want to begin by thanking everyone that read this, I hope it was at least entertaining. I wrote in the introduction that this was a work, partly truth, partly fiction. The only fiction was the name, Ray Cusumano. This has been my confession of sorts. Nobody has heard any of this before, not even my children and I didn't want to die without anyone knowing my story. My youngest daughter contacted me in 2016 and came to spend my birthday with me. I wanted to tell her then, but she had her husband and another guy with her, along with my granddaughter, Sabina. We never had any time alone, so I didn't get the chance. I had originally intended to talk about some other things that I decided to omit because they might lead to my incarceration or death, or both.
When I was young there was a stigma to being an orphan. Children with no parents were bastards and I never wanted my kids to know I was a bastard, so I made up a family. One of the hardest thing I ever did was to put on my student loan application that I was an orphan. All of my life I've been a throw away person- a ghost. Now I'm old and don't have that much time left and I will die as I lived, anonymously. The brainwashing my ex-wife did on my children seems to be stronger than blood. We all end up the same, either a pile of ashes or food for insects, so it doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. I do want to recognize some of the people that have made a difference in my life.
My Uncle Arthur, who rescued me. He taught me so much that I was able to use in life. He was a different sort of guy- closed and didn't talk about things like family. He, like me, was an outcast. He lived with his own ghosts from WWII which made it almost impossible to get close to him... but he treated me well and I thank him- God only knows what would have happened to me if it hadn't been for his dogged determination to find me. I think he peobebly knew more about what had happened than he said- but he didn't volunteer any information and I didn't press it. He wasn't someone you pushed for information. Ultimately, it doesn't matter, I still owe him my life.
Then there were Sonny and his wife Patty. They were like surrogate parents. Sonny, even though he was a gangster, taught me to be a good man, a man of honor. Always to keep my word and never turn my back on a friend. I never have. I've tried to lead my life as honorably as I can. It's funny, ironic I guess, to learn about things like honor and integrity from someone who spent their life outside the law. There were a few other men and women in my life that have helped me to become what I am... Some, are just people who stick in my head for one reason or another- just interesting people I guess. A lot were women...
I didn't want this to become a fuckalogue, bragging about the women I've been with. But a few have made a big difference. Janine Logan: When I came back from Vietnam, I had malaria and was pretty sick, I just didn't know it yet... I was on my feet, but they insisted that after so much time in the bush I get checked out at the hospital before returning home. I actually felt fine, good enough to beat up some hippies at the airport, but Malaria is tricky- it can hit you like a ton of bricks out of nowhere. I spent a couple of months in the hospital in San Diego where Janine was a nurse. We spent some time together and I contacted her when I went back to California. We had a son she named Nicholas. She had married and I never got to see him, but I hope they are both well.
Beautiful Roz: A little while after I had come back from California in early 1968, all the hippies in Boston hung out on Boston Commons. I met Roz when she was on lunch break from working for her dad as a secretary. She was only 16 or 17 and she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her dad was some rich lawyer and they were part of the Beacon Hill aristocracy. She was so incredibly beautiful, her nickname was "Beautiful Roz," I didn't make it up- it's what everybody called her. We hooked up and started going together. Everything about her was perfect, even her toes. I owe her, she motivated me to make something out of myself. I don't know if it was to impress her or what, but not long after, I became the acid king. I also motivated her father to send her away to school in Switzerland to get her away from me. and I never saw her again.
Janet King: I think I already talked about Jan, we had a son together that we named Tyrone after Tyrone Power, the actor. She disappeared with him when he was around three and I never found him. She did a lot of meth and I would imagine she's probably dead now. I hope my son is well and doing good.
Cindy: Cindy lived with me during some of my worst drinking. It was also through some of my worst dreams... I'd wake up after soaking the bed with sweat so bad, we'd both have to towel off. I have to give her credit- she stuck it out. I found that if I drank a fifth of whiskey, I passed out and the dreams stayed away... not a very good way to live. She wanted to be a model and I told her that although she was very pretty, she wasn't model pretty. I'll be damned if she didn't prove me wrong. I had paid a photographer friend to do a portfolio for her, more to humor her than anything else. Cindy was the person that made me realize I was an alcoholic. After she left me, I picked up a copy of some catalogue and there she was. She may not have made it into Vogue, but she did realize her dream. I give her credit for that.
My Beacon Hill neighbor: It was during my heroin days- I was living in a 3rd floor apartment on Joy St. on the backside of Beacon Hill. My neighbor downstairs on the 2nd floor was a German lady who was really nice to me... I think she was lonely, I never saw her outside of her apartment. I'd be going upstairs to my apartment and she would open her door: "Reechert," she would say, "you don look sho gut. Kommen." And she would make me this sort of soup- a really hearty beef broth with pieces of bread crust and egg whites... I'll tell ya, that stuff would bring back the dead! Then we would talk. She was something like one of Hitler's Handmaidens or something like that- I can't remember the exact name. They were young women chosen for their beauty to entertain the Nazi big shots... she had photos of her with Goebbels, Goering, Speer, you name it. And she was really beautiful when she was young. She told me that they got to live in a mansion and she could send money to her family- that they treated her really well. She also told me that people didn't know what was really going on- the Nazis controlled the radio stations, the movies, newspapers, all they ever heard was the positive. She also told me about Germany before Hitler... she said they were really poor- that when she was around 7-8 her mother would take her and her brother to abandoned buildings to peel wallpaper off the walls. Then they would take it all home and boil the glue off of it and cook it down like a porridge because it had protein. When Hitler came to power, everybody got to eat again. It's hard to judge someone like that.
I flew out to California to visit friends in 1970, I think it was. I went to San Francisco and visited friends there, then went up to Santa Rosa to see my old buddy Tom. Tom was living with a girl, I think her name was Meredith, her dad was the guy that did the Charlie Brown cartoons. There was this kid living with them, I guess he was around 19. He kind of attached himself to me. He wanted to go to Boston so I told him he could come back with me. I turned my plane ticket in and I had some cash and I bought a 1960 Impala and we were going to drive back. This guy started acting just like me, walking like me, talking like me and at first it was kind of flattering. After a week, it was getting on my nerves. By the time we hit Denver, I wanted to kill this motherfucker. I sent him into a store to get something and took off and left him there. You might think I was a prick for doing that, but at least I didn't kill him. I picked up a guy named Ron hitchhiking and headed for Boston.
We got to some little town in Iowa and the transmission went in the Impala. We were stuck, so we went to a campground to spend the night and figure out what to do. We noticed all this pot growing in the cornfields...a shitload of it. So, we picked 15-20 lbs and hitched a ride back to Nebraska, Lincoln I think and shipped it via Greyhound to Ann Arbor, Michigan because I heard there were a lot of hippies there. We took off hitchhiking to Ann Arbor. In Indiana we got picked up by some guys from Ann Arbor looking for wild pot in Indiana. They gave us a ride to Ann Arbor and put us up for the night. They were really cool guys, they ordered pizza and we partied. I told them I had pot coming, but I don't think they believed me. The next morning Ron and I went to Greyhound and got my box. I had written "Books" all over the box so they would think I was a student sending his books to school. We went back into the apartment and dumped 15 lbs of weed on the floor. For the next two months we drove to Iowa picking this weed about 150 lbs a trip and sold it. This stuff was total crap, it was hemp and wouldn't get you high no matter how much you smoked. We sold it for $100 a lb and we couldn't get it fast enough! Unbelievable. When it snowed, Ron went back to Denver and I flew to Boston.
Another thing I forgot to mention happened in around 2006. I was in my office at the cemetery when a Vietnamese guy came in. There was a man named Khoung Le buried right behind the office and he had a photo on his stone. The photos are in plastic or ceramic and his (plastic) had faded. He wanted a new one for his friend. We got to talking about Vietnam and it was my old friend and partner in crime, Hue Pham. He has emigrated after the fall of Saigon. He told me he had become a Colonel and had been put in charge of a helicopter squadron somewhere up by the Ia Drang, around Pleime or Pleiku. When he was with me, he was a Captain. He told me that even with the new relationship we have with Vietnam, if he went back, they would kill him. We rekindled our friendship and used to visit often. He died in 2009, I still go by his grave sometimes.
Someone else I want to mention is Fr. John... I've described myself as a pre-Nicean Catholic- I believe in the teachings of the Church Fathers before it became an institution and removed important books from the Bible. If I had to summarize Jesus' message it would be- decentralize, help one another, the Kingdom of God is within you, not in a church. God speaks through individuals, not institutions and Father John... Msgr. John O'Donnell is definitely one of those people. As it was with my AA sponsor, Jim, I could hear the voice of God in Fr. John. It's kind of funny how I came to meet him...
One of the cemeteries I managed was Catholic- Holy Cross. I would have to go to churches to transfer ownership when a parishoner doed and left spaces to a church, that's how I met Fr. John. I gave him my card and he said with a name like Quitliano, I must be Catholic. I told him yes but I've been away from the Church for quite some time. He asked me why and I told him I had issues. "Such as?" he asked.
"Well,"I said. "the Inquisition, for one."
"Jesus," he exclaimed, "You hold a grudge for a long time."
Then I brought up the pedophile preists.
"It's those Novus Ordo bastards- damned modernists," he said shaking his head. He went on to explain how they were doing it on purpose to bring down the Church. The more I talked to him, the more I liked him- he was open, honest and forthcoming... I could really feel God in this man. I started going to church just to listen to him... when's the last time you heard a sermon about Karl Jung??? It was more like going to a really interesting lecture than church. He retired a few years later, he's around 95 now and still filling in whenever he's needed. He also marched with Martin Luther King in Selma back in the 60's during what he called "his rebellious years." I only wish that I could be as good a servant of God as he is.
Now I'm old. In 2014 I got really sick and started throwing up buckets of blood. I had a perforation in my stomach and they cauterized it. It didn't take, so they did it again. In October of that year I had a heart attack. I lost my home and was going to end it. But, I had a problem, my dog Bruno would need a home. I called my former boss, Lindy and he told me that he was coming to get us both. Lindy has some medical problems so now I keep the house and do repairs and look after him. In addition to my back being shot, my hips, shoulders, elbows and knees are shot as well. I have RA in my hands and feet now- it takes me about 2 hours to type a post (mostly correcting typos). I can't move without narcotics... I take enough pain pills every day to keep Manhattan in a coma. I barely sleep, I live with ghosts... ghosts, dreams and night terrors. I don't expect anybody to understand this- I sincerely hope you don't have to- but I try not to sleep. I go to bed when it's still light out, then when I wake up soaked with sweat, I get up- usually at 1 or 2 am. Basically, I'm homeless, like I've been all my life- I have nothing except Bruno. I learned one thing when I had my brain tumor- you can't cheat death without paying a heavy price...it was what they call a pyrrhic victory. I should have just died in 2009 with a little dignity...if you call drooling and falling down dignified. I've tried to live my life with honor. I've tried to be a good man. I may not have accomplished much, but I'm not ashamed of anything I've done.
My kids don't talk to me now. They haven't had much to do with me since I ran out of money. I thank everyone that's read this. There's probably not much here that's useful, but I hope that it's at least been a little entertaining. Thanks again for listening.
Finis
(Thanks to 
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography- Chap I
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography Chap. II
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography Chap. III
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography Chap. IV
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography Chap. V
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography- Chap. VI
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography Chap. VII
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography- Chap. VIII
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography- Chap. IX
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography Chap. X
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography Chap.- XI
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography Chap.- XII
Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography Chap.- XIII
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