, the detective pointed out that I did not witness the entire confrontation. He was right. I was too busy getting punched to be an effective witness.

We visited Mr. Moore in the hospital later in the day, while a doctor talked to him about his upcoming surgery. A wire was put into his broken cheekbone to reconstruct it.

He emerged from the hospital with at least one black eye and a cigarette-shaped bandage covering a wire jutting from his right cheek. When Mr. Moore returned to school, he would wiggle it to show the wire. I winced every time he did.

Another detective had questions for me, this time with a Deering High School yearbook he showed me in an assistant principal’s office. One guy I identified from the ambush went to Deering. I didn’t see him doing anything, but we knew each other from being classmates at St. Joseph’s. The junior and I looked at group photos of students on risers to try to identify anyone else. 

After that, I heard nothing. I felt too embarrassed to ask Mr. Moore about any progress in the case. 

What I really began to hate was not the guys who attacked us, even though I got second-guessed about how I should have fought back against a mob. The thing I disliked was how my views changed. No longer was I tough by association or part of a group. I thought more about how I had no way to protect myself from strangers throwing punches. 

If two people started pushing and raising voices, I wanted to get away rather than see what would happen. I felt vulnerable. 

Some days I even worried about that guy I didn’t know and hadn’t seen get hurt, the one with a broken jawbone. I wondered what happened to him after his fight with the “Ronnie Babe” senior. I knew how awful a broken cheekbone looked, and thought that if his beating happened the way I overheard it, he would have looked even worse than Mr. Moore.

The question I wanted to ask Mr. Moore — “What happened to those guys who attacked us?” — could be turned around and directed at lots of people I knew. I had liked going to school games because I started to know a lot more students and could cheer them on. 

But after the beating, I went to games with less school spirit because I knew what certain upperclassmen were capable of doing. We weren’t special or different. Students with neckties could be just as violent as anyone from a heathen public school. All the talk about religion and the unofficial Cheverus motto of “Men for Others” had no meaning.

I’m not going to go into how many nice guys offset the bad behavior. Nor will I try to defend what happened by changing the subject to acts of charity. Catholics are raised to show our beliefs through faith and good works. Catholics guilty of wrongdoing can undermine the whole message of how Christianity is supposed to make believers behave better.

After all, I considered myself a nice person when I reveled in the stories of senior brawls. Then I got beaten up and thought a lot more about the kind of person I was. 

Unlike St. Paul on the road to Damascus, it wasn’t a bright light that led to me reflecting on what I was doing. I had to witness violence to see what I had been a cheerleader for.





























29 October 2017

Chapter 6 Posted on Wattpad


The website Wattpad posts works by authors. It's not fanfiction, unlike a lot of other popular entries. But I was a fan of Craig Bickford and Pat Bernier in school.

Here's the link:

https://www.wattpad.com/488353319-chapter-6-bickford-and-bernier

27 October 2017

Reading of Chapter 6 -- Bickford and Bernier


One way writing became fun was recalling many of the people around me in school. This chapter is a favorite because of the focus on Craig Bickford and Pat Bernier.

Here's the link:


https://drive.google.com/file/d/0Bx8wteeQZCgkZnFObjJsdXFWMU0/view?usp=sharing

24 October 2017

Audio selection from "Nursery School Dropout"

I created an audio file with a sample chapter from "Nursery School Dropout." It's chapter two, "Our Gang," about how I got beaten up in high school.

The chapter also details the high point of my high school celebrity.

Here's the link:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0Bx8wteeQZCgkR2VnamQwRjBfODA/view?usp=sharing

16 October 2017

Amazon Kindle Book Giveaway

I'm giving away 25 Kindle copies of "Nursery School Dropout." The drawing is set for Oct. 21.

Register here:

https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/e1f655455b33b91a#ts-en

15 October 2017

Goodreads Giveaway News



 
 


    Goodreads Book Giveaway
 

   

        Nursery School Dropout by Michael E. Reagan Jr.
   

   

     


          Nursery School Dropout
     
     


          by Michael E. Reagan Jr.
     

     

         
            Giveaway ends November 14, 2017.
         
         
            See the giveaway details
            at Goodreads.
         
     
   
   



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