I think my initial buyer’s remorse with Austin began with the visit to Milwaukee during Nelson’s wedding. Even though I hadn’t lived there for three years, I felt a greater sense of familiarity and casually entertained the possibility of moving back. The city of beer and brats was the original plan in 1993; Austin just became the winner due to Doc’s convincing pitch.
These thoughts were now being exacerbated by tensions at University Towers and my frustration with the university. Friction between Doc and me was starting to rise and it quickly grew into an ugly situation near the end of the year. Most of it was instigated by the incompetent general manager Gene who wanted me fired I learned in recent correspondence from Doc; never mind Gene’s alcoholic son (Roger) being a lightning rod for a lawsuit or the other cronies this man tended foolishly trust. Speaking of legal woes, Gene had fired the food service company in July which started a real litigious mess he dragged me into courtesy of my computer duties. Older, pre-Boomer people think they’re clever when they say dumbass phrases such as “I’m computer illiterate by choice,” yet they lack the wisdom to not say it in front of the opposition’s attorney as he did one afternoon. Having left Illinois to end my involvement in the TSR v. GDW squabble, I wasn’t in any mood to be a participant in another which I told Doc in a special lunch about my future plans.
Meanwhile the University of Texas had expressed its passive hostility toward me enrolling with the hurdles it posted. I had never been to any other institution that penalized people for having at least one degree before then. Sonia was more fortunate to transfer the following year. These days, it doesn’t bother me. ACC was the better deal for what I wanted to learn on the side and on most days, UT tends to be Texas High School in its obsession with NCAA sports. Lately, I think UT has been trying to address its impractically to casual/curious students such as myself by offering more night courses on various subjects in order to overcome the factory moniker my friend Mark gave it once. Still, UT is a great school like my alma mater. You get back what you put into it.
Then a new wrinkle arose. I had to move out of the dorm and find my own apartment. I did receive a raise to compensate yet I would’ve been better off staying in the dorm room. In 1994, eight bucks an hour didn’t go far in Austin (today it’s below the poverty line) and then trying to find a place near the campus added insult to injury; I didn’t own a car and the buses were (still are) weak. My dumb luck pulled through as I scored something for $395 a month at 38th and Guadelupe ($565 in 2008 money, don’t hold your breath on it being lower than $1000 now). I remained at this address for three years, mostly out of avoiding the grief of moving, buying a car and the location turned out to be center of the action in Hyde Park.
So in seven short months, I had soured on Austin and much about it: the job, plans for earning another degree, the people, my friendship with Doc, etc. The frequent gripe/conclusion I had was that this place was just an amusement park for all the rich brats of Houston and Dallas. It’s easy to have such a perception if you don’t venture out the Campus area much. Sonia, Mr. Prevost and Patricia were the bright spots. Sonia seemed to enjoy being my friend but I think she was ignorant of my situation which was a good thing; I wouldn’t blame her for disassociating herself from me because I was on the fast track to loserdom. Mr. Prevost was my great French I teacher and he would be my French II teacher by Labor Day and Sonia would be in the class with me. Lastly, Patricia became a greater presence by August. It was exciting to hand out with a real French person, get the anecdotal viewpoint of the country. We had a mutual cultural exchange. Patricia helped me with my French and I’d do my best on the English side. I think I got the better end of the arrangement with an A in French II and a little incident at a Central Market check out. We were buying some groceries to do one of our picnics on my stoop and communicating in French (probably at grade-school level because I was not very good). The clerk told me the amount, I replied and he said, “Wow! Your English is great!” I laughed and said, “It should, I was born here.” I’ll write more about Patricia another time, she does deserve a better, elaborate post.
Anyway, I digressed…
The Summer of 1994 was ending on a bitter note and transitioning into an uncertain future. I felt like I was spiraling into the same pitfalls which dogged me in 1993 with DG. Doc was trying to help me yet I wasn’t listening because he was starting to piss me off and I think he had to protect himself from any potential fallout. Sometimes, when I reminisce about this time, I get sad but not for long. There were great times mixed in with the negativity and by the following year, it all worked out for the best. Most of all, I adopted the mantra of how life here remained better than what I left behind in Central Illinois as Winter was setting in.