Some Vacaville Memories

I've been around the City of Vacaville, CA, for a number of years. We moved to Vacaville from Vallejo, CA, in the Summer of 1965. My sister (the younger of the two) had just graduated from Hogan High School, and I would have been a 9th grader at Springstowne Junior High. Instead, I became a freshman at Vacaville Union High School, trying out for football, and starting to meet people prior to the start of the school year. It was a good idea, but I was lousy at football, and made a pretty lousy impression on the only people I knew on the day after Labor Day, so I got off to a pretty crummy start.
I started making friends among the other "new people" that year, finding myself pretty much ostricized by high school society as it were. It was tough, in the mid-1960's, to be a "new kid" in Vacaville, particularly if you appeared to stink at sports. All I had was a bad performance at football, I mean, in retrospect, I just wasn't made to play football. That Fall, I probably stood 5 ft. 4 in., and may have weighed as much as 120 pounds (dripping wet). I took the pounding, though, and got through the football season without injury, or playing time. I was pretty disillusioned about my athleticism, and baseball was three months away. I figured to be a "lock" in baseball, so I turned my attentions to playing catch, and getting warmed up for the try-out's.
It was November 1965, I was in Tom Zunino's Frosh/Soph PE class, 1st period (back when PE was required all four years). We had been "shoe wrestling" for a couple of weeks, and I noticed that Mr. Z had been commenting on my performances, because I was winning them all. I knew how to shoe-wrestle, a guy who lived down two houses in Vallejo, a guy who was and athlete, taught me how, and we'd do it all the time on the floor in the dining area. He was four years older, ran about 6 ft. 3 in., and about 190 pounds. Eventually, I beat him, and again, to the point where if he beat me, he'd worked his butt off, and would be sweating heavily. When Z put me up against guys my own size, it wasn't even close.
After a week, I found myself facing guys a lot bigger than me. From the start of school, I grew two inches, and gained about five pounds. By Friday, I had worked my way up to the heavy weights, 212 pounds and up. We had one guy, whom I won't name, that was wrestling JV's that year, behind Marion Boykin. He was maybe 6 ft, 220, but Marion was much bigger, and he was my opponent that Friday. I had on a pair of Converse, canvas, low-tops; he had on high-topped wrestling boots. I remember being told of the pairing, prior to class, and I watched this huge guy go through the jumping jacks, and "burpies," and the whole routine. I did not see a man who entered the gym through the SW doors, and sat in the bleachers; all I could see was my terror. This guy, my opponent, was going to get my shoes by pulling off my legs. I was absolutely convinced of the fact.
When it came time for our match, no one in that gym -- students, teachers, my opponent, or me -- gave me any chance of winning. I used to give up a bigger weight difference with my neighbor, so I thought that my only chance of keeping my legs would be to use my speed. It actually worked. I'd attack his shoe, and just try to keep out of his grasp, taking shots at the shoe as I went. Eventually, I got his shoe off, but he could have easily pulled mine off if he'd ever gotten a chance at it. I stood up, my classmates and coaches "Oooh"-ing at the sight of his shoe in my hand. I dropped it on the mat, and collapsed next to it. The next thing I knew, Z was taking me into his office, and we were talking about Wrestling. I heard, "Blah blah blah, PRACTICE, blah blah blah SEASON, blah blah blah, MR NELSON." I said "No thanks, Coach, I just got done with football."
I couldn't get over how quickly he turned on me. "OK, Mr. 'Cool Guy,' but you ain't passing PE if you don't go out for Wrestling."
I said, "You can't do that." Said it indignantly; with a great deal of emotion; just like I meant it.
He laughed. "We'll see."
On the following Friday, right before Thanksgiving, the TA, Curtis Rice, whose parents were managing the apartments we were living in, stops me, and shows me the gradebook. It has "F" written in for each day since the previous Friday. "I think he means it." Curtis confides. "You better do what he wants." I distinctly remember thinking "Duh." The funny thing is, that wouldn't come around until years after that, "Duh." I went out for Wrestling. Duh.
It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I got to meet Larry Nelson, and get to know both him and Tom Zunino better than anyone else at the school. I learned a lot about myself; what kind of person I wanted to be. Without a doubt, my Wrestling experience that year helped to cushion the crushing blow of not making one of the baseball teams. When the JV coach learned that I was playing in another league, he asked me to come back. I won't tell you what my answer was. I had a shot at a winter league in San Diego once, but was involved with a Navy career, and never persued it. One more boy's "professional career" dream evaporating. Another "If only..." As good as I was at Wrestling, I was better as a baseball player. much better.