CHAPTER 13
Fighting UCSD
After I left 6161 West Charleston Boulevard, life improved somewhat. My mother and father applied for me to the Social Security Administration for Supplemental Security Income (SSI). My psychiatrist with Southern Nevada Adult Mental Health Services (SNAMHS) had diagnosed that I suffer from schizoaffective disorder, a combination of bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. It is the worst of both worlds. Not only do I have the extreme euphoria and severe depression of bipolar disorder, I also have the psychotic features of schizophrenia including auditory, visual, and tactile hallucinations. As I experienced at Las Vegas Mental Health Center that SNAMHS runs I often have delusions. This condition is largely under control today, but from about 1993 to 2008, I lived a nightmare.
I had left graduate school at the University of California at San Diego (UCSD) with no money and no job. I wasn’t even sure if UCSD had granted me a master’s degree in physics. During my written qualifying examination at UCSD’s Department of Physics, I was so certain that I had failed, I just finished the physics problems I could do. I turned in my qualifying examination, packed all of my belongings, and moved to Las Vegas, Nevada to live with my parents.
I made a suicide attempt in January 2002 for a variety of reasons. My attempt to kill myself landed me in Las Vegas Mental Health Center. After the state mental hospital discharged me, I decided to find out the results of my Ph.D. qualifying examination from UCSD. I called Debra Bomar, the graduate student coordinator in the Department of Physics at UCSD.
“They gave you a master’s degree,” said Debra over the telephone. She explained that although I did not score high enough to continue graduate studies for a Ph.D. in physics, I had scored high enough to earn a master’s degree in physics. My parents and I celebrated by dining out at a local casino and having prime rib dinners. We all were overjoyed.
Debra helped me by sending the forms necessary to petition the university to confer on me the master’s degree. Soon, however, UCSD denied me the master’s degree due to a single requirement. I met all the other requirements including passing the extremely difficult Ph.D. qualifying examination at the level of Master of Science. That all important requirement I did not fulfill for the M.S. was the grade point average (GPA) requirement.
Most graduate schools including UCSD’s require a 3.0 GPA in order to confer an advanced degree such as an M.A., M.S., or Ph.D. I had earned a 2.76 GPA at UCSD, and thus the Graduate Division at UCSD denied me the master’s degree.
I attempted to appeal the denial of the master’s degree on the grounds that my GPA did not reflect my competence in the field of physics. My success on the Ph.D. qualifying examination showed my true competence in physics. My GPA, on the other hand, resulted from my disability, schizoaffective disorder. In spite of it I still passed the exam at the M.S. level. Yet, Dr. Richard Attiyeh, Dean of the of the Office of Graduate Studies and Research (OGSR) at UCSD stilled denied my claim to an M.S. in physics.
The whole affair smelled like discrimination against the disabled. I filed a formal complaint against UCSD with the United States Department of Education under the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 (ADA). Under ADA, I alleged that UCSD discriminated against me due to my disability in its denial of my petition for a Master of Science degree in physics. However, neither UCSD nor the Department of Education were convinced by my arguments. The Department of Education upheld UCSD’s denial of a master’s degree.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Comment On Part II
In Part I of Shield of Faith, I wrote every other chapter about Hell, or Las Vegas Mental Health Center at 6161 West Charleston Blvd. Those chapters detailed my delusion of being in Hell the first time at the state mental institution. Every other chapter described other times in my life, usually happy ones.
Part II of this memoir follows a similar pattern. Every other chapter describes my experiences as a disabled man in Las Vegas starting in 2001 after I left Las Vegas Mental Health Center from my first hospitalization there. The other chapters describe times other than the miserable years in Las Vegas.
Part II of this memoir follows a similar pattern. Every other chapter describes my experiences as a disabled man in Las Vegas starting in 2001 after I left Las Vegas Mental Health Center from my first hospitalization there. The other chapters describe times other than the miserable years in Las Vegas.
Part II and Sample Chapter 12
PART II
CHAPTER 12
The Brethren of the Bitter
At Tellefsen Hall in Berkeley, I started a club for men of the Cal Band who were frustrated with women. It started off as a joke that went out of control. The origin of the Brethren of the Bitter lays with my crush on a young woman named Melinda Ng, who played the cymbals and later switched to trombone. She was a petite Asian woman with short black hair. Men of the Cal Band often tried to get the new women of the band to like them by helping the women learn their marching fundamentals during FTP.
The Cal Band held FTP at the University of California at Davis, and we stayed in a dormitory on campus. I was asked to help Melinda learn her marching fundamentals. We practiced in the hallways of the dormitory at UC Davis. Since Melinda had missed much of FTP due to an orientation she had to attend at Berkeley, I had to instruct her in the Cal Band marching style.
Something about teaching a woman something one-on-one left me enamored with Melinda. She was a new member of the Cal Band, and as an oldman (Cal Band jargon for “veteran”) I was her mentor. Eventually, I deluded myself into thinking she had amorous feelings for me. So I invited her to the Festival of Animation held later at UC Berkeley.
My friend at the time, Rich Wong, also invited a lot of other people from the Cal Band to the festival. Rich and I had planned to go with our dates together. He was interested in a Miss Teresa Sanchez, also a newman (Cal Band jargon for “new member”). She too played the cymbals. (Teresa and I would have our own fling about a year later.)
Of course, Rich invited Teresa, his love interest, to the Festival of Animation. So what originally started out as a double date (in my mind at least) turned into a Cal Band excursion. A large group of us all walked from the Band Rehearsal Hall (BRH) to Wheeler Auditorium. Melinda, however, had no idea our outing was supposed to be a date. When she didn’t sit next to me in the auditorium, I became frustrated. In the middle of the festival, I just stood up and went home alone.
I grew bitter with women in general. I made sarcastic jokes about how women never give men (or at least me) a chance. My frustration turned into rants against all women. Phil Escamilla, my roommate and best friend at the time, started calling me, “Hate Guru”. As a joke, I started calling Phil, “Hate Monger”. Our other friend at the time, Wayne Blake, also a Cal Band member and TH resident, Phil and I named, “Hate Lover”. I have to admit that was a dumb name, but I thought it was funny at the time. Phil, Wayne, and I thus invented “hate names” because we hated women.
Together, we formed the Brethren of the Bitter. We were Brethren because we are men, and we were Bitter because women wouldn’t go out with us. Our exclusive club, within TH, which was a club within the Cal Band, began to grow. Other men of the band frustrated with women joined. To join the Brethren of the Bitter, prospective members had to tell current brethren during a meeting their “nuke stories”. When a Cal Band man told the Brethren his nuke story, he told us of how a women (or women) rejected or “nuked” him. Upon delivery of the nuke story, the new brother received his hate name, such as Hate Sponge for example.
We Brethren tried to make the hate names clever and witty, but we weren’t always so successful. Wayne didn’t like being called “Hate Lover”. The Brethren of the Bitter gave hate names to all of the Cal Band women, especially Melinda. We called her, “The Emperor”, in reference to the Emperor of the Star Wars Trilogy movies. Phil carried a torch for Melinda’s friend Angel Hsu, a snare drummer. So we Brethren called Angel, “Darth Vader”. We Brethren gave silly names to Cal Band women and to ourselves. I don’t know for sure if the Cal Band women knew their hate names.
The whole Brethren of the Bitter club was one big inside joke. Luckily, it did not get too much out of control. Most Cal Band members dismissed us as guys with too much time on our hands. The Brethren of the Bitter eventually disbanded after I graduated from Berkeley in 1993.
CHAPTER 12
The Brethren of the Bitter
At Tellefsen Hall in Berkeley, I started a club for men of the Cal Band who were frustrated with women. It started off as a joke that went out of control. The origin of the Brethren of the Bitter lays with my crush on a young woman named Melinda Ng, who played the cymbals and later switched to trombone. She was a petite Asian woman with short black hair. Men of the Cal Band often tried to get the new women of the band to like them by helping the women learn their marching fundamentals during FTP.
The Cal Band held FTP at the University of California at Davis, and we stayed in a dormitory on campus. I was asked to help Melinda learn her marching fundamentals. We practiced in the hallways of the dormitory at UC Davis. Since Melinda had missed much of FTP due to an orientation she had to attend at Berkeley, I had to instruct her in the Cal Band marching style.
Something about teaching a woman something one-on-one left me enamored with Melinda. She was a new member of the Cal Band, and as an oldman (Cal Band jargon for “veteran”) I was her mentor. Eventually, I deluded myself into thinking she had amorous feelings for me. So I invited her to the Festival of Animation held later at UC Berkeley.
My friend at the time, Rich Wong, also invited a lot of other people from the Cal Band to the festival. Rich and I had planned to go with our dates together. He was interested in a Miss Teresa Sanchez, also a newman (Cal Band jargon for “new member”). She too played the cymbals. (Teresa and I would have our own fling about a year later.)
Of course, Rich invited Teresa, his love interest, to the Festival of Animation. So what originally started out as a double date (in my mind at least) turned into a Cal Band excursion. A large group of us all walked from the Band Rehearsal Hall (BRH) to Wheeler Auditorium. Melinda, however, had no idea our outing was supposed to be a date. When she didn’t sit next to me in the auditorium, I became frustrated. In the middle of the festival, I just stood up and went home alone.
I grew bitter with women in general. I made sarcastic jokes about how women never give men (or at least me) a chance. My frustration turned into rants against all women. Phil Escamilla, my roommate and best friend at the time, started calling me, “Hate Guru”. As a joke, I started calling Phil, “Hate Monger”. Our other friend at the time, Wayne Blake, also a Cal Band member and TH resident, Phil and I named, “Hate Lover”. I have to admit that was a dumb name, but I thought it was funny at the time. Phil, Wayne, and I thus invented “hate names” because we hated women.
Together, we formed the Brethren of the Bitter. We were Brethren because we are men, and we were Bitter because women wouldn’t go out with us. Our exclusive club, within TH, which was a club within the Cal Band, began to grow. Other men of the band frustrated with women joined. To join the Brethren of the Bitter, prospective members had to tell current brethren during a meeting their “nuke stories”. When a Cal Band man told the Brethren his nuke story, he told us of how a women (or women) rejected or “nuked” him. Upon delivery of the nuke story, the new brother received his hate name, such as Hate Sponge for example.
We Brethren tried to make the hate names clever and witty, but we weren’t always so successful. Wayne didn’t like being called “Hate Lover”. The Brethren of the Bitter gave hate names to all of the Cal Band women, especially Melinda. We called her, “The Emperor”, in reference to the Emperor of the Star Wars Trilogy movies. Phil carried a torch for Melinda’s friend Angel Hsu, a snare drummer. So we Brethren called Angel, “Darth Vader”. We Brethren gave silly names to Cal Band women and to ourselves. I don’t know for sure if the Cal Band women knew their hate names.
The whole Brethren of the Bitter club was one big inside joke. Luckily, it did not get too much out of control. Most Cal Band members dismissed us as guys with too much time on our hands. The Brethren of the Bitter eventually disbanded after I graduated from Berkeley in 1993.
Sample Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
Joy In Hell
In the Penthouse, I met a young lady named Kira. She was an African-American with the eyes of an Asian. She was pregnant when I met her, and I really didn’t know her story. All of us souls of the damned had his or her story of why he or she was in Hell. I had committed suicide so that explained my presence there. For the most part, I didn’t ask anyone else why he or she was there.
Kira was very pretty and very friendly, although she didn’t speak to me much. She did hang out with two other souls, Alfred and Diane. Alfred and Diane themselves were a couple formed there at 6161 West Charleston Boulevard. You can apparently find love even in Hell. I loved looking at Kira.
She had a beautiful slender figure, and her bubbly personality brought joy to many people, including me. I had reasons to believe I had died and gone to Hell. I also had evidence to challenge that belief. With the presence of bubbly and beautiful Kira, I began to suspect that I actually was alive and in a mental hospital. Still, I had thought that as punishment for my sins, the Almighty sent me to a mental hospital in Hell for all eternity.
Now, Hell held dances every Saturday night. Kira asked me to dance with her, but I was too bashful to accept her invitation. The other souls encouraged me to dance. So later, I asked Kira to dance with me. We stepped out into the tiny dance floor. Kira held both of my hands and looked into my eyes.
I was in Heaven! Fireworks went off in my mind. It was as if Kira knew I liked her, and she felt the same way about me. I felt so much joy at that moment, I could not be in Hell. I realized I had a delusion that I had died and gone to Hell. In fact, I realized I was in Las Vegas Mental Health Center, a state mental institution of the State of Nevada. Quickly, I recovered after my dance with Kira. Dave, my social worker discharged me into the care of my parents, Pablo and Conchita Molles.
Joy In Hell
In the Penthouse, I met a young lady named Kira. She was an African-American with the eyes of an Asian. She was pregnant when I met her, and I really didn’t know her story. All of us souls of the damned had his or her story of why he or she was in Hell. I had committed suicide so that explained my presence there. For the most part, I didn’t ask anyone else why he or she was there.
Kira was very pretty and very friendly, although she didn’t speak to me much. She did hang out with two other souls, Alfred and Diane. Alfred and Diane themselves were a couple formed there at 6161 West Charleston Boulevard. You can apparently find love even in Hell. I loved looking at Kira.
She had a beautiful slender figure, and her bubbly personality brought joy to many people, including me. I had reasons to believe I had died and gone to Hell. I also had evidence to challenge that belief. With the presence of bubbly and beautiful Kira, I began to suspect that I actually was alive and in a mental hospital. Still, I had thought that as punishment for my sins, the Almighty sent me to a mental hospital in Hell for all eternity.
Now, Hell held dances every Saturday night. Kira asked me to dance with her, but I was too bashful to accept her invitation. The other souls encouraged me to dance. So later, I asked Kira to dance with me. We stepped out into the tiny dance floor. Kira held both of my hands and looked into my eyes.
I was in Heaven! Fireworks went off in my mind. It was as if Kira knew I liked her, and she felt the same way about me. I felt so much joy at that moment, I could not be in Hell. I realized I had a delusion that I had died and gone to Hell. In fact, I realized I was in Las Vegas Mental Health Center, a state mental institution of the State of Nevada. Quickly, I recovered after my dance with Kira. Dave, my social worker discharged me into the care of my parents, Pablo and Conchita Molles.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Sample Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
Heather
In my freshman year at UC Berkeley, I had a second love. Like with Anna, my second love went unrequited. I’ll never forget the first thing this other woman said to me.
“My boyfriend dropped me off this morning,” said Miss Heather Cecchettini. I met her while walking down Durant Avenue in Berkeley to band practice early in the fall of 1989. She was a beautiful young woman with short wave blond hair. Her light skin seemed to glow. She had a great smile and beautiful blue eyes.
Heather played the piccolo, a small flute, while I played the trombone. We both lived in Unit I, one of the three so-called units, which consisted of four high rise dormitory buildings. Heather lived in Deutsch Hall next to Cheney Hall, my dormitory, our freshman year in college. We both marched with the University of California Marching Band or Cal Band, as the band is more popularly known.
The most striking characteristic Heather possessed was her absolute love, devotion, and commitment to her then boyfriend, Shan Daroczi, who attended California Polytechnic University at San Luis Obispo. The couple met in Placerville, California in the northern part of the state during their high school years. The two maintained a long distance relationship, and Heather was determined never to let any man, including me, get between her and her true love, Shan.
Heather loved the 1980s song, “Right Here Waiting,” by Richard Marx, a song about love that endures over long distance. Heather also liked to say the two words, “True love,” which she quoted from the romantic-comedy movie, “The Princess Bride”. I was too selfish at the time to see how much she truly loved Shan. I just wanted Heather all for myself.
We often shared a meal in the different dining commons that UC Berkeley operated, especially the one at Unit I. Heather was very health conscious. She was vegetarian and loved to work out. I went out with her once. Between semesters our freshman year, Heather and I went to San Francisco to visit Steinhardt Aquarium at the California Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park. As a boy, I had enjoyed keeping aquariums, and I always wanted to see Steinhardt Aquarium. Heather made an excellent tour guide. We spent the whole day together that winter of 1990.
Of course, we went out as friends and nothing more. In my experience women just want to be friends, at least with me. Every girl or woman I knew was like Heather – unavailable. Such was the case all of my life. Still, I felt like one of Heather’s fill-in boyfriends. We went to the movies once to watch “Ghost”, starring Patrick Swayze and Whoopi Goldberg. Heather loved the movie since it was a romantic movie. It reminded her of her long distance boyfriend. In no way was I special to Heather. To her, I was just another guy.
That did not mean, she didn’t know how I felt about her. Perhaps, I made my feelings clear to her when I asked her to go to the Tellefsen Hall Fall Formal of 1990 with me. Starting our sophomore year, I lived in Tellefsen Hall (TH), a fraternity style house for men of the Cal Band. Today, TH houses men and women of the Cal Band, but the same community spirit lives there.
“Of course, we’d go as friends,” I said to Heather one night after band practice. She just said she’d think about it and ask her boyfriend for his approval. I don’t know what possessed me to ask out Heather on a real romantic date. After all, she was taken. Yet, I can honestly say years later that I loved Heather. I loved her, even when she didn’t love me. Such is unrequited love.
Heather didn’t surprise me when she turned down my invitation to the TH Fall Formal. She rejected me by the bridge to Tellefsen Hall over a fork of Strawberry Creek at night. We continued our friendship for a long time. One year, though, I decided to be a jerk and ignore Heather. I pretended she didn’t exist even when she spoke to me. I tried to justify my behavior on the grounds I needed to stop the feelings I had for Heather. Nevertheless, I made Heather angry.
There was no way I could compete with her boyfriend. Early in our friendship, Heather had made it clear to me she intended to marry Shan. I kept pretending she didn’t exist for a year. Then in our senior year at UC Berkeley, I apologized to her at the Fall Training Program (FTP). At FTP, the Cal Band trained new members and allowed returning members to review their marching and music fundamentals. I saw Heather sitting by herself on a lawn and just said, “I’m sorry Heather. Can we be friends again?”
Of course, Heather was not so willing to take me back as a friend immediately. I had not spoken to her in almost a year, and yet I expected her to forgive me? Healing took time. Our friendship was not the way it was before my ignore Heather phase. She was a little distant and less trusting of me. Finally, before graduation from UC Berkeley in 1993, Heather didn’t surprise me when she told everyone in the Cal Band that she and Shan were engaged to be married.
Heather
In my freshman year at UC Berkeley, I had a second love. Like with Anna, my second love went unrequited. I’ll never forget the first thing this other woman said to me.
“My boyfriend dropped me off this morning,” said Miss Heather Cecchettini. I met her while walking down Durant Avenue in Berkeley to band practice early in the fall of 1989. She was a beautiful young woman with short wave blond hair. Her light skin seemed to glow. She had a great smile and beautiful blue eyes.
Heather played the piccolo, a small flute, while I played the trombone. We both lived in Unit I, one of the three so-called units, which consisted of four high rise dormitory buildings. Heather lived in Deutsch Hall next to Cheney Hall, my dormitory, our freshman year in college. We both marched with the University of California Marching Band or Cal Band, as the band is more popularly known.
The most striking characteristic Heather possessed was her absolute love, devotion, and commitment to her then boyfriend, Shan Daroczi, who attended California Polytechnic University at San Luis Obispo. The couple met in Placerville, California in the northern part of the state during their high school years. The two maintained a long distance relationship, and Heather was determined never to let any man, including me, get between her and her true love, Shan.
Heather loved the 1980s song, “Right Here Waiting,” by Richard Marx, a song about love that endures over long distance. Heather also liked to say the two words, “True love,” which she quoted from the romantic-comedy movie, “The Princess Bride”. I was too selfish at the time to see how much she truly loved Shan. I just wanted Heather all for myself.
We often shared a meal in the different dining commons that UC Berkeley operated, especially the one at Unit I. Heather was very health conscious. She was vegetarian and loved to work out. I went out with her once. Between semesters our freshman year, Heather and I went to San Francisco to visit Steinhardt Aquarium at the California Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park. As a boy, I had enjoyed keeping aquariums, and I always wanted to see Steinhardt Aquarium. Heather made an excellent tour guide. We spent the whole day together that winter of 1990.
Of course, we went out as friends and nothing more. In my experience women just want to be friends, at least with me. Every girl or woman I knew was like Heather – unavailable. Such was the case all of my life. Still, I felt like one of Heather’s fill-in boyfriends. We went to the movies once to watch “Ghost”, starring Patrick Swayze and Whoopi Goldberg. Heather loved the movie since it was a romantic movie. It reminded her of her long distance boyfriend. In no way was I special to Heather. To her, I was just another guy.
That did not mean, she didn’t know how I felt about her. Perhaps, I made my feelings clear to her when I asked her to go to the Tellefsen Hall Fall Formal of 1990 with me. Starting our sophomore year, I lived in Tellefsen Hall (TH), a fraternity style house for men of the Cal Band. Today, TH houses men and women of the Cal Band, but the same community spirit lives there.
“Of course, we’d go as friends,” I said to Heather one night after band practice. She just said she’d think about it and ask her boyfriend for his approval. I don’t know what possessed me to ask out Heather on a real romantic date. After all, she was taken. Yet, I can honestly say years later that I loved Heather. I loved her, even when she didn’t love me. Such is unrequited love.
Heather didn’t surprise me when she turned down my invitation to the TH Fall Formal. She rejected me by the bridge to Tellefsen Hall over a fork of Strawberry Creek at night. We continued our friendship for a long time. One year, though, I decided to be a jerk and ignore Heather. I pretended she didn’t exist even when she spoke to me. I tried to justify my behavior on the grounds I needed to stop the feelings I had for Heather. Nevertheless, I made Heather angry.
There was no way I could compete with her boyfriend. Early in our friendship, Heather had made it clear to me she intended to marry Shan. I kept pretending she didn’t exist for a year. Then in our senior year at UC Berkeley, I apologized to her at the Fall Training Program (FTP). At FTP, the Cal Band trained new members and allowed returning members to review their marching and music fundamentals. I saw Heather sitting by herself on a lawn and just said, “I’m sorry Heather. Can we be friends again?”
Of course, Heather was not so willing to take me back as a friend immediately. I had not spoken to her in almost a year, and yet I expected her to forgive me? Healing took time. Our friendship was not the way it was before my ignore Heather phase. She was a little distant and less trusting of me. Finally, before graduation from UC Berkeley in 1993, Heather didn’t surprise me when she told everyone in the Cal Band that she and Shan were engaged to be married.
Comment
Througout Shield of Faith, I follow two tracks: The misery of Las Vegas from about 2001 to 2008. I write about these time every other chapter. Every other chapter then is devoted to a more happy time.
Sample Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
The Penthouse
Eventually I got bored in Hell. All I did was eat, sleep, take medications, and attend group therapy. I had no idea how long I had been in the netherworld. Two demons even appeared to be my mother and my father. The Bible says to test the spirits because even Satan can masquerade as an angel of light.
“Did Jesus come in the flesh?” I said to the demon that looked my mother. If she said, “No,” then I’d know she was a demon. If she said, “Yes,” then I knew that either I was still alive or this was an angel sent to rescue me from Hell.
“What are you saying, Ken?” said the demons appeared to be my mother. My test of the spirits proved inconclusive. The demons were more clever than I had anticipated. Eventually, I complained to a demon named Tony that I was bored.
“Would you like to go somewhere with more activity?” Tony asked me.
There’s another part to Hell? I began to wonder whether I really was in Hell. First of all, I had read in the World Book Encyclopedia that Catholics believe Hell is the total absence and separation from God. I cried out to Him and begged Him to take me out of Hell. Secondly, lots of Bibles lay all over the place, on tables, on couches, and in the book shelves of course. The Word of God can be found in Hell?
Within a day, two demons escorted me out the door and into a hallway. They took me to an elevator, which went up one floor. The new place in Hell was much more lively than the other level where I had been. A ping-pong table stood in the middle of a hallway. A pair of souls played ping-pong on it, and they really seemed to enjoy themselves.
Other souls painted watercolor pictures, put together jigsaw puzzles, or played cards. Souls had a lot more independence in this new place. Some souls even taught me how to play 21, and a tall soul named Eugene tried to teach me how to play Poker. However, with my state of mind I just didn’t understand the rules.
“Welcome to the Penthouse,” said an obese woman soul named Pilar. These souls of the damned seemed pretty happy considering where we were. Even the demons were more friendly that those in the lower level. In addition, signs with inspiring phrases and quotes covered the walls. “Even though darkness falls, eventually the morning comes,” said one of the signs. The writer attributed the quote to Reverend Jesse Jackson.
The Penthouse
Eventually I got bored in Hell. All I did was eat, sleep, take medications, and attend group therapy. I had no idea how long I had been in the netherworld. Two demons even appeared to be my mother and my father. The Bible says to test the spirits because even Satan can masquerade as an angel of light.
“Did Jesus come in the flesh?” I said to the demon that looked my mother. If she said, “No,” then I’d know she was a demon. If she said, “Yes,” then I knew that either I was still alive or this was an angel sent to rescue me from Hell.
“What are you saying, Ken?” said the demons appeared to be my mother. My test of the spirits proved inconclusive. The demons were more clever than I had anticipated. Eventually, I complained to a demon named Tony that I was bored.
“Would you like to go somewhere with more activity?” Tony asked me.
There’s another part to Hell? I began to wonder whether I really was in Hell. First of all, I had read in the World Book Encyclopedia that Catholics believe Hell is the total absence and separation from God. I cried out to Him and begged Him to take me out of Hell. Secondly, lots of Bibles lay all over the place, on tables, on couches, and in the book shelves of course. The Word of God can be found in Hell?
Within a day, two demons escorted me out the door and into a hallway. They took me to an elevator, which went up one floor. The new place in Hell was much more lively than the other level where I had been. A ping-pong table stood in the middle of a hallway. A pair of souls played ping-pong on it, and they really seemed to enjoy themselves.
Other souls painted watercolor pictures, put together jigsaw puzzles, or played cards. Souls had a lot more independence in this new place. Some souls even taught me how to play 21, and a tall soul named Eugene tried to teach me how to play Poker. However, with my state of mind I just didn’t understand the rules.
“Welcome to the Penthouse,” said an obese woman soul named Pilar. These souls of the damned seemed pretty happy considering where we were. Even the demons were more friendly that those in the lower level. In addition, signs with inspiring phrases and quotes covered the walls. “Even though darkness falls, eventually the morning comes,” said one of the signs. The writer attributed the quote to Reverend Jesse Jackson.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Sample Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
Anna
In the fall of 1989, I entered college at the University of California at Berkeley, more popularly known as “Cal”. In French class my freshman year on my first a day of college, a beautiful Korean-American woman named Anna Choo sat next to me. That first day of classes, Anna wore a dark blue cardigan over a white blouse. She also wore a long dark brown skirt. Her high cheekbones highlighted her beautiful brown eyes, and her long shiny black hair cascaded down past her shoulders.
“Hi, Ken,” said this beautiful woman before during, or after French class every day the first week I attended Cal.
She knows I exist, I eventually realized. So I devised an experiment that, in my mind at least, would determine whether or not this beautiful woman liked me, as a friend or otherwise. I noticed that Anna sat next to me every day in French class. I decided to sit in an out of the way desk where I did not usually sit. If she sat next to me, then she loves me. If she didn’t sit next to me, then she loves me not. Such formed the logic behind my experiment.
One day in French class, I sat at an out of the way desk, where I didn’t usually sit. I made sure the desk next to mine was unoccupied. Sure enough, in walked Anna, and she sat next to me. She loves me! At least she loved me like she loved a younger brother or worse, as a friend.
After my successful experiment, Anna and I every day after French class would walk from Dwinelle Hall, where French was held, to our next classes in the eastern part of the Berkeley campus, opposite San Francisco Bay. We would engage in heart to heart conversations during our walks. We’d talk about our hopes and dreams. Anna, a college senior then, told me she wanted to attend law school after graduation that school year. At the time, I still was confused about what my major would be I told Anna wanted to major in either science or engineering, probably physics. Every day, Anna and I took our walks after French class.
Finally toward the end of the fall semester of 1989, I asked Ana, “Do you want to keep in touch after this semester?”
“Yes”, said Anna. We then exchanged telephone numbers.
One day. Anna suggested we bought sandwiches and eat them on the steps of the sprawling Sproul Hall, where many famous Berkeley protests took place, particularly in the 1960s. Anna looked gorgeous that day, wearing her hoop earrings. We went to a small deli in Southside Berkeley and bought sandwiches. We walked back to campus through Sproul Plaza and sat on the steps of Sproul Hall, which reminded me of the White House. Such low key dates became common in our relationship. Yet, we were only friends, and we would never become more, as much as I liked Anna.
Certainly, I wanted her to be my girlfriend but I knew nothing of the mechanics of dating and relationships. First of all, I didn’t know for sure how Anna felt about me. I did ask her out from time to time, but guess in a woman’s mind, going out with a man who isn’t her boyfriend, fiancé, or husband is not a date. Yet, I did invite Anna to a convert with the Cal Band’s concert band. Although I marched with the Cal Band during marching season during the fall, I didn’t play my trombone in the concert band during the spring semester of 1990. Still, many of my friends in the concert band would be performing one night that semester. I thought the concert was the perfect event to which to bring Anna.
I wore my finest white dress shirt, black dress pants, and black dress shoes. “Were you in the Army?” Anna asked me. She noticed how my dress shoes shined.
“I got these shoes from high school marching band,” I said to her. My shoes actually came from the Navy Exchange near 32nd Street Naval Base in San Diego, California. Sailors wore them as part of their uniforms. As a retired Navy man, my father would take me to the naval facilities in San Diego, such as the Navy Exchange, a retail store for Navy personnel, retirees, and their families. Since most of my fellow high school band members came from Navy families when I lived in San Diego, most bought the shiny black Navy shoes for their marching band uniforms.
Many of my Cal Band friends performed in the concert for the concert band. Anna’s eyelids became heavy, I noticed during the performance. She dozed during the concert. Apparently, band music didn’t interest her. I just liked being with her. Sitting with her in the auditorium was Heaven. After the concert, we walked to the Band Rehearsal Hall (BRH), for the after concert reception. Anna and I stayed long enough for my friends to have a good look at her. I walked her home up Bancroft Way to International House, where Anna lived. After we said goodbye for the night, I returned to BRH where my friends teased me.
“Who is she?” asked Heather Cecchetini, the piccolo player.
“She’s cute,” said Gerald Villegas, the snare drummer.
As much as I enjoyed the attention my Cal Band friends game me I had to tell them that Anna and I were just friends. That didn’t stop me from inviting Anna to events. In the fall semester of 1989, I had earned straight A’s on my first report card at Cal. The university awarded the freshmen with the top 100 grade point averages Edward Frank Kraft Scholarships. The university would hold an awards reception with lunch. I invited Anna to the reception for the Kraft scholarship.
Anna graciously accepted. Shortly after Anna accepted my invitation, my parents called me and said they were coming to Berkeley from San Diego. The university had invited them to the scholarship reception, as they had invited the parents of all the other scholarship winners. I explained to Anna I couldn’t bring her anymore to the reception.
“You have to buy me dinner now,” she teased me when I told her the news in person. Anna and I did have dinner after the scholarship reception. On her birthday, we dined at a restaurant near the Berkeley campus. For a birthday present, I gave her a book titled How To College, a satire on college life.
“Now that you’re graduating soon, I want you to remember your college years,” I said to Anna. In gratitude, she embraced me.
“Thank you, Ken,” she said.
We then went to a movie theatre on University Avenue in downtown Berkeley. There, we watched “Joe Versus The Volcano”, starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. I felt so much joy that year I knew Anna.
She wasn’t my girlfriend, but I had never gone out with a girl all though junior high school and high school in San Diego. The girls I knew during my teens ignored me. Only in college did I finally go out with women.
At one of our dinners, Anna and I went to Kip’s, a restaurant on Southside Berkeley across from the Cal campus. Anna and I had pepperoni pizza. It was very greasy so Anna blotted out the grease with paper napkins. Then she looked into my eyes.
“I’m seeing someone,” Anna said to me.
We had never defined our relationship. In my experience, every woman I knew just wanted to be friends, no matter how I felt about her. Anna was no exception, but rather the rule. Any woman who would see me, outside the context of work or school merely wanted a male friend, but not a boyfriend, at least not me.
Anna and I went our separate ways. In the spring of 1990, Anna graduated from Cal with a B.A. in political science. I went on to study physics, and I would over the next few years meet more women like Anna who would their marks on my heart.
Anna
In the fall of 1989, I entered college at the University of California at Berkeley, more popularly known as “Cal”. In French class my freshman year on my first a day of college, a beautiful Korean-American woman named Anna Choo sat next to me. That first day of classes, Anna wore a dark blue cardigan over a white blouse. She also wore a long dark brown skirt. Her high cheekbones highlighted her beautiful brown eyes, and her long shiny black hair cascaded down past her shoulders.
“Hi, Ken,” said this beautiful woman before during, or after French class every day the first week I attended Cal.
She knows I exist, I eventually realized. So I devised an experiment that, in my mind at least, would determine whether or not this beautiful woman liked me, as a friend or otherwise. I noticed that Anna sat next to me every day in French class. I decided to sit in an out of the way desk where I did not usually sit. If she sat next to me, then she loves me. If she didn’t sit next to me, then she loves me not. Such formed the logic behind my experiment.
One day in French class, I sat at an out of the way desk, where I didn’t usually sit. I made sure the desk next to mine was unoccupied. Sure enough, in walked Anna, and she sat next to me. She loves me! At least she loved me like she loved a younger brother or worse, as a friend.
After my successful experiment, Anna and I every day after French class would walk from Dwinelle Hall, where French was held, to our next classes in the eastern part of the Berkeley campus, opposite San Francisco Bay. We would engage in heart to heart conversations during our walks. We’d talk about our hopes and dreams. Anna, a college senior then, told me she wanted to attend law school after graduation that school year. At the time, I still was confused about what my major would be I told Anna wanted to major in either science or engineering, probably physics. Every day, Anna and I took our walks after French class.
Finally toward the end of the fall semester of 1989, I asked Ana, “Do you want to keep in touch after this semester?”
“Yes”, said Anna. We then exchanged telephone numbers.
One day. Anna suggested we bought sandwiches and eat them on the steps of the sprawling Sproul Hall, where many famous Berkeley protests took place, particularly in the 1960s. Anna looked gorgeous that day, wearing her hoop earrings. We went to a small deli in Southside Berkeley and bought sandwiches. We walked back to campus through Sproul Plaza and sat on the steps of Sproul Hall, which reminded me of the White House. Such low key dates became common in our relationship. Yet, we were only friends, and we would never become more, as much as I liked Anna.
Certainly, I wanted her to be my girlfriend but I knew nothing of the mechanics of dating and relationships. First of all, I didn’t know for sure how Anna felt about me. I did ask her out from time to time, but guess in a woman’s mind, going out with a man who isn’t her boyfriend, fiancé, or husband is not a date. Yet, I did invite Anna to a convert with the Cal Band’s concert band. Although I marched with the Cal Band during marching season during the fall, I didn’t play my trombone in the concert band during the spring semester of 1990. Still, many of my friends in the concert band would be performing one night that semester. I thought the concert was the perfect event to which to bring Anna.
I wore my finest white dress shirt, black dress pants, and black dress shoes. “Were you in the Army?” Anna asked me. She noticed how my dress shoes shined.
“I got these shoes from high school marching band,” I said to her. My shoes actually came from the Navy Exchange near 32nd Street Naval Base in San Diego, California. Sailors wore them as part of their uniforms. As a retired Navy man, my father would take me to the naval facilities in San Diego, such as the Navy Exchange, a retail store for Navy personnel, retirees, and their families. Since most of my fellow high school band members came from Navy families when I lived in San Diego, most bought the shiny black Navy shoes for their marching band uniforms.
Many of my Cal Band friends performed in the concert for the concert band. Anna’s eyelids became heavy, I noticed during the performance. She dozed during the concert. Apparently, band music didn’t interest her. I just liked being with her. Sitting with her in the auditorium was Heaven. After the concert, we walked to the Band Rehearsal Hall (BRH), for the after concert reception. Anna and I stayed long enough for my friends to have a good look at her. I walked her home up Bancroft Way to International House, where Anna lived. After we said goodbye for the night, I returned to BRH where my friends teased me.
“Who is she?” asked Heather Cecchetini, the piccolo player.
“She’s cute,” said Gerald Villegas, the snare drummer.
As much as I enjoyed the attention my Cal Band friends game me I had to tell them that Anna and I were just friends. That didn’t stop me from inviting Anna to events. In the fall semester of 1989, I had earned straight A’s on my first report card at Cal. The university awarded the freshmen with the top 100 grade point averages Edward Frank Kraft Scholarships. The university would hold an awards reception with lunch. I invited Anna to the reception for the Kraft scholarship.
Anna graciously accepted. Shortly after Anna accepted my invitation, my parents called me and said they were coming to Berkeley from San Diego. The university had invited them to the scholarship reception, as they had invited the parents of all the other scholarship winners. I explained to Anna I couldn’t bring her anymore to the reception.
“You have to buy me dinner now,” she teased me when I told her the news in person. Anna and I did have dinner after the scholarship reception. On her birthday, we dined at a restaurant near the Berkeley campus. For a birthday present, I gave her a book titled How To College, a satire on college life.
“Now that you’re graduating soon, I want you to remember your college years,” I said to Anna. In gratitude, she embraced me.
“Thank you, Ken,” she said.
We then went to a movie theatre on University Avenue in downtown Berkeley. There, we watched “Joe Versus The Volcano”, starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. I felt so much joy that year I knew Anna.
She wasn’t my girlfriend, but I had never gone out with a girl all though junior high school and high school in San Diego. The girls I knew during my teens ignored me. Only in college did I finally go out with women.
At one of our dinners, Anna and I went to Kip’s, a restaurant on Southside Berkeley across from the Cal campus. Anna and I had pepperoni pizza. It was very greasy so Anna blotted out the grease with paper napkins. Then she looked into my eyes.
“I’m seeing someone,” Anna said to me.
We had never defined our relationship. In my experience, every woman I knew just wanted to be friends, no matter how I felt about her. Anna was no exception, but rather the rule. Any woman who would see me, outside the context of work or school merely wanted a male friend, but not a boyfriend, at least not me.
Anna and I went our separate ways. In the spring of 1990, Anna graduated from Cal with a B.A. in political science. I went on to study physics, and I would over the next few years meet more women like Anna who would their marks on my heart.
Sample Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
The Stairway To Heaven
In Hell, I saw a stairway through the windows to the patio outside my prison at 6161 West Charleston Boulevard. I wondered where it went. It went only one way, up. It had to be the Stairway to Heaven! There had to be a way out of Hell, I reasoned. Could God pull a soul in Hell and bring him or her to Heaven?
When the demons opened the door to the patio, I ran out the door and up the metal stairs. The black demons chased me on foot and tackled me on the third flight of stairs. They dragged me to a room back in the building. The black two demons forced me onto a bed bolted to the floor.
Then a third demon, a female one, with thick, wavy brown hair, appeared in the room with no windows. She had two horns coming of her head.
“Are you the Devil?” I asked the female evil spirit.
“That’s it!” she said to the two black demons. They held me down and forcibly pulled off my pants. The Devil took a syringe and injected me in the buttocks. She ordered the two black demons to close the room door and lock it. When they all the room, I jogged around the bed until everything went black.
The Stairway To Heaven
In Hell, I saw a stairway through the windows to the patio outside my prison at 6161 West Charleston Boulevard. I wondered where it went. It went only one way, up. It had to be the Stairway to Heaven! There had to be a way out of Hell, I reasoned. Could God pull a soul in Hell and bring him or her to Heaven?
When the demons opened the door to the patio, I ran out the door and up the metal stairs. The black demons chased me on foot and tackled me on the third flight of stairs. They dragged me to a room back in the building. The black two demons forced me onto a bed bolted to the floor.
Then a third demon, a female one, with thick, wavy brown hair, appeared in the room with no windows. She had two horns coming of her head.
“Are you the Devil?” I asked the female evil spirit.
“That’s it!” she said to the two black demons. They held me down and forcibly pulled off my pants. The Devil took a syringe and injected me in the buttocks. She ordered the two black demons to close the room door and lock it. When they all the room, I jogged around the bed until everything went black.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Comment
So far, Shield of Faith follows in parallel two periods of my life: my high school years at Montgomery High School in South San Diego and my hospitalization at Las Vegas Mental Health Center, the state mental institution in Southern Nevada. Later, I will detail my experiences as a college student at the University of California at Berkeley. I will continue to describe the horrifying conditions at the state mental institution in Las Vegas, Nevada USA.
Later, the memoir will describe my reversion, from being a fallen-away Catholic to my return to the Roman Catholic faith. By the time I graduated from Berkeley, I had completely become a Catholic in name only. The Lord Himself brought me back to the Church although I had to struggle, and this struggle continues even today. Shield of Faith will describe the transformation I made as a result of my illness and Divine Intervention.
Later, the memoir will describe my reversion, from being a fallen-away Catholic to my return to the Roman Catholic faith. By the time I graduated from Berkeley, I had completely become a Catholic in name only. The Lord Himself brought me back to the Church although I had to struggle, and this struggle continues even today. Shield of Faith will describe the transformation I made as a result of my illness and Divine Intervention.
Sample Chapter
CHAPTER 6
The Chair Award
In my senior year of high school, the Monty High Mafia had seized control of Montgomery High School. They held key positions in high school culture. Emma Encarnacion controlled the press as editor-in-chief of the Moctezuman, the official school newspaper of Montgomery High School. Elaine DeVillena was one of her lieutenants as editor of the features section.
Members of the Mafia held other coveted positions in high school hierarchy. One Colvert Burgos, a tall athletic Filipino boy, held the vice presidency of the tyrannical school government, the Associated Student Body (ASB). His accomplice, Arnoldo “Arnie” Basallaje held the position of Commissioner of Confusion, a generic officer who carried out miscellaneous orders of the ASB under control of the Mafia. Another henchman of the Mafia included one Warren Umali, sports writer of the Moctezuman newspaper. Andy Dimacali ruled the high school marching band as drum major.
You might ask, why would anyone want to seize control of an insignificant high school near the US/Mexico border? The answer is comprised of two words: college and scholarships. All the college bound students at Montgomery High School were competing for a prestigious honor, the Chair Award. Prestige was everything among the Filipino community of South San Diego. In the late 1980s, students who graduated at the top of the class sat in front of the class during graduation ceremonies. In addition, they wore white caps and gowns while the so-called stupid people sat in the rear and wore blue caps and gowns. Montgomery High School was all about appearance.
The Chair Award in particular was always given out during the Senior Awards Assembly just before graduation at Montgomery High School. People representing colleges, universities, and other organizations that grant scholarships and other awards were present for the spectacle called the “Senior Awards Assembly”. During the assembly, graduating seniors wore their caps and gowns, white or blue as the case was, and sat in order of class rank. If a senior had won a scholarship or other award, then a representative of the awarding organization would call out the winning senior’s name and present him or her with a token of the award.
Every college bound student stove to win as many scholarships as possible. In particular, each year one or two seniors would manage to win so many scholarships that one of the scholarship presenters would say, “Joe wins so many scholarships he needs a chair up here on the stage so he doesn’t have to keep coming back.” Thus explains the Chair Award.
Keep in mind, my high school held the assemblies in the gymnasium. The stage was a platform that folded out from the wall. The seniors sat in chairs on the gymnasium floor. Scholarship presenters over the years concocted the Chair Award for the one or two seniors whose names were called frequently because of the massive number of scholarships they won.
My classmates and I all knew about the Chair Award from our first year at Montgomery High School. We had to attend the Senior Awards Assembly each year. I too fell in the mad quest to win the Chair Award. But I knew I had no chance of winning it. Someone in the Monty High Mafia would win it, I knew for sure.
The Mafia employed tactics like joining every club on campus and possibly volunteering in the community. They joined so many extracurricular activities for the sole purpose of listing their activities on their scholarship and college applications. Their participation in numerous extracurricular activities had little to do with genuine interest. It had everything to do with winning the most number of scholarships, the greatest dollar value of scholarship, and admission to the most prestigious colleges and universities.
I had a different tactic. I didn’t join multiple extracurricular activities like the Mafia did. Their idea was to see how many extracurricular activities they could join while still earning (or begging teachers for) straight A’s on their report cards. I stuck to my core activity of band while venturing into newspaper staff and volunteer work for a nature center.
I wanted to distinguish myself a different way. I intended to attend a prestigious East Coast university. So I applied for the freshman classes of 1989 at Harvard University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I also applied for the University of California at Berkeley, the University of Southern California, and the University of California at San Diego. My rationale was that most of the previous graduating seniors at Montgomery High School stayed in San Diego for college, and at most attend a college or university elsewhere in California.
By winning admission to Harvard or MIT, I would overcome the Chair Award. I knew someone in the Mafia would win it for sure. Yet, I did nothing to merit admission to these prestigious institutions of higher learning. I had straight A’s, but my SAT weren’t high enough to be competitive for admission.
When my Senior Awards Assembly came two other seniors won the Chair Award: Emma Encarnacion and Marissa Dalope, who belonged to a clique smaller than the Monty High Mafia. Emma and Marissa won so many scholarships that a presenter said, “Emma and Marissa win so many scholarships they should have chairs up here on the stage.”
I finished my high school years at Montgomery High School by graduating salutatorian, or second in the Class of 1989. Marissa became valedictorian. I ended up attending UC Berkeley for college in the fall of 1989.
The Chair Award
In my senior year of high school, the Monty High Mafia had seized control of Montgomery High School. They held key positions in high school culture. Emma Encarnacion controlled the press as editor-in-chief of the Moctezuman, the official school newspaper of Montgomery High School. Elaine DeVillena was one of her lieutenants as editor of the features section.
Members of the Mafia held other coveted positions in high school hierarchy. One Colvert Burgos, a tall athletic Filipino boy, held the vice presidency of the tyrannical school government, the Associated Student Body (ASB). His accomplice, Arnoldo “Arnie” Basallaje held the position of Commissioner of Confusion, a generic officer who carried out miscellaneous orders of the ASB under control of the Mafia. Another henchman of the Mafia included one Warren Umali, sports writer of the Moctezuman newspaper. Andy Dimacali ruled the high school marching band as drum major.
You might ask, why would anyone want to seize control of an insignificant high school near the US/Mexico border? The answer is comprised of two words: college and scholarships. All the college bound students at Montgomery High School were competing for a prestigious honor, the Chair Award. Prestige was everything among the Filipino community of South San Diego. In the late 1980s, students who graduated at the top of the class sat in front of the class during graduation ceremonies. In addition, they wore white caps and gowns while the so-called stupid people sat in the rear and wore blue caps and gowns. Montgomery High School was all about appearance.
The Chair Award in particular was always given out during the Senior Awards Assembly just before graduation at Montgomery High School. People representing colleges, universities, and other organizations that grant scholarships and other awards were present for the spectacle called the “Senior Awards Assembly”. During the assembly, graduating seniors wore their caps and gowns, white or blue as the case was, and sat in order of class rank. If a senior had won a scholarship or other award, then a representative of the awarding organization would call out the winning senior’s name and present him or her with a token of the award.
Every college bound student stove to win as many scholarships as possible. In particular, each year one or two seniors would manage to win so many scholarships that one of the scholarship presenters would say, “Joe wins so many scholarships he needs a chair up here on the stage so he doesn’t have to keep coming back.” Thus explains the Chair Award.
Keep in mind, my high school held the assemblies in the gymnasium. The stage was a platform that folded out from the wall. The seniors sat in chairs on the gymnasium floor. Scholarship presenters over the years concocted the Chair Award for the one or two seniors whose names were called frequently because of the massive number of scholarships they won.
My classmates and I all knew about the Chair Award from our first year at Montgomery High School. We had to attend the Senior Awards Assembly each year. I too fell in the mad quest to win the Chair Award. But I knew I had no chance of winning it. Someone in the Monty High Mafia would win it, I knew for sure.
The Mafia employed tactics like joining every club on campus and possibly volunteering in the community. They joined so many extracurricular activities for the sole purpose of listing their activities on their scholarship and college applications. Their participation in numerous extracurricular activities had little to do with genuine interest. It had everything to do with winning the most number of scholarships, the greatest dollar value of scholarship, and admission to the most prestigious colleges and universities.
I had a different tactic. I didn’t join multiple extracurricular activities like the Mafia did. Their idea was to see how many extracurricular activities they could join while still earning (or begging teachers for) straight A’s on their report cards. I stuck to my core activity of band while venturing into newspaper staff and volunteer work for a nature center.
I wanted to distinguish myself a different way. I intended to attend a prestigious East Coast university. So I applied for the freshman classes of 1989 at Harvard University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I also applied for the University of California at Berkeley, the University of Southern California, and the University of California at San Diego. My rationale was that most of the previous graduating seniors at Montgomery High School stayed in San Diego for college, and at most attend a college or university elsewhere in California.
By winning admission to Harvard or MIT, I would overcome the Chair Award. I knew someone in the Mafia would win it for sure. Yet, I did nothing to merit admission to these prestigious institutions of higher learning. I had straight A’s, but my SAT weren’t high enough to be competitive for admission.
When my Senior Awards Assembly came two other seniors won the Chair Award: Emma Encarnacion and Marissa Dalope, who belonged to a clique smaller than the Monty High Mafia. Emma and Marissa won so many scholarships that a presenter said, “Emma and Marissa win so many scholarships they should have chairs up here on the stage.”
I finished my high school years at Montgomery High School by graduating salutatorian, or second in the Class of 1989. Marissa became valedictorian. I ended up attending UC Berkeley for college in the fall of 1989.
Sample Chapter
CHAPTER 5
“Wipe Your Butt!”
I awoke with the shower pouring water on me. While I was naked, a fat demon with long curly brown hair and a beard beat me over and over.
“Wipe your butt!” he yelled each time he pummeled me. There was nothing I could do. I was taking a shower in Hell. Nobody told me anything there. The demons drugged me and beat me repeatedly during my entire ordeal. I didn’t know how to fight back at the demons. Why was I in Hell? I was not a particularly bad person. However, the Roman Catholic Church teaches that suicide is a sin that sends you straight to eternal damnation.
A demon named Jonathan tormented me too. He looked like some sort of lesser demon. The demons with name badges tortured him too. They refused to let him smoke cigarettes. Apparently, smoking is not allowed in Hell. Jonathan had a crew cut and wore tight T-shirts to show off how much he worked out. He did ask me to help him sweep the dining area floor and wipe the dining tables
Still, Jonathan lost his mind when Janine, the big fat demon wouldn’t let him have a cigarette. Jonathan said to me, “Ken, do something about this!”
I walked up to the demon window and said to Janine, “Just let him have a cigarette.”
“No!” said Janine. Jonathan went berserk until the army of demons walked through the door to Hell and forced him into the room with no windows. They locked him in the room. Any of us souls of the damned who refused to obey the Devil’s orders would ultimately end up in the room with no windows. The demons freely tortured me as well as other damned souls.
One of them, Arturo spoke very little English. He knew how to ask me, “You hungry?” He loved to yell, “Medi-CA-tions!” Arturo changed his clothes all the time, but he especially like wearing T-shirts and denim shorts. He loved to sing in Spanish. I had at least one friend in Hell. Arturo was one of the few people who could make me laugh in that godforsaken place.
I saw people everywhere, and they were all laughing at me. A whole stadium full of people were laughing at me. Soon the whole world was laughing. Then every person who ever lived laughed at me. They knew all my terrible secrets and laughed at me. It was just another day in Hell.
“Wipe Your Butt!”
I awoke with the shower pouring water on me. While I was naked, a fat demon with long curly brown hair and a beard beat me over and over.
“Wipe your butt!” he yelled each time he pummeled me. There was nothing I could do. I was taking a shower in Hell. Nobody told me anything there. The demons drugged me and beat me repeatedly during my entire ordeal. I didn’t know how to fight back at the demons. Why was I in Hell? I was not a particularly bad person. However, the Roman Catholic Church teaches that suicide is a sin that sends you straight to eternal damnation.
A demon named Jonathan tormented me too. He looked like some sort of lesser demon. The demons with name badges tortured him too. They refused to let him smoke cigarettes. Apparently, smoking is not allowed in Hell. Jonathan had a crew cut and wore tight T-shirts to show off how much he worked out. He did ask me to help him sweep the dining area floor and wipe the dining tables
Still, Jonathan lost his mind when Janine, the big fat demon wouldn’t let him have a cigarette. Jonathan said to me, “Ken, do something about this!”
I walked up to the demon window and said to Janine, “Just let him have a cigarette.”
“No!” said Janine. Jonathan went berserk until the army of demons walked through the door to Hell and forced him into the room with no windows. They locked him in the room. Any of us souls of the damned who refused to obey the Devil’s orders would ultimately end up in the room with no windows. The demons freely tortured me as well as other damned souls.
One of them, Arturo spoke very little English. He knew how to ask me, “You hungry?” He loved to yell, “Medi-CA-tions!” Arturo changed his clothes all the time, but he especially like wearing T-shirts and denim shorts. He loved to sing in Spanish. I had at least one friend in Hell. Arturo was one of the few people who could make me laugh in that godforsaken place.
I saw people everywhere, and they were all laughing at me. A whole stadium full of people were laughing at me. Soon the whole world was laughing. Then every person who ever lived laughed at me. They knew all my terrible secrets and laughed at me. It was just another day in Hell.
Sample Chapter
CHAPTER 4
The Monty High Mafia
Richard was not the only student who terrorized me during my teen years. He belonged to a larger crowd I call, “The Monty High Mafia” after Montgomery High School, which all of us attended. Montgomery High School is located in South San Diego. In the late 1980s, the Monty High Mafia claimed exclusive rights to all that was good and honorable at Montgomery High School.
The Mafia ran most of the student organizations on campus, and, with the exception of Richard, were at the top of the class. Most of them were Filipino-American like myself, and like myself they too honors or Advanced Placement (AP) classes, typical college preparatory classes. However, they excluded me from their clique, not that I wanted to be in the Monty High Mafia.
During my sophomore year at Montgomery High School, all of the sophomores and the juniors were forced to take the Preliminary Scholastic Aptitude Test (PSAT). Later, when the results came, the school counselors assembled both the sophomore class and the junior class in the cafeteria.
“The highest score of the sophomores went to Kenneth Molles,” said one of the counselors. Everyone in the cafeteria clapped for me. I felt honored that the school recognized me for my talents. Earning the highest score of my class was not something I had intended to do. It just happened.
In general I found high school easy, which generally I would not find of later life. Still, not everything in high school was easy, like dealing with the Mafia. After the assembly to discuss the PSAT results, I went to the band room, where I usually hung out since I was in the high school band. There, I met one pretty girl named Elaine DeVillena. She was a Filipina, like most members of the Mafia, and wore her black hair long. She wore clear braces and whined as she talked. She was on the tall flag team, part of the marching band.
“What was your score?” asked Elaine. I candidly told the pretty girl my score.
“Emma, you did better!” said Elaine. Emma Encarnacion, also on the tall flag team, and in the Monty High Mafia, was one of my closest academic rivals. Usually if I did not earn the highest score on a test of all the students in a given course, Emma would earn the highest score. Thus, we closely competed against each other.
Again, the Monty High Mafia held the delusion that they held exclusive rights to all that was good and honorable at Montgomery High School. That included the highest scores of all test-takers on tests such as the PSAT. Elaine, Emma, and I compared my PSAT score report with Emma’s score report. Indeed Emma did outscore me. The counselors had made a mistake in identifying me as the sophomore with the highest score on the PSAT. I could only leave the band room in anger.
Elaine acted as if honors in Montgomery High School belonged exclusively to her or to other members of the Monty High Mafia such as Emma. Mere mortals such as myself had no right trying to be the best at anything in the pond called “Montgomery High School”. I couldn’t swim with the big fish there such as Elaine or Emma.
The Monty High Mafia
Richard was not the only student who terrorized me during my teen years. He belonged to a larger crowd I call, “The Monty High Mafia” after Montgomery High School, which all of us attended. Montgomery High School is located in South San Diego. In the late 1980s, the Monty High Mafia claimed exclusive rights to all that was good and honorable at Montgomery High School.
The Mafia ran most of the student organizations on campus, and, with the exception of Richard, were at the top of the class. Most of them were Filipino-American like myself, and like myself they too honors or Advanced Placement (AP) classes, typical college preparatory classes. However, they excluded me from their clique, not that I wanted to be in the Monty High Mafia.
During my sophomore year at Montgomery High School, all of the sophomores and the juniors were forced to take the Preliminary Scholastic Aptitude Test (PSAT). Later, when the results came, the school counselors assembled both the sophomore class and the junior class in the cafeteria.
“The highest score of the sophomores went to Kenneth Molles,” said one of the counselors. Everyone in the cafeteria clapped for me. I felt honored that the school recognized me for my talents. Earning the highest score of my class was not something I had intended to do. It just happened.
In general I found high school easy, which generally I would not find of later life. Still, not everything in high school was easy, like dealing with the Mafia. After the assembly to discuss the PSAT results, I went to the band room, where I usually hung out since I was in the high school band. There, I met one pretty girl named Elaine DeVillena. She was a Filipina, like most members of the Mafia, and wore her black hair long. She wore clear braces and whined as she talked. She was on the tall flag team, part of the marching band.
“What was your score?” asked Elaine. I candidly told the pretty girl my score.
“Emma, you did better!” said Elaine. Emma Encarnacion, also on the tall flag team, and in the Monty High Mafia, was one of my closest academic rivals. Usually if I did not earn the highest score on a test of all the students in a given course, Emma would earn the highest score. Thus, we closely competed against each other.
Again, the Monty High Mafia held the delusion that they held exclusive rights to all that was good and honorable at Montgomery High School. That included the highest scores of all test-takers on tests such as the PSAT. Elaine, Emma, and I compared my PSAT score report with Emma’s score report. Indeed Emma did outscore me. The counselors had made a mistake in identifying me as the sophomore with the highest score on the PSAT. I could only leave the band room in anger.
Elaine acted as if honors in Montgomery High School belonged exclusively to her or to other members of the Monty High Mafia such as Emma. Mere mortals such as myself had no right trying to be the best at anything in the pond called “Montgomery High School”. I couldn’t swim with the big fish there such as Elaine or Emma.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Sample Chapter
CHAPTER 3
The Depths of Hell
Breakfast in Hell was pure torture. The demons gave me only one plastic spoon with which to eat my food. They didn’t give me or any other damned souls forks or knives. The food wasn’t bad, but demons drugged me with all sorts of medications like Risperdal, which the other souls of the damned said was actually Methadone. The demon who told me to take it was a liar.
Soon, I met a demon who called himself, “Dr. Aralicia.” He claimed to come from Croatia, and he had a strange sounding accent. He asked me, “Subtract seven from 100.”
“93,” I said.
“And seven from that.”
“86.”
“And seven from that.”
My mind seemed foggy, and I found I had lost my ability to subtract. Dr. Aralicia told me the demons would escort me to another part of Hell. They took me outside where I could see the top of the towering Stratosphere Resort and Casino.
“What is the meaning of life?” a voice said. There was a boom like canon fire. Soon, I had visions of all kinds. The dome of the US Capitol building spun before me like a spinning coin dying in angular speed. The Capitol building was made of human bones. Soon, I found myself as Big Bird from the old television show Sesame Street. As I had become Big Bird, I roller-skated while wearing either a plastic face shield or an oxygen mask. I didn’t know for sure. Colors flashed before my eyes. Then I became Superman with blue tights and a red cape. However, instead of fighting crime, I sat in a study with book shelves lined with volumes of the World Book Encyclopedia.
Yes, what is the meaning of life, I wondered. After I was Superman, I opened the door to my room and walked into the hallway. Two demons materialized with lightning speed. They forced me to swallow big red pills. Then I went back into my room. I felt sick, and I stumbled back into the hallway. I sat to the right of the door while feeling the urge to vomit. Fortunately, I didn’t vomit.
The Devil really knew how to torture me in Hell. Blue lights flashed everywhere while shrieking sounds tormented me. I was too weak to stand. So I knelt in front of a chair and planted my face in the seat as the flashing lights and shrieking sounds tormented me there in Hell. When the lights and sounds stopped, I found myself in my bed again with the lights off. I could hear the song The Never Ending Story from the 1980s.
The Depths of Hell
Breakfast in Hell was pure torture. The demons gave me only one plastic spoon with which to eat my food. They didn’t give me or any other damned souls forks or knives. The food wasn’t bad, but demons drugged me with all sorts of medications like Risperdal, which the other souls of the damned said was actually Methadone. The demon who told me to take it was a liar.
Soon, I met a demon who called himself, “Dr. Aralicia.” He claimed to come from Croatia, and he had a strange sounding accent. He asked me, “Subtract seven from 100.”
“93,” I said.
“And seven from that.”
“86.”
“And seven from that.”
My mind seemed foggy, and I found I had lost my ability to subtract. Dr. Aralicia told me the demons would escort me to another part of Hell. They took me outside where I could see the top of the towering Stratosphere Resort and Casino.
“What is the meaning of life?” a voice said. There was a boom like canon fire. Soon, I had visions of all kinds. The dome of the US Capitol building spun before me like a spinning coin dying in angular speed. The Capitol building was made of human bones. Soon, I found myself as Big Bird from the old television show Sesame Street. As I had become Big Bird, I roller-skated while wearing either a plastic face shield or an oxygen mask. I didn’t know for sure. Colors flashed before my eyes. Then I became Superman with blue tights and a red cape. However, instead of fighting crime, I sat in a study with book shelves lined with volumes of the World Book Encyclopedia.
Yes, what is the meaning of life, I wondered. After I was Superman, I opened the door to my room and walked into the hallway. Two demons materialized with lightning speed. They forced me to swallow big red pills. Then I went back into my room. I felt sick, and I stumbled back into the hallway. I sat to the right of the door while feeling the urge to vomit. Fortunately, I didn’t vomit.
The Devil really knew how to torture me in Hell. Blue lights flashed everywhere while shrieking sounds tormented me. I was too weak to stand. So I knelt in front of a chair and planted my face in the seat as the flashing lights and shrieking sounds tormented me there in Hell. When the lights and sounds stopped, I found myself in my bed again with the lights off. I could hear the song The Never Ending Story from the 1980s.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Comment
I have several hundred pages of rough draft written for Shield of Faith. I am including one sample chapter at a time on this site as they are typeset. In the meantime, I want to thank Professor Fritz Scheuren of George Washington University and 100th President of the American Statistical Association for reviewing the manuscript. I met Professor Scheuren at St. Mary's Catholic Church in Alexandria, Virginia USA in the summer of 2008 while I was working at US Patent and Trademark Office. He was most kind to invite me to have breakfast with him and his friends and colleagues when I knew nobody in the Washington, DC area.
As you can see from the sample chapters, I write about different periods of time during my life. Chapter 1 took place shortly after 9/11, whereas Chapter 2 took place in the mid-1980s. During the memoir, we will go on a journey through space and time, from the East Coast of the United States to the West Coast, from the mid-1980s to the late 2000s. A memoir covers only a limited amount of time.
Shield of Faith does not follow a chronological path. I wrote about what I felt God was calling me to write at the time. Still, the period of time covered is 1985 to 2008, from when I was a student at Montgomery Junior High School in San Diego, California USA until I began working for the federal government in Washington, DC in 2008. The overall theme of the memoir shows my journey in discovering for myself that there is a God.
As you can see from the sample chapters, I write about different periods of time during my life. Chapter 1 took place shortly after 9/11, whereas Chapter 2 took place in the mid-1980s. During the memoir, we will go on a journey through space and time, from the East Coast of the United States to the West Coast, from the mid-1980s to the late 2000s. A memoir covers only a limited amount of time.
Shield of Faith does not follow a chronological path. I wrote about what I felt God was calling me to write at the time. Still, the period of time covered is 1985 to 2008, from when I was a student at Montgomery Junior High School in San Diego, California USA until I began working for the federal government in Washington, DC in 2008. The overall theme of the memoir shows my journey in discovering for myself that there is a God.
Sample Chapter
CHAPTER 2
The Drum Major Fiasco
In the spring of 1985, I tried out for drum major of the Montgomery Junior High School Marching Band. In my junior high school, the drum major was the equivalent of the high school quarterback. Being drum major meant having the most popularity in junior high school. In reality, I hoped that by winning the coveted position of drum major of Montgomery Junior High School, lots of girls would want to be my girlfriend. Then I could just pick the prettiest one to be my girlfriend.
All a drum major does is wear a funny costume, twirl a long stick called a “mace”, and march in front of the band in parades and in marching band competitions. Drum majors merely serve as figureheads for the band. Still, everyone who wanted to be someone in Montgomery Junior High School tried out for drum major every year.
In the spring of 1985, after the try-outs the marching band elected Andy Dimacali drum major. They elected me assistant drum major. Assistant drum major was basically like a vice president. My only duty was basically to lead the marching band in performances or in rehearsal in case Andy could not.
The mechanics of marching band in junior high school require some explanation. The mace serves as the symbol of the drum major’s authority over the marching band. To be seen carrying the long mace brought much respect and admiration to the one carrying it. Before a marching band steps out in a parade and/or band competition, that is begins marching and playing music, the drum major flourishes the mace. By flourishing the mace, a drum major twirls it. If at any time during a marching competition, the drum major drops the mace, he or she cannot pick up the mace.
The drum major must salute the competition judges, but if the drum major salutes without possessing a mace, he or she is disqualified from the drum major competition, which is part of the overall band competition. Judges also take away points from the entire marching band if the drum major drops the mace.
At Montgomery Junior High, the winner of drum major try-outs was the candidate who did not drop the mace. If more than one did not drop the mace, then the band would elect the most popular candidate drum major, and the second most popular candidate would become assistant drum major. Since Andy was more popular than I was, I became assistant drum major for the 1985-1986 school year.
One young boy named Richard Deomampo had tried out for drum major in the spring of 1984, but he failed. He dropped the mace during try-pouts from drum major. Richard played percussion, mostly snare drum. Richard ran with the cool crowd, while I was more of a nerd. Still, when I won the position of assistant drum major in 1985, my victory infuriated him. He regretted not trying out of r drum major in 1985. Mr. Deomampo was certain would have beaten me in the try outs and would make a better drum major. He always let me know those “facts”.
In the summer of 1985, the officers of the marching band met at school with Mrs. Jeri Webb-Almanza, the band director, to plan the 1985-1986 school year. Richard held a minor position within the band and was there at the summer meeting. He snatched the mace from the corner in which usually stood. Richard then taunted me by saying, “Let me show you how to twirl the mace the right way.” Then he twirled the mace the right way, in his mind at least.
“I’m too busy right now,” I responded in the only way I knew at the time.
That summer, I had visions, the same vision over and over. IN my mind, I saw and knew that Andy could not lead the band in rehearsal. However, I saw that Richard would usurp my authority as assistant drum major, snatch the mace from me, and lead the marching band. The vision haunted me during the summer of 1985.
“I’m going to lose my position as assistant drum major,” I said to my brother Ron Molles, who is older than me.
“Don’t think that way,” Ron said to me.
Yet, I thought as a 14 year old teenager, as the 14 year old teenager I was at the time.
Soon after the visions started, my father, Pablo Molles, landed a job with the US Post Office in Las Vegas, Nevada. Our family would have to move away from San Diego so my father could take the job. My parents loved Las Vegas and had dreams of living there. Yet, I knew my father’s new job meant I would lose my position as assistant drum major, my popularity, and the girlfriend I would have gained from my popularity.
I devised a scheme to keep them all. I asked my aunt, Corazon Yuson, or Aunt Zon, as I called her, if I could live with her and my cousins Gigi Yuson and Joie Yuson. Eduardo Yuson, or Uncle Ed, Aunt Zon’s husband was deployed with the US Navy and did not live with them most of the time those days.
Aunt Zon lived near my house in South San Diego, and I could still attend Montgomery Junior High School. I cared more about my position as assistant drum major, about my popularity, and about my potential girlfriend than about my own family. My parents and Aunt Zon agreed I would live with her in our South San Diego neighborhood of Otay Mesa near the US/Mexico border. Yet, my decision to leave my parents would cause everyone much grief.
My parents and Ron moved to North Las Vegas, while I stayed with Aunt Zon, Joie, and Gigi at their house. I started school at Montgomery Junior High School in September 1985. In marching band, Richard and his cronies heckled me whenever they had a chance. Richard, for example, poked fun at the way I twirled the drum major mace. He called me a nerd since I excelled in school while he was a mediocre student at best. Whenever we met, Richard made derogatory comments about my being assistant drum major.
He felt entitled to the position and that I had unfairly stolen it from him. Richard would mock the way I talked and used my own words against me. In short, Richard hated me because I took away from him something he had wanted.
Why was a nerd assistant drum major? Richard probably wondered how he as a cool guy lost the position of assistant drum major to a nerd like me. Richard harassed me at school, doing everything but physically attacking me. Richard couldn’t stand that I exist, and worse that I was assistant drum major and he wasn’t. The whole rivalry was downright silly. Yet, being assistant drum major was the most important thing in t he world to both of us teenagers.
As a 14-year old boy, I was still very close to my parents. I missed them very much as well as my brother Ron. I cried in Mrs. Webb-Almanza’s office as I explained to her my confusion and sadness at the time. She counseled me, knowing that I had separated myself from my family just to be assistant drum major, a do-nothing position.
When I announced to the band I was moving to North Las Vegas, I saw the wicked grin on Richard’s face. Mrs. Webb-Almanza also announced try-outs to replace me upon my departure from Montgomery Junior High School. I left San Diego and moved to my family’s house in North Las Vegas in October 1985.
My mother enrolled me at Von Tobel Junior High School, but the fact the school had no marching band disappointed me greatly. Still, on my first day as a student there, I walked into their band room. The concert band was rehearsing. As I walked by a young girl with short brown hair who was playing the flute, her face lit up in delight. She had a great smile as she looked at me.
I presented Mr. Harris, the portly band director, with my enrollment papers. He had me sit down in an empty chair while he rehearsed the concert band of Von Tobel Junior High School. After band class, the girl with the great smile and short brown hair approached me.
“What’s your name?” she asked me.
“Ken,” I said.
“I’m Shannon,” the girl said. For the next few months, I would see a lot of Shannon. Every day after band class, she would walk with me. She asked a lot of personal questions. “Who do you like?” Shannon asked me one day.
“I don’t like anybody,” I said to Shannon. I was depressed over my decision to leave Montgomery High Junior High School and forfeit my position of assistant drum major. How was I going to get a girlfriend then, I wondered. Shannon persisted in keeping me company in Von Tobel Junior High School. She walked with me everywhere I went.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked me.
“No,” I said to Shannon.
“If I asked you to go with me, what would you say?”
“I would say, ‘Yes.’” I said to Shannon. Thus, a new couple was born at Von Tobel Junior High School in North Las Vegas.
I didn’t need to be drum major to land a girlfriend. I just needed to be myself. Yet, at the time I did not appreciate the fact I had Shannon. I was still depressed about San Diego. Still, Shannon and I had a good time together. We held hands as we walked to class. We wrote love letters to each other. We ate lunch together. Her friends became my friends. Shannon and I saw each other all the time. We ended each day by me walking her to her school bus that took her home. I walked home or my parents picked up me.
However, Shannon one day told me she wanted to break up because she was moving away. She never did tell me the whole story, and after she left the school, I never saw her again. Life without Shannon was miserable, and I had no friends anymore. My father had terrible stomachaches from working the night shift at the post office as a custodian.
Mom, Dad, Ron, and I were all miserable in Nevada. After I got into a fight at school, my parents immediately decided to move back to South San Diego. We had rented our house there to tenants, and our rental contract allowed us to evict them with one month’s notice.
My father got back his old job as a cook for the jail the San Diego County Sheriff Department operated. For a month, my family stayed at Aunt Zon’s house while the tenants at our in South San Diego vacated the premises.
I returned to Montgomery Junior High School, and when I returned to marching band class, I discovered that Richard had become the new assistant drum major. He had tried out for my position after I left. Still, a new controversy arose. Since I was the original assistant drum major, because I had returned to Montgomery Junior High, did my return restore me to my position? Did my departure in the fall of 1985 leave my position open, especially since the band held try-outs to replace me?
“We actually have two assistant drum majors, Richard and Ken,” said Mrs. Webb-Almanza. The band director’s declaration before the marching band only confused the situation even more. As before, Richard heckled me whenever he saw me in band or in the hallways. We shared no other classes since I took advanced college preparatory classes.
One day in the spring of 1986, the marching band rehearsed for an annual competition called, “Maytime Band Review” or just, “Maytime”. The marching band competition took place in National City, in South San Diego County. I was one of the first people to take his position in the marching band block, or “fall in”, using marching band jargon. I held my trombone and waited for Mrs. Webb-Almanza and Andy Dimacali to come outside to lead marching rehearsal. Then I heard a crashing sound, the sound of the band room doors flying open and smashing against the walls of the music building of Montgomery Junior High School.
“Woo! Woo! Woo!” someone screamed like a monkey. Richard Deomampo stormed out of the band room with the mace in his hand. He stood at the drum major’s position at the front of the band block, right in my face. Richard looked me in the eye and yelled, “Fall in!” in triumph. The rest of the band fell into parade block, and Richard led the band in rehearsal.
I was furious. Richard had won the battle over who actually was the assistant drum major. I later learned that Andy had to serve detention and told Richard to lead the band rehearsal. As I marched under Richard’s orders during that rehearsal in the spring of 1986, I could hardly contain my fury. My vision in the summer of 1985 came to pass. After school, I went home, locked myself in my room, and cried.
The Drum Major Fiasco
In the spring of 1985, I tried out for drum major of the Montgomery Junior High School Marching Band. In my junior high school, the drum major was the equivalent of the high school quarterback. Being drum major meant having the most popularity in junior high school. In reality, I hoped that by winning the coveted position of drum major of Montgomery Junior High School, lots of girls would want to be my girlfriend. Then I could just pick the prettiest one to be my girlfriend.
All a drum major does is wear a funny costume, twirl a long stick called a “mace”, and march in front of the band in parades and in marching band competitions. Drum majors merely serve as figureheads for the band. Still, everyone who wanted to be someone in Montgomery Junior High School tried out for drum major every year.
In the spring of 1985, after the try-outs the marching band elected Andy Dimacali drum major. They elected me assistant drum major. Assistant drum major was basically like a vice president. My only duty was basically to lead the marching band in performances or in rehearsal in case Andy could not.
The mechanics of marching band in junior high school require some explanation. The mace serves as the symbol of the drum major’s authority over the marching band. To be seen carrying the long mace brought much respect and admiration to the one carrying it. Before a marching band steps out in a parade and/or band competition, that is begins marching and playing music, the drum major flourishes the mace. By flourishing the mace, a drum major twirls it. If at any time during a marching competition, the drum major drops the mace, he or she cannot pick up the mace.
The drum major must salute the competition judges, but if the drum major salutes without possessing a mace, he or she is disqualified from the drum major competition, which is part of the overall band competition. Judges also take away points from the entire marching band if the drum major drops the mace.
At Montgomery Junior High, the winner of drum major try-outs was the candidate who did not drop the mace. If more than one did not drop the mace, then the band would elect the most popular candidate drum major, and the second most popular candidate would become assistant drum major. Since Andy was more popular than I was, I became assistant drum major for the 1985-1986 school year.
One young boy named Richard Deomampo had tried out for drum major in the spring of 1984, but he failed. He dropped the mace during try-pouts from drum major. Richard played percussion, mostly snare drum. Richard ran with the cool crowd, while I was more of a nerd. Still, when I won the position of assistant drum major in 1985, my victory infuriated him. He regretted not trying out of r drum major in 1985. Mr. Deomampo was certain would have beaten me in the try outs and would make a better drum major. He always let me know those “facts”.
In the summer of 1985, the officers of the marching band met at school with Mrs. Jeri Webb-Almanza, the band director, to plan the 1985-1986 school year. Richard held a minor position within the band and was there at the summer meeting. He snatched the mace from the corner in which usually stood. Richard then taunted me by saying, “Let me show you how to twirl the mace the right way.” Then he twirled the mace the right way, in his mind at least.
“I’m too busy right now,” I responded in the only way I knew at the time.
That summer, I had visions, the same vision over and over. IN my mind, I saw and knew that Andy could not lead the band in rehearsal. However, I saw that Richard would usurp my authority as assistant drum major, snatch the mace from me, and lead the marching band. The vision haunted me during the summer of 1985.
“I’m going to lose my position as assistant drum major,” I said to my brother Ron Molles, who is older than me.
“Don’t think that way,” Ron said to me.
Yet, I thought as a 14 year old teenager, as the 14 year old teenager I was at the time.
Soon after the visions started, my father, Pablo Molles, landed a job with the US Post Office in Las Vegas, Nevada. Our family would have to move away from San Diego so my father could take the job. My parents loved Las Vegas and had dreams of living there. Yet, I knew my father’s new job meant I would lose my position as assistant drum major, my popularity, and the girlfriend I would have gained from my popularity.
I devised a scheme to keep them all. I asked my aunt, Corazon Yuson, or Aunt Zon, as I called her, if I could live with her and my cousins Gigi Yuson and Joie Yuson. Eduardo Yuson, or Uncle Ed, Aunt Zon’s husband was deployed with the US Navy and did not live with them most of the time those days.
Aunt Zon lived near my house in South San Diego, and I could still attend Montgomery Junior High School. I cared more about my position as assistant drum major, about my popularity, and about my potential girlfriend than about my own family. My parents and Aunt Zon agreed I would live with her in our South San Diego neighborhood of Otay Mesa near the US/Mexico border. Yet, my decision to leave my parents would cause everyone much grief.
My parents and Ron moved to North Las Vegas, while I stayed with Aunt Zon, Joie, and Gigi at their house. I started school at Montgomery Junior High School in September 1985. In marching band, Richard and his cronies heckled me whenever they had a chance. Richard, for example, poked fun at the way I twirled the drum major mace. He called me a nerd since I excelled in school while he was a mediocre student at best. Whenever we met, Richard made derogatory comments about my being assistant drum major.
He felt entitled to the position and that I had unfairly stolen it from him. Richard would mock the way I talked and used my own words against me. In short, Richard hated me because I took away from him something he had wanted.
Why was a nerd assistant drum major? Richard probably wondered how he as a cool guy lost the position of assistant drum major to a nerd like me. Richard harassed me at school, doing everything but physically attacking me. Richard couldn’t stand that I exist, and worse that I was assistant drum major and he wasn’t. The whole rivalry was downright silly. Yet, being assistant drum major was the most important thing in t he world to both of us teenagers.
As a 14-year old boy, I was still very close to my parents. I missed them very much as well as my brother Ron. I cried in Mrs. Webb-Almanza’s office as I explained to her my confusion and sadness at the time. She counseled me, knowing that I had separated myself from my family just to be assistant drum major, a do-nothing position.
When I announced to the band I was moving to North Las Vegas, I saw the wicked grin on Richard’s face. Mrs. Webb-Almanza also announced try-outs to replace me upon my departure from Montgomery Junior High School. I left San Diego and moved to my family’s house in North Las Vegas in October 1985.
My mother enrolled me at Von Tobel Junior High School, but the fact the school had no marching band disappointed me greatly. Still, on my first day as a student there, I walked into their band room. The concert band was rehearsing. As I walked by a young girl with short brown hair who was playing the flute, her face lit up in delight. She had a great smile as she looked at me.
I presented Mr. Harris, the portly band director, with my enrollment papers. He had me sit down in an empty chair while he rehearsed the concert band of Von Tobel Junior High School. After band class, the girl with the great smile and short brown hair approached me.
“What’s your name?” she asked me.
“Ken,” I said.
“I’m Shannon,” the girl said. For the next few months, I would see a lot of Shannon. Every day after band class, she would walk with me. She asked a lot of personal questions. “Who do you like?” Shannon asked me one day.
“I don’t like anybody,” I said to Shannon. I was depressed over my decision to leave Montgomery High Junior High School and forfeit my position of assistant drum major. How was I going to get a girlfriend then, I wondered. Shannon persisted in keeping me company in Von Tobel Junior High School. She walked with me everywhere I went.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked me.
“No,” I said to Shannon.
“If I asked you to go with me, what would you say?”
“I would say, ‘Yes.’” I said to Shannon. Thus, a new couple was born at Von Tobel Junior High School in North Las Vegas.
I didn’t need to be drum major to land a girlfriend. I just needed to be myself. Yet, at the time I did not appreciate the fact I had Shannon. I was still depressed about San Diego. Still, Shannon and I had a good time together. We held hands as we walked to class. We wrote love letters to each other. We ate lunch together. Her friends became my friends. Shannon and I saw each other all the time. We ended each day by me walking her to her school bus that took her home. I walked home or my parents picked up me.
However, Shannon one day told me she wanted to break up because she was moving away. She never did tell me the whole story, and after she left the school, I never saw her again. Life without Shannon was miserable, and I had no friends anymore. My father had terrible stomachaches from working the night shift at the post office as a custodian.
Mom, Dad, Ron, and I were all miserable in Nevada. After I got into a fight at school, my parents immediately decided to move back to South San Diego. We had rented our house there to tenants, and our rental contract allowed us to evict them with one month’s notice.
My father got back his old job as a cook for the jail the San Diego County Sheriff Department operated. For a month, my family stayed at Aunt Zon’s house while the tenants at our in South San Diego vacated the premises.
I returned to Montgomery Junior High School, and when I returned to marching band class, I discovered that Richard had become the new assistant drum major. He had tried out for my position after I left. Still, a new controversy arose. Since I was the original assistant drum major, because I had returned to Montgomery Junior High, did my return restore me to my position? Did my departure in the fall of 1985 leave my position open, especially since the band held try-outs to replace me?
“We actually have two assistant drum majors, Richard and Ken,” said Mrs. Webb-Almanza. The band director’s declaration before the marching band only confused the situation even more. As before, Richard heckled me whenever he saw me in band or in the hallways. We shared no other classes since I took advanced college preparatory classes.
One day in the spring of 1986, the marching band rehearsed for an annual competition called, “Maytime Band Review” or just, “Maytime”. The marching band competition took place in National City, in South San Diego County. I was one of the first people to take his position in the marching band block, or “fall in”, using marching band jargon. I held my trombone and waited for Mrs. Webb-Almanza and Andy Dimacali to come outside to lead marching rehearsal. Then I heard a crashing sound, the sound of the band room doors flying open and smashing against the walls of the music building of Montgomery Junior High School.
“Woo! Woo! Woo!” someone screamed like a monkey. Richard Deomampo stormed out of the band room with the mace in his hand. He stood at the drum major’s position at the front of the band block, right in my face. Richard looked me in the eye and yelled, “Fall in!” in triumph. The rest of the band fell into parade block, and Richard led the band in rehearsal.
I was furious. Richard had won the battle over who actually was the assistant drum major. I later learned that Andy had to serve detention and told Richard to lead the band rehearsal. As I marched under Richard’s orders during that rehearsal in the spring of 1986, I could hardly contain my fury. My vision in the summer of 1985 came to pass. After school, I went home, locked myself in my room, and cried.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Comment
I am currently living in Washington, DC where I worked for the United States Patent and Trademark Office as a Patent Examiner. I recently left the federal civil service to pursue other interests, namely my passion for writing. I have been writing since high school, mostly short stories.
Soon I will move to Las Vegas, Nevada USA to take care of my elderly parents and work on my two books Shield of Faith and the other The Rosary Bracelet, a novel. With God's blessing, my books will be published by January 2010. I am considering attending law school at the University of Nevada Las Vegas (UNLV) or completing my Ph.D. in physics, also at UNLV. Since before that happens I now have a lot of time on my hands, I will be working on my writing.
Shield of Faith is meant for a Roman Catholic audience, yet I hope that my memoir appeals to all types of people. I will speak all over the United States to address the plight of the mentally ill. My article Modern Slavery Operation In Las Vegas has been submitted to the press, and I have contacted several lawmakers about the problem of exploitation of the mentally ill by such organizations as the Las Vegas Mafia in the slavery operation the mentally ill community of Las Vegas knows as "The Underworld".
The memoir asks the question, how much of mental illness is actually the supernatural? I have seen objects materialize with evidence they came from the future. I have seen objects move by themselves. I have heard a voice claiming to be God as well as voices obviously not God. I have seen glorious visions as well as terrifying ones. Few people understood my struggle. Most people dismissed my experiences as pure mental illness, including the Roman Catholic Church, in order to have a comfortable explanation for them.
It is easy to dispense bottle after bottle of psychiatric medication than to realize that perhaps there really is a God who intervenes in the world. Such a thought that God is real frightens many people because all secrets shall be revealed. Whether or not my experiences came from the Lord, future generations of the Roman Catholic Church will decide. For now our secular-humanistic society will warehouse away people like me.
Soon I will move to Las Vegas, Nevada USA to take care of my elderly parents and work on my two books Shield of Faith and the other The Rosary Bracelet, a novel. With God's blessing, my books will be published by January 2010. I am considering attending law school at the University of Nevada Las Vegas (UNLV) or completing my Ph.D. in physics, also at UNLV. Since before that happens I now have a lot of time on my hands, I will be working on my writing.
Shield of Faith is meant for a Roman Catholic audience, yet I hope that my memoir appeals to all types of people. I will speak all over the United States to address the plight of the mentally ill. My article Modern Slavery Operation In Las Vegas has been submitted to the press, and I have contacted several lawmakers about the problem of exploitation of the mentally ill by such organizations as the Las Vegas Mafia in the slavery operation the mentally ill community of Las Vegas knows as "The Underworld".
The memoir asks the question, how much of mental illness is actually the supernatural? I have seen objects materialize with evidence they came from the future. I have seen objects move by themselves. I have heard a voice claiming to be God as well as voices obviously not God. I have seen glorious visions as well as terrifying ones. Few people understood my struggle. Most people dismissed my experiences as pure mental illness, including the Roman Catholic Church, in order to have a comfortable explanation for them.
It is easy to dispense bottle after bottle of psychiatric medication than to realize that perhaps there really is a God who intervenes in the world. Such a thought that God is real frightens many people because all secrets shall be revealed. Whether or not my experiences came from the Lord, future generations of the Roman Catholic Church will decide. For now our secular-humanistic society will warehouse away people like me.
Sample Chapter
In all circumstances, hold faith as a shield, to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one.
Ephesians 6:16
CHAPTER 1
Descent Into Hell
In January 2002, I died and went to Hell, and Hell’s address is:
6161 West Charleston Boulevard
Las Vegas, NV 89146
My dejection at the time compelled me to swallow not one, but two bottles of pills. Two demons dressed in red T-shirts and black pants rolled me on a gurney through the Gates of Hell on West Charleston Boulevard. As we passed through the gates, I heard birds singing. Soon, however, the birds turned into bats, which let out terrible shrieks.
“You want a cigarette?” a black demon asked me. I declined because I don’t smoke. One tall demon, with glasses and white hair, and named Miguel, took my blood pressure, pulse, and temperature.
In Hell, the demons used unseen forces to pull my arms in opposite direction. My right arm stretched like a rubber band to the right and my left arm to the left. With these same unseen forces the Devil’s minions stretched my neck up while stretching my legs down. I was afraid I’d snap like a twig.
“When do I go home?” I asked one of the demons. Hell broke out in raucous laughter from the multitude of demons.
“He thought he was going home!” one of them jeered. Then I realized this was no nightmare. I had truly died and gone to Hell. Depression crept upon me because I could not escape eternal damnation. God had rewarded my faith with immense suffering for all eternity. Yes, the Lord had betrayed me. Attending Sunday Mass every week made no difference. Receiving the other sacraments like reconciliation also made no difference. Just being a good person made no difference. The Almighty doomed me to final damnation.
I sat on a couch, and I knew the Devil was somewhere out there plotting ways to torment me forever and ever. My chin then fused with my neck, and I could not life my head no matter how hard I tried. Satan commenced the eternal series of torture. Everything went black, yet I could hear the demons talking around me. I was gone blind! What else did the Devil have in mind? Then my chin began to dig into my chest. My whole head would dig into my chest. Fear gripped me. The Devil was mutilating me!
I couldn’t even scream because I couldn’t free my jaws nor open my mouth. The struggle lasted for hours. Finally, I could see again. Hell didn’t seem so bad. I was alone in the room where all the demons had been. A television was the only thing in the room. Then a black demon motioned for me to come with him. I followed to a door to a dark room where the bodies of the dead lay on beds. The yellow fires of Hell glowed in the room. The demon had taken me to an oven to burn me for all eternity. The demon pointed to a door to a different oven, the oven where I would burn forever. I laid in one of the two beds and an unseen force nailed me to the bed. I couldn’t move. The yellow fire glowed from a window to the room. Forever, I knew I was burning in Hell.
Ephesians 6:16
CHAPTER 1
Descent Into Hell
In January 2002, I died and went to Hell, and Hell’s address is:
6161 West Charleston Boulevard
Las Vegas, NV 89146
My dejection at the time compelled me to swallow not one, but two bottles of pills. Two demons dressed in red T-shirts and black pants rolled me on a gurney through the Gates of Hell on West Charleston Boulevard. As we passed through the gates, I heard birds singing. Soon, however, the birds turned into bats, which let out terrible shrieks.
“You want a cigarette?” a black demon asked me. I declined because I don’t smoke. One tall demon, with glasses and white hair, and named Miguel, took my blood pressure, pulse, and temperature.
In Hell, the demons used unseen forces to pull my arms in opposite direction. My right arm stretched like a rubber band to the right and my left arm to the left. With these same unseen forces the Devil’s minions stretched my neck up while stretching my legs down. I was afraid I’d snap like a twig.
“When do I go home?” I asked one of the demons. Hell broke out in raucous laughter from the multitude of demons.
“He thought he was going home!” one of them jeered. Then I realized this was no nightmare. I had truly died and gone to Hell. Depression crept upon me because I could not escape eternal damnation. God had rewarded my faith with immense suffering for all eternity. Yes, the Lord had betrayed me. Attending Sunday Mass every week made no difference. Receiving the other sacraments like reconciliation also made no difference. Just being a good person made no difference. The Almighty doomed me to final damnation.
I sat on a couch, and I knew the Devil was somewhere out there plotting ways to torment me forever and ever. My chin then fused with my neck, and I could not life my head no matter how hard I tried. Satan commenced the eternal series of torture. Everything went black, yet I could hear the demons talking around me. I was gone blind! What else did the Devil have in mind? Then my chin began to dig into my chest. My whole head would dig into my chest. Fear gripped me. The Devil was mutilating me!
I couldn’t even scream because I couldn’t free my jaws nor open my mouth. The struggle lasted for hours. Finally, I could see again. Hell didn’t seem so bad. I was alone in the room where all the demons had been. A television was the only thing in the room. Then a black demon motioned for me to come with him. I followed to a door to a dark room where the bodies of the dead lay on beds. The yellow fires of Hell glowed in the room. The demon had taken me to an oven to burn me for all eternity. The demon pointed to a door to a different oven, the oven where I would burn forever. I laid in one of the two beds and an unseen force nailed me to the bed. I couldn’t move. The yellow fire glowed from a window to the room. Forever, I knew I was burning in Hell.
Shield of Faith
SHIELD OF FAITH
A Catholic Memoir
By Kenneth Molles
Summary
Shield of Faith details my decades long battle against mental illness and the forces of the supernatural, the distinction of which can often be blurred. The manuscript is currently being typeset. I have written several versions of this work since 1993. In it, I describe visions, voices, and miracles I have experienced since 1993. See my article titled God Got My Attention Through Visions, Voices, and Miracles (Catholic Digest, February 2000, p. 81)
Truly supernatural experiences require the approval of the Magisterum of the Roman Catholic Church. My spiritual directors have looked for the fruit of my experience as well as my obedience to the Church. One spiritual director declared that my spiritual experiences took place concurrently with my diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder, and therefore my experiences could not be supernatural. Therefore I am free to publish my experiences as that of a man with mental illness who has touched the Divine.
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