More Roommates

It seems that I forgot a few folks who are worthy of a mention in a discussion of roommates. Some weren't exactly in the room or apartment, but count; some were in the same place but...ah, that's not fair. Everybody counts.

In my freshman year, Larry Nowlin was my roommate but Pete Aschoff and Paul Rock were my buddies. Rock lived in the room next door, with his roommate Ted Chapin. Ted was from New York City, and his dad was, in later years, director of the Metropolitan Opera after Sir Rudolf Bing retired. He had a postcard from his family, with a corner note scribbled by Peter Ustinov. Rock, Aschoff and I engaged in a contest to see who could grow a zit on the end of his nose. Nobody won, but we all had a few extra zits in non-scoring places. Aschoff and I tried to brew Applejack in his closet, with apple cider, yeast, sugar, and his closet light staying on 24/7.
Aschoff also got his parrot stoned, twice. The first time, it stood on the floor of its cage and didn't move except to the music of the Rolling Stones. The second time, it died.

In the apartment with Don Lee, we had a couple of roommates after Mike and John moved out. We had Dean Merwin, a nice enough guy whom Don still runs into once in awhile. And we had Howard Kaufman. Howard was from Appleton, and he was blind. Two hours after beginning to move in, he had his stereo set up and knew his way to the kitchen, the bathroom and the beer. One evening he had a party, hosting his blind and partially-sighted friends.

Do you know how, in a group, you watch for non-verbal signals to see who is eager to speak, who is bored, who is interested in whom, and other sorts of dynamics? These don't work so well in a gathering of blind people: although they all give off the signals, nobody sees them. In order to get the next turn to speak, they interject, interrupt and jack up the volume to talk over each other.
Alcohol only pushes up the volume even more, although I got caught at my little joke. I had stuck around to bartend, and I started pouring things together in a non-directed version of "wap" ("wapituli," or however it's spelled, which generally refers to each guest bringing a bottle of booze and all of them being dumped together to make a hideous punch). Howard called my bluff: he said it was great, and could I make more of the same? I had no idea of the recipe.

Howard walked all over the East Side of Milwaukee, to UWM and to stores and wherever. He found his way to Wendy's and my wedding party at the Y-Not Bar; we have a picture of him offering us the wedding gift of a pack of Trojans. Not that he's ever seen it... Do you know how blind people check to see if food on the stove is hot? Howard would just stick in a finger. I hoped it wasn't his reading hand. I never asked him if he learned to read with both hands.

Wendy had a roommate, Cindy, while I was moving into the relationship. Cindy painted her bedroom purple, with white trim. Do you know how hard it is to paint over purple? Cindy worked with Wendy at a popular Milwaukee steak restaurant frequented by various celebrities including a few Milwaukee Bucks; I met one while wrapped in the sheets and saw the backside of another on a bathroom run.

I hope this takes care of the topic. If someone feels neglected, let me know.