June 3, 1962

Tony is in the middle of his fifteenth year.  He lives in a clean comfortable fifteen room house on Quorn Hunt Road in West Simsbury, Connecticut with his three sisters, two brothers and  two loving parents, Ted and Lucille.

Early June mornings in the wooded hills of northwestern Connecticut  are sharp and cool.  Afternoons are sweet and warm.  Dusk comes early on the shadow side of “The Mountain”  a small rocky mountain with  a high boggy hollow and ledges that require four legged climbing and shelter the occasional sunning Timber Rattler or Copperhead.  The woods flow unbroken from the base of the mountain   to the edge of the Connor backyard. 

As a younger boy, Tony spent hundreds of hours in these woods, mostly alone, mostly climbing and running.  He is still at home in a treetop and lopes among the trees as tireless and sure footed as a coyote.  He still chases other animals but never catches them.  Never would he kill one, for he is well fed from factory farms all over America.  It’s just an endless instinctual game of chase.

One year in the late 1950s, he climbed “The Mountain” just west of his house every single day of the summer rain or shine.  That is except for the three weeks the family was at “The Cape.” 

Closer in maturity to age  nine than to seventeen, this is still how he spends his guilt-free days, running the woods, playing baseball in summer, football in fall,  basketball in winter,  catching frogs in “The Creek” in spring. 

And reading everything he lays his hands on—cereal boxes at the breakfast table, magazines lying around the public areas of the house, piles of books forgettable and unforgettable borrowed weekly from the Simsbury Free Library.  The reading will light his path from woodland creature to Man of the Universe.

The personal computer is decades in the future.  Even color TV has not yet come to this house.  There is a black and white set in the den, along with a closet full of  board games.  And a ping pong table and boxing gloves in the basement rec room.  And five siblings to play with and fight with.

Mostly though he reads.  And goes to school.  He is a sophomore honor student at Henry James Memorial High School.

Which is the most common subject matter of the JOURNAL he has been faithfully writing now since March 13, 1962.

Here is what he writes this June, 1962:

 Sunday,  June 3, 1962

Last night was cold.

Waked at 5:30 am by low flying plane passing over the neighborhood spraying insecticide. 

Bright sun out but fell back to sleep til 9:15am.

Remembered dream-- Barbara Jo Lewis was a white kitten.

Went to church.

Read til 1pm.

Jayvee baseball game against Canton.  Won 4-3 behind good pitching from Bob Blanthin and Steve Lemiska.  I played RF and went 1 for 2 with 2 walks.  Scored twice and stole 5 bases. 

Long bath after.

Cookout.

Watched a documentary about D-DAY on TWENTIETH CENTURY.