Zenias by M DeMarlo

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Zinnias
By M DeMarlo

I was defiantly a handful during my teen years. I turned 16 in 1972, had long shoulder-length hair that I was always defending as to not end up in a barbershop. My parents were all about appearance, and what impression our family projected to our neighbors, their peers. To them, a good decent son has a short haircut and does not put up a fuss every time he is told to get his hair cut. Living in a middle, upper-middle-class suburb of a major city, our immediate neighbors were conservative republicans, as were my parents. I'm saying the way they thought politically because it helps give an idea of how conservative and right-wing they were. Our family was also stereotyped as being Italian Americans and Catholics. Law-abiding honest to the point that even using bad language, cussing would get a kid grounded. A big stereotype is people think all Italian Americans have mob connections. I think for that to be true a person would have to be 100% Italian. My mother’s grandparents were from Copenhagen Denmark. Which makes my sibling and myself ½ Danish & ½ Italian. Never any stereotyping for anything badass like hey, that family has Viking in the ancestry. Just mob connections and that my sister and I are spoiled Genies, never spoiled Danes. As the years have gone by many of our do no wrong neighbors turned out to be hypocrites anyway.

In our neighborhood, there were 5 or six guys my age that were competing growing their hair long. In 1972 long hair on teenage boys was frowned upon by most parents. The other side of that coin is most teenage boys wanted long hair. In our neighborhood, only a few boys ever really made it to wear their hair shoulder length. After months of slight trims, the hair would grow long enough to cover the ears. Getting past the Bozo flip, that’s when the hair covering the ears flips up probably because it was growing out from a taper. This is when you first notice whether your hair is straight, wavy or curly, thick, or thin. A dangerous time, parents hate the Bozo stage and want that Bozo flips on the barbershop floor.

Most guys would get sent to the barber during that flip stage. Always at the barbershop that is only a block away. Mayfair Barbershop, an older barber that has a fondness giving a long-haired want-to-be a military haircut, a Princeton was always the haircut he gave me and a very short Princeton. That kid would be the talk of the town.

To even consider yourself in competition it had to be past the Bozo stage covering the ears, or at least to the earlobe. Because it had to cover your ears completely to count, that’s when you’re considered "a long hair", and if you did not hold a part-time job after school, you were not only a long hair but also a bum. After all who is going to hire a bum with long hair? For a kid's hair to reach the shoulders, was coveted by all the boys around our neighborhood. However, that crown position was never held by any one person, not for long.
The boys in and around the neighborhood were very two-faced, they live for the day your hair ends up on the barbershop floor. And it always ends up in a pile, mixed with others. Word travels fast unless you’re long hair is cut by some out-of-town barber, and you wear a bag over your head somebody is going to see you getting your hair cut, or the damage after. The gossip is always not to your benefit. Witnesses will swear on a stack of Bibles that you cried like a baby. Then you have to kick their ass, that’s just the way it is. Because the only thing worse than having to endure a spontaneous haircut is being a crybaby about it.
From age 15 to 18 there is so much peer pressure sometimes it doesn’t seem worth the hassle. But then to have your mane grow and reach shoulder length is way too cool. Then without warning, the kid with his hair nearing shoulder length would show up at school one day clean-cut with a short haircut. I was aware of this, and have suffered through the humiliation of that type of transformation more than once. I was positive those long to short transformation haircuts were finally over for me.

I had worn my parents out fighting with them to get my hair where it is today. It had not come easy; I had to fight tooth and nail. My dad had finally given up, no more barbershop haircuts; he threw in the towel so to speak. He was sick of it, in disbelief I was all smiles, I finally won. I was cool, popular, and quick to crack short hair lawnmower jokes and anti-short hair comments when one of the other long-haired guys had to get a crew-cut. His name is David, and I snickered telling him "wow Dave, you f***ed up with that haircut, geeze". Dude, why so short? Rubbing my open hand up the back of his close-clipped head, feeling like the sandpaper I made a whistling sound. "Oh man, that will be a long time before you can even comb it" Then laughing at how short his hair is.
As if he had asked for a crew-cut. I knew the short haircut was forced upon him, and I was relentless. David was getting what he just deserved, I had not forgotten a year or so earlier he was teasing me. My hair just about covered my ears, it was in the Bozo stage and my dad took me without any warning to a barbershop where I was given a very short Princeton at Mayfair Barbershop, it was brutally short. One of those haircuts that all the parents would constantly make comments about is how nice and clean-cut it looks. For a long time, there is only one way to comb and wear a haircut like that, the way the barber intended it to be worn.
So, I gave David a nickname calling him Davy Crew-cut or crew-cut Dave. The name stuck, and Dave was pissed off. He was so mad about that nickname he picked a fight with me, which was broken up by a few teachers.
Turns out a few days before Dave got his hair cut he had gotten busted with some pot. The way the story goes no charges were filed against him. However, the police told his parents that David would have to get his hair cut. Because Dave is a minor the police asked David’s parents’ permission to take him to a barbershop, permission was granted. When the police dropped David back at his parents’ house David had a tight crew-cut. I had no idea the police, juvenile authorities escorted Dave to the barber and supervised his haircut. Oh well, better him than me. Remembering several haircut transformations I have personally had to suffer, well, I am glad that has ended for me. I felt kind of sorry for a crew cut Dave and apologized to him for clowning him so relentlessly.

David was bitter, to say the least, and did not accept my apology. Instead, while walking away he said "you will get yours, just you wait". I laughed it off and continued calling him Davy Crew-cut. The officer that took him for his haircut had told Dave that the haircut is not a one-time thing. The officer being true to his word took Davy Crewcut for another haircut the following week. It was about every two weeks a uniformed police officer would pick Dave up at his parents’ house. Dave and his family lived on the same street as my parent’s home. Dave Price and their family are five houses down and on the other side of the street.

While shoveling snow out of our driveway so my dad would be able to get his car in the garage without any problems. Our driveway is on a small hill and if the new snow or ice is not cleared away it's easy to slide backwards down onto Debonair Avenue, and possibly some traffic. Standing at the top of our driveway I had a bird’s eye view of David’s coming and going that day.

I observed "Officer Clip and Cry" whose police vehicle was in the Prices driveway around 8:30 to 9:00 AM whose real name was Officer Monroe. He picked Dave up, they drove off. Dave was either a snitch or he was getting another haircut or both. Now it’s later in the day, the haircut police bring Davy Crewcut home with a haircut and a half. David had a fresh haircut; they had just left the barbershop. I got a bird’s eye view and this time David’s haircut was military, waxed, and flat on the top. The sides and back were clipped tight to the skin. I thought to myself, holy s**t that cop doesn’t play around. I watched as David and the police officer were talking. The cop turned around and looked at me, and waved. Dave went into their house and the cop backed out of the driveway. My parent’s house is five doors down and across the street. I was shoveling snow close to the street as the cop was passing. He slowed down, bent his head down a little to get a good look at me, smiled, and waved again. I sort of nervously waved back and continued to shovel the snow.


I was wondering what Dave had said to this cop. I decided not to make a big deal over it. I figured Dave and me, our feud was over and we were buddies again. He and I were ok now; we had smoked a joint together just yesterday. We were buddies again, this is when I found out his haircut was dictated by the officer handling his case and would continue for the foreseeable future. He has no say-so to stop it until he turns 18. His parents signed a consent form giving permission. I understood now why Dave was so angry and wanted to fight me. I felt bad for Dave. He hadn’t asked for any of this, and he was thrown in the spotlight. A haircut celebrity created through gossip. Everybody is constantly looking at his short haircut. Mr. Plant got out his Polaroid and even snapped a few pictures without asking Dave if it were OK. What a dick.

Dave and I got stoned together yesterday, and he finally laughed about being crewcut Dave with the haircut that beats all haircuts, it's epic. Better him than me. I noticed he uses that pink wax to make it stand up off his forehead. Dave looks quite handsome with his hair cut so short.

During the winter months, I have been growing pot plants in my bedroom closet.
Crewcut Dave was in on this little project. He and I together germinated the seeds and used David’s sister's sun lamp, along with my sister's facial steam vaporizer, making the closet nice and sunny, hot and humid. My mom asked me "what have you got growing in your closet"? I told her they were zinnias, a school project having to do with horticulture. In the spring they will need a sunny spot behind the garage, or maybe between the garage and our next-door neighbor’s fence. There is about 10’ of space stretching the length of the garage, and it gets the west afternoon /evening sun when it is the hottest time of day.
My mom was overjoyed that I was applying myself to my school work. She and my dad would stress to me that these last three, actually four years of high school matter most. That my SAT scores will determine the college I can get into. The bad news is I had been cutting class first hour and homeroom. The first hour was Physical Education, it was winter and I did not want to get my hair wet in the shower. Unable to intercept the mail, the school sent my attendance record in an envelope that said "URGENT" on the front. My dad could not figure out why I was failing Physical Education? Then it dawned upon him "you’re not showing up for class is the only reason for a kid as healthy as you to be failing PE". Needless to say, I was grounded for two months, or until I brought my grade D to at least a B. My mom "he just needs to get his butt out of bed in the morning" Never fails, one can always count on mom to throw me under the bus while I'm getting grounded, extending the grounding, upping my chores. If there is one thing my dad hates more than anything is laziness. She knew he would react to me laying in bed and ignoring my mom-alarm as if she had a snooze button. And dad is right, there is no reason I should be laying in bed at 9:30 AM.
Thinking to myself, he (my dad) is going to add in his lecture how hard he had it as a kid. My smart mouth had to go and patronize him. "yea dad, you had to get up at 5:00 AM to walk up a windy hill backward in the freezing rain without any shoes during the coldest months of Chicago. He said they used to call the freezing wind The Hawk. With such little food, you volunteered to boil your shoes for a shoe broth, because it was the depression and you lived on Taylor Street. Nothing but poor immigrants, a Taylor street Dago you had to work before you went to school, and you had no friends, "non amice". Walking up that frozen hill backward in a blizzard with no shoes while the hawk ripped into your skin. Talk about a poor choice of words, I was originally only grounded for a week. My choice of words got a slap-up the side of my head and instead of a week, two months.
When my dad smacked me up the side of my head my hat flew off and my raven mane, dark and shiny was exposed in its entirety. barbone dai capelli lunghi, tagliati i capelli, barbone" (My dad calling me a long-haired bum, and to get a haircut". This got my attention, and I started to prove what a spoiled kid I truly was. "No way, its not going to happen. I will fight you tooth and nail" My mom, again throwing some current event in the family had nothing to do with what has become a power struggle. "You get your father upset and he can’t digest a decent meal" Yea right Ma, you don’t nag, it's Mama who nags (Mama is my dad's mother) Nothing more was said, and I went upstairs to my room. Glad that dad has indigestion.

With the weather warming, I used a spade shovel and turned up the earth alongside the garage. My mom, when she is not in protection mode taking my dad, or my sister’s side of an argument, and throws me under the bus. she is sweet as she can be. She helped me transplant my "zinnia’s", she truly has a green thumb. Whatever she plants, it grows. I had my work cut out for me, I also had to turn up the ground for my mom’s vegetable garden. Also after doing the weekly chore of picking up dog poop in our back yard and adding it to the garden as fertilizer. This was the big secret how my mom grew such big beautiful tomatoes, green beans, bell pepper, radishes, onions, and not known to her but some killer pot.

Summer was hot that year, my pot plants were around 6’tall bushed out and flowering buds. This was toward the end of August. I dragged the garden hose to the side of the garage to water the plants and to my horror, my pot plants were gone, just lose dirt. I couldn’t find my mom; she and my dad weren’t home. I had bragged too much letting too many people know how big and healthy my plants are. I was deep in thought as to who stole the plants and plotting my revenge.

My parents pulled up in the driveway, good, they were home. Maybe one of them knew who the thief was. When they came into the house I asked my mom if she had any idea who pulled up my zinnias and stole them. She and my dad both turned around and she said "Zinnia’s my ass", you were growing cannabis, and I was in big trouble. "Your father and I pulled up your drug plants and took them to the police department." Then my dad added "the authorities want to talk to you about this. They are waiting for us to bring you back to the police station. We have had it with you young man, this is the last straw. Get yourself cleaned up, put on a clean shirt. Don’t give me any lip my dad said or I will knock you into next week".

While driving to the police station my mom told me that there is a chance they won’t formally charge me. This being your first time in trouble" My dad added, "it all depends on your attitude and of course what the total weight of marijuana that you possess".

There he was waiting for us, the same cop that was with Dave, the one that took him to the barbershop. He shook hands with my dad and pulled a chair out for my mom to sit. Extended his right hand in a friendly gesture to me to shake my hand and said his name was Mike Monroe. I didn’t respond and shake his hand.

"I am a police officer, and a probation officer, show respect! So I shook his hand, his grip was real tight, squished my hand. Finally, we meet he says. Your friend David Price told us all about you and the marijuana plants, this was last winter" Opening a folder with my name on it he produced pictures that were taken of my mom and me transplanting the pot plants alongside the garage. Several pictures show the growth of the plants with me maintaining and showing the cannabis to several different people. One picture was of Dave and I smoking a joint alongside the garage where we thought nobody could see. I was screwed.

"We are not charging your mother as she was manipulated unknowingly to commit a crime, believing it was flowers that would be growing." Tist tist tist, the officer said "shame on you dragging your mother into something like this. Just to let you know: Had we charged your mother with growing marijuana and convicted her, possibly could have ended with your family losing their home." "Oh my" my mom squeaked (clutching her imaginary pearls), and my dad slapped me in the back of my head saying "tu criminal". "What he needs is a haircut" my father barked. Officer Monroe "Relax, your wife will not be charged." Looking at me the officer added "you most defiantly will be getting your haircut today" My dad added "see to it he gets a short haircut," The officer told my parents "I'm sure you both will welcome the changes that will be taking place with your son" The judge will rule on this case today, juvenile court is expecting us in about ten minutes.
"You, however," talking to me "will be charged for the felony possession of marijuana plants. Your first offense is automatic probation". The judge was waiting for us in his office. After a long lecture, he ruled probation, five year probation. Probation officer Mike Monroe signed some papers as did my parents. The judge looked at me and sternly said to Officer Monroe. "there are special circumstances added as part of this boys probation which will be a haircut and decent attire" Handing my dad another document to sign the judge added "We just need the parent's written permission, sign here please" "He can get a haircut with us or in Juvenile Hall, either way, the boy gets a haircut." My dad signed, and so did my mom. I was holding back tears, but I knew I had to handle this and not be a crybaby. The humiliation is going to be on a different level as it is. I can’t be a crybaby too, so I held it all in silence.

My parents were told I would be home in time for dinner, not to worry. "He will be escorted by me to a barbershop we like to use. After the haircut, there are rules I will be going over with him. When I bring him home you will see some changes, the beginning of a respectable son. So far I have a 100% success rate in changing the path boys like your son is taking. It sounds minimal, but the haircut plays a big part and will meet the standards I set". My parents left and it was just Officer Mike Monroe and me.

Monroe is about 33 years old, his uniform is crisp, complete with a necktie, his boots are shiny and he smelled like old spice aftershave. Clean-shaven face, with a short military haircut that is freshly cut, neatly groomed parted on the side and up off his forehead. He stared at me for a bit and told me to sit up straight. The officer stood over me and said "don’t even think about any kind of regression toward your neighbor David Price, in doing so will be a violation of your probation. Zero tolerance involves the slightest act of revenge. Do you understand, or do you want me to repeat that?"

Reaching into a drawer officer Monroe pulled out a box that was a complete haircut kit. Several electric hair clippers, several detachable blades, and plastic guards, a pair of barbers shears, a wide flat comb, a long thin barbers comb, and pinstriped cape, krew comb hair groom, and a jar of pink butchwax. I said to him "I thought you were going to take me to a barbershop". He answered saying "I will be your barber, I will be giving you your haircuts, and you’re in my barbershop". Rule #1 you are to keep quiet during your haircut. You are not to say anything unless I ask you a question. Rule #2 when you do speak to me address me as Sir, yes Sir, and no Sir. Rule #3 never, ever question me. You are to follow my rules and do as I say without question. These rules will be enforced with physical discipline that is very effective at making you cry like a baby. Usually, it takes just one time being disciplined creating a good deterrent." Today you get an induction boot camp buzzed haircut; I want it all off." Oh man, why so short, please don’t" I was told "your breaking rule #3, don’t question me" Plugging in an Oster 10 clipper and choosing a #2 detachable blade, he oiled the clipper turning it off and on, then off. Before we get started drop down and give me 50 push-ups, or as many as you can. If you can give me 50, I will spare you the induction cut. Anything below 50 and it all comes off, to the skin. "your kidding," I said "Really, you got to be joking" unpleased with that response officer Monroe said "already questioning me, HELL NO IM NOT KIDDING! GET DOWN AND GIVE ME 50, AND I won't SAY IT AGAIN" I dropped down and started doing push-ups as he counted. I made it to 46, hard pushed to 47, but could not go any farther than barley making 48. "Come on boy, you got just two to go." I got 49, and with every last bit of strength 50, and collapsed onto the floor. To my surprise he said "not bad, your first go at it. A week from today you better be able to give me 70. Consequences for failing will be a boot camp haircut." I was told to sit down as he shook out the pin-striped cape, fastening it tightly around my neck. He did not waste time and was snipping long clumps of my hair. Crunch, crunch the sound when a considerable amount of hair is being sheared off. In no time my hair was all over me and the floor, snip snip snip around my ears. Then click and a whirling sound of rotary clippers, he had a 1 ½ blade on an Oster 10 hair clipper. With a drop or two of oil, the whirling sound changed pitch. Then at my right sideburn, he plowed up and close pressed to my skin. The hair fell away as he plowed up again continuing around my head. From my nape to crown the clipper peeled off dark raven hair leaving white skin showing boldly through the remaining dark stubble. The rotary pitch changed for a moment as he changed to a #1 blade. Repeating, going over where he had just cut only clipping it closer but not quite as high. Using clipper over comb the hair on the top was reduced. He was holding the comb horizontal and clipping the hair down quite short. Ended up with an extremely short flattop, with a landing strip that is clipped close to the skin. He rubbed some butchwax into the very front and cut it precision, flattened under an inch. I had thought these transformation haircuts were over for me, was I wrong. This it turns out has to be the biggest transformation of all

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Instead of just dropping me off at home he parked his car and came in with me, acting as if he and I were best of buddies. As if the ultra-short crew cut flattop haircut was my idea and not his... He lied telling my parents I had requested such a short haircut. Showing real progress already is how he described the event. I was about to call him a liar to his face but figured that might not be in my best interest.

My mom asked the officer if he had any dinner, so of course, he was invited to join us. I glared at him as if looks could kill. Excusing myself to the bathroom I was quietly singing but loud enough for Officer Monroe to hear me "you’ll be lying on the floor, begging me please, please, please, don’t hurt me know more if looks could kill you’ll be lying on the floor" all the time giving him the look of complete hate and disgust. He said to me "excuse me, what did you just say to me" and I coward out replying "Nothing Sir, just a song in my head nothing to do with you" I had chickened out, I should have gone on and ranted on what an ass he is. Returning from the bathroom to the dinner table he had to make my short haircut the topic of discussion. Saying to my parents he thinks it would be best to keep me with a short haircut the way it is, people will notice the change, and how important that is. My parents liked this guy more and more. I wanted to throw my glass of milk in his face. Told me he wanted to see me in his office the next day to go over a new dress code he will enforce as part of my probation. Oh no, this was the last straw. He can’t possibly be able to dictate what clothes I wear also. He can, as a special circumstance of my probation. I asked if the same was for David Price. After all, it was he that came up with the big idea to grow those plants in my closet during winter. That it was David Price who showed me how to germinate the seeds, heck they were his seeds. Officer Monroe then added "I am going to deal with Mr. David Price tomorrow as well. In a matter of fact, he told me he wanted to see the two of us together. Tomorrow is barbershop day for David Price, however as the same as you I will be giving him his haircut tomorrow. If it makes you feel any better it will be a very short haircut just like yours, maybe shorter. Tomorrow I was told he would take me to see the judge and get his approval of my haircut. Be advised to wear a white shirt and a tie for the judge. I and your buddy David Price along with yourself will all have a long talk with the judge tomorrow regarding the new dress code that you will be enforced to wear to school during your probation. He added "I will be giving David Price a fresh haircut tomorrow at 8:00 AM, Bein my office at the same time, no later. Officer Dick-Wad then left being ever so polite to my Dad, my Mom, and even my older sister who thought he was "dreamy" rolling her eyes back asking my dad and mom if he was married. Monica then said he was a former Marine, she can tell by his haircut and the fact he had cut my hair so short. My sister ends up being one of these chicks that goes after guys in the military. "Dad Mom, see if you can get him to ask me out on a date", I was thinking "WHORE’.

My mom, wasting no time, was on the phone. Who she was talking to I have no idea. Ten minutes later the doorbell rings. It Officer Mike Monroe, my mom welcomes him. Instead of calling my name out to come and talk with the officer, she calls out "Monica, comes downstairs you have a gentleman caller" Officer Monroe didn’t even bother to ask her for a date in a private setting. He asked her right there in the foyer to our home if she would like to go have a cup of coffee with him. Walking back up the stairs I looked up and said to God, "REALLY, you have a twisted sense of humor". Passing hoot- chi mamma Monica coming down the stairs as I was headed to my room. She had a ton of make-up on her face, her hair big, and wearing a low cut very revealing blouse, She is top-heavy, to begin with, and men notice her when she is simply wearing a baggy shirt. She gets whistled at, all the time. Now she has a pushup bra on showing lots of cleavages. My dad tells her to change into something decent, that she cannot leave the house dressed that way. He is giving her a stern look as my mother stands next to him clutching her pearls (oh my). Have to admit she has a rack on herself. She made the clipper happy cop wait by himself down in the family room for a very long time. Monica asked me if I would go keep him company while she gets ready to go out. "Hell no, I hate that man," I told her. "Why, is it because he gave you that haircut? You should thank him, you look good now little brother. I bet you will have a girlfriend within the week. Stop acting like a little brat and go downstairs and entertain him while I get ready". I slammed my bedroom door on her, telling her to f__k off. I hope this is a night my dad can’t digest a decent meal.

I had dozed off for several hours, woke up with an appetite, and went down to the kitchen. Flicked the light switch to pass through the family room and caught Mike Monroe and my sister Monica balling in the dark on the floor. She tries to cover herself with a throw pillow, he just laid there with his legs wide open showing his junk smiling. She grabs the sheet she had laid on the floor for them. Monica made a mad dash up the stairs trying to cover herself. Why didn’t she just take him to her room? Had my dad caught them, there is no lesser of a puttana. In her bed, on the family room floor, or the wet ground like an animal in heat, a tramp is a tramp. She is lucky it was I that caught her and not my parents. Must have been one of those hot moments that you and your partner can’t possibly take the time to simply walk up some stairs, then again her bed would have been squeaking. I simply said to the Casanova police officer "I think you should leave, get out" He wasn’t budging until I called up the stairs loudly "DAD". That lit some fire under his ass. He was half-dressed leaving, unaware had it been my father that flicked that light switch. No telling how disastrous it could have been. My parents are old school catholic and think his little girl is a "good girl" Laughing to myself "my sister is a puttana"

It's six-thirty in the morning, remembering that David gets his hair cut at 8:30 AM. I look out the front room window down the street at Dave’s house. It looks like somebody is up and about in that house. Debating if I should go and reveal this short haircut I have to David, see if he thinks it was worth our friendship. Then knock his front teeth out for having my name in his mouth while talking to police. My blood was beginning to boil. A full-length mirror is on the front closet door. I stood there looking at myself. It's me, yes it is me all right. But doesn’t look like me, more like my doppelganger is looking back at me. This probation is going to be a long five years.

Officer Mike Monroe managed to horn his way into everything having to do with my rehabilitation. What sucked is my parents liked him; they put their trust in him. Needless to say, this cop brought brochures for military schools for my parents to look at. Telling them how he was once a troubled youth, out of control. How a military school would be in my best interest, otherwise their son will end up a bum. That was the trigger word for my dad. No son of his is going to be a dirty lazy bum. Officer Monroe had it all figured out. Transfer my probation to a military school; He would even throw in a referral for the program that pays most of the expense. Another selling point to my dad, he would only have to pay a third. I was accepted, uprooted, and taken to the Marine Corps Military Academy given an induction GI haircut, a boot camp clipper shave that was repeated weekly for the first two months. I wore a crisp uniform with a tie during school hours and camouflage-type gear otherwise. After two months I was allowed to have a little growth of hair on top, barely enough to comb, which was either cut down flat or neatly groomed up off my forehead. Regardless, it had to be approved by my instructor. My sides and back were clipped to the skin. Every Monday myself and the other cadets had to stand at attention and be inspected from head to toe. Boots had to be shined, uniform crisp, tie straight, chin up, shoulders back, arms to the side and the haircut had better be no more than a day fresh cut. Saturday or Sunday was barbershop day. My instructor made Officer Mike Monroe seem like a softie, he meant business. I learned to do as I am told, or suffer the consequences. All because of those dam "zinnias" END

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