Tom Mongan and I were both born and raised in East St. Louis, Illinois.  Even though we were the same age and in the same grade (and from the same neighborhood), we never met until we went off to college.  He went to Assumption High School and I went to East Side High.  Never the twain shall meet.

Anyway, both being from the same town and away from home, we became good friends.  By the second semester, we were sharing a dorm room.  Tom was the smart one.  In English composition class, he wrote a great paper on his/our home town.  For economy of effort, I used his paper in my English composition class.  He got an A and I got a C!  I went to my teacher, Miss Hodges, and told her I really wanted to do better and could she explain to me what was wrong with “my” paper.  I knew the paper deserved better that a C.  She never did explain to me what was wrong with the paper, but she decided that it was easier to give me a B, than to put up with my constant inquiries.

Nutty Tom and I only lasted one semester together.  We got caught spraying shaving soap down the hallway.  I came up with the conclusion that they couldn’t prove it was us.  We were going to stonewall.  Then, one of the monitors produced an envelope addressed to me covered with shaving soap.  I accused Nutty Tom of looking at my mail, but it didn’t work.  Our punishment was to be separated the next year into distant buildings.

The next year, I found myself living way South and a half-mile to the North was Nutty Tom.  Those who controlled the dorm assignments had kept their promise.  That first day, one of the assistant coaches called me in and told me I needed to be assigned to a room designated for athletes.  Guess who ended up being my next door neighbor?  Nutty.

We were both conscientious students.  We just had strange work habits.  We generally didn’t do any homework until after 11 o’clock at night.  Then, we would work until we got done (usually 1:30 to 2:00 AM).  Nutty’s roommate, Luke, would go to bed at a reasonable hour and sleep through our antics.  Some time after 1:00 AM, we would find everything we said was funny.  It was a riot.  We called it “giddy hour.”  One of our favorite games was feeding Luke.  We would slip over and put a cookie on his chest.  Luke would find it and eat it without ever waking up.  This was great sport.  The only time I remember Luke waking up was when some of our group (including Mike “the animal” Magac) misappropriated a cooked turkey from a frat house and we put a drumstick on Luke’s chest.

Just to let you know, Luke did not choke to death.  Lowell Lukas ended up with his Masters in Physical Education and became a very successful golf coach at Central Connecticut State University.  In fact, Luke was elected to the Golf Coaches Association of America’s Hall of Fame.  In his acceptance speech, neither Nutty nor I received any credit for nourishing him during his formative years.  Come to think of it, I guess he never knew.

One late night, when Nutty and I were cutting across campus, a campus security guard tried to stop us to see our IDs.  I just kept walking.  We had done nothing wrong and I was sure he had no authority.  I told Nutty Tom to keep walking, but he stopped.  He took out his wallet and showed the guard a one dollar bill and said, “I’m George Washington.”

Carole, my future wife, didn’t want me hanging around with Nutty Tom.  And, Gay, a sweet Suzie Stephens, who became Nutty’s wife didn’t want him hanging out with me.  That was because when anything went wrong, we were always together and each told our future bride that it was the other one’s idea.  Everyone called me PJ and I was smug in my knowledge that PJ didn’t sound as guilty as Nutty Tom.

Well, that was a long time ago and our wives now are willing to let us get together.  In fact, they join us.  Nutty Tom became a banker in Houston specializing in trusts, investments and financial services.  I guess his title at “Nutty Tom” had to disappear after he left school.

He has a website entitled Securityimpressions.com which is quite impressive.  If you want to know financially what is going on, what went wrong and what to do about it, check out Nutty Tom’s blog site.  There is nothing on the blog site which would make you think he was once known at “Nutty Tom,” or “Nutty” for short.

I was some kid when I was growing up.  I had a lot of things figured out.  For example, in the 7th grade, I wrote a history paper explaining that when the Republicans were in power, we had depressions and financial crises.  When the Democrats were in power we would end up in a war.  I concluded by explaining that it was up to the American people to decide whether they wanted war or depression.  I was amazed by the fact that I was the first person to figure that out.  I was really annoyed when I got a C- on my paper.  So much for originality of thought!

Another thing I figured out was if you approached every game like it’s a “life or death struggle,” you lose less often.  And, I did lose less often.  I was a really bad loser and, come to think of it, a really bad winner.  Kids didn’t like me, but, hey, in a life or death struggle, where does friendship come in?

My Dad was an excellent checker player.  I wasn’t happy when he beat me, but I had removed checkers (with him) from a life or death struggle.  When I was ten, we went on a vacation in the Ozarks and I played checkers with my Uncle Bob.  I could tell from his moves that he was no match for me.  I jumped one of his checkers and the next thing I knew, he made a triple jump into my king row.  The checkers were made of Bakelite, an early plastic, and before I realized what I was doing, I crushed four of the checkers in my hand.  I wanted to play him again, but he refused to play with broken checkers.

Not much changed through high school.  I think I seemed like a normal kid until I got on an athletic field and then the adrenaline and the old philosophy took over.  When I reflect back, I’m surprised someone didn’t throw a net over me.  Then again, there was reinforcement for my philosophy.  We never lost a football game the entire time I was in high school.

Football is a sport that requires its players to be emotionally “up” for the game.  Senator John Culver, one of my partners at Arent Fox and a friend, was a star fullback at Harvard College.  He told me one day while we were on the topic, “Jack, it’s not the kind of sport where you get up in the morning and while putting on your socks, say to yourself, ‘Well, I guess I’ll go out there today and throw my body into people with the distinct possibility that either they or I will be injured.’ ”  I guess I never figured out how to get “up” for a game without being in a frenzy.

East St. Louis Senior High School played teams from as far away as Chicago and Indianapolis just to fill out our schedule.  In October, 1954, we traveled to Warren Central High School in Indianapolis.  I was the second string quarterback.  My parents went to the game.  They watched our game on Friday night and then drove up to Purdue to see my brother Bill play for the Missouri Tigers on Saturday.  We beat Warren Central 19-0 and I got to play in the 4th quarter.  I threw a long pass to one of our ends.  He was ten yards behind everyone and I hit him right in the hands.  He dropped the ball.  I went crazy.  I was storming on the field.  I was storming on the sideline.  How could he do that to me when I threw such a perfect pass?

On Sunday, my Dad sat me down and told me that Bill had not gotten into the game against Purdue.  But, he was much prouder of Bill than he was of me.  He read me the riot act regarding my antics on the field (and on the sideline).  And so the process began.  I began to realize that I had to be accountable for my actions.  At a minimum, that meant not showing up my team mates.

My rehab has never been completely successful.  But I do have an additional philosophy that I live by and recommend to you.  It is, “If what has you upset won’t be bothering you in three days, then it’s not worth getting upset over.”  If you break a plate – clean it up – move on.  Even if you have a fender bender – get over it.

This won’t come as a shock.  Even though I have been playing many sports for many years, I have never received a Sportsmanship award (never even been nominated).  But then, any committee who knew me, might think I would find the nomination insulting.