My School Years, the Nuns, the Brothers and Football

Growing up in the 40s and 50s in Quebec City where I was in the 1% English population in a 99% French town, my parents did not have much choice in grade and high schools.

photo: Grade 10, St. Patrick's High School, Quebec City. I am at the left, top row.

St. Stephen Catholic grade school with the nuns, yes, those frustrated bitches who used to scare us with the possibility of going to hell for minor sins or wait a while in purgatory where there was a possibility of reaching heaven one day !  One nun got her kicks in explaining the torture martyrs went though, you could see the goose bumps on her skin when she told us these stories !

The worst was to come !  The Catholic Brothers ! I realize today that these assholes were brothers because they were not smart enough to be priests !  St. Patrick's High School !
If you didn't play football, you were nothing !  And on top of all that, the brothers in their black robes smelled bad odor (BO) .  Ah, was I anxious to drop out of this portion of my life !

Guess what saved me ?  I became a drummer at the age of 17 and starting touring with bands.  What a change !  Even knowing that leaving high school would make my life tough,
I didn't mind, I was free from this nun and brother insane asylum !  LOL !

MY FIRST MUSIC GIG:  THE FLYING CYMBAL


We all remember our first gig. Stories of nerves and mistakes abound. Mine, in particular, was an embarrassment. And therefore I just had to share it with you.

Sitting in the back of my high school class, guitarist/singer Johnny Farago and I decided to put

together an eight-song Elvis Presley set for the upcoming prom dance with just one week of practice. On stage, Johnny, guitar in hand, and me, with my Olympic three-piece drum kit and one cymbal (no hi-hat), were ready to start the first song. As Johnny sings, “you ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog”, I hear my cue and hit my eight-inch cymbal on “hound dog”. As I hit the cymbal it leaves

the stand and, to everyone’s astonishment, goes flying into the audience. Although inexperienced,

Johnny and I knew that the show must go on, so I continued without my cymbal. Then, just before

the second song, a dancer approaches the stage, bent cymbal in hand, and asks “is this yours?”.