This is the official biography of yours truly.

For those of you who know me, the subtitle tells it all.  When mom asked me how many lives I've gone through, I decided to document my escapades (click here for details).

Well let's start at the beginning.

The Childhood Years:

Disclaimer:  With the advent of the plane crash in 1971 (click here for details), I do not remember much from my childhood.  So if you can fill in any gaps, please feel free to contact me.

I was born in downtown LA, which is pretty rare now a-days, on Tuesday, September 10, 1953.  I was NOT an early riser, not coming into this universe until about 9:00 am (I do like to sleep in).

Dad was in sales all of his life, so consequently, we moved to wherever the best jobs of the time were.  This meant moving about once every two years.  The few memories I do have were of course when I accidently lit myself on fire.

That was about 1957, just before I turned 5 years old.  I had this "thing" about fire.  I wouldn't call it an obsession, but I'll let you be the fireman.  Contrary to my current enjoyment of sleeping in, I'd get up before everyone else, say around 5ish, and play with matches.  That included burning my curtains once (hey what's behind burning curtains number one).  I guess I got the folks attention, when they decided to put a lock on the OUTSIDE of my room.  Guess I also was able to pick locks at an early age.

Anyway, after the great escape, I opened the drawers in the lower kitchen cabinets and climbed up to the top kitchen cabinets where the matches were put up as far as they could be.  Good thing I didn't have a fear of heights.  So with a plate in one hand, candles and matches in the other, it was off to the sofa in the living room.

Don't ask me why, because I don't have any recollection as to why, but I lit the candles, laid them on the plate and was singing Happy Birthday.  It wasn't my birthday.  It wasn't even close to my birthday (mid summer).  And to add to the pile of stupidity I was stacking up, I started jumping up and down on the sofa.  That's when I pushed my luck for the first time.  Now remember this is back in the 1950's.  Fire retardant PJs weren't invented yet.  So as the plate fell on my 100% cotton PJ bottoms, they caught on fire like they were made out of gas.

My PJs instantly ignited like a towering inferno.  All I had time to do was scream my head off.  Dad and mom (and probably the rest of the neighborhood) came running in, totally astonished at my latest fire.  Dad put the fire out with his bare hands, getting hand burns in the process.  That kept the 3rd degree burns from getting even worse than they were.  

I can remember sitting in the front seat of the family car, with my left leg up across the seat, blacken like a burned steak, with a sqaure piece of black flesh hanging by a thread of skin to my leg.  The reason this left an indelable memory was that it looked like a piece of burned toast.

I don't remember much else for the next 9 months.  My folks first took me to a regular doctor.  Skin grafting was not even known at the time.  The first doctor wanted to bend my leg at the knee and sew the lower part to the upper part.  Dad and mom wanted nothing to do with that advice.  

The folks then tried Children's Hospital in Los Angeles.  They had been doing some early skin grafting.  Nothing on the magnitude of my problem.  They performed an incredible series of surgeries.  They started cutting patches off the very top of my left thigh, my right thigh, and where else will you find lots of extra tissue - my butt.  I should have ended up with the nick name Patches after that.

The few memories I have is laying on my back or stomach for various operations and recovery, Dad lifting my other brothers to the window so they could see me (kids were not allowed inside), and calling the hospital my second home after living there for 9 months (seemed like years).  Little did I know, this was NOT going to be the last time in a hospital.

And did that stop my fasination for fire?

For the next 10 years we moved every two years or so.  As far north as Bakersfield and as far south as Orange County.  It became quite obvious that I had a nack for absorbing knowledge and learning.  Virtually straight A's without any studying.  On the other hand, my social skills needed improvement.  I was accutely shy, especially with girls.  Both my attributes and intrabutes have stayed with me my entire life.  I was also too serious for a young boy.  That would be fixed later in college.

Nothing too tramatic in the early pre-teen years.  The regular measels, etc.

The Teen Years:

We eventually moved to El Monte, a suburb of LA in 1964.  We stayed here for 5 years, which meant making friends that would last a life time.  Not too mention, getting older, maybe not wiser.

Had my first girl friend in 6th grade.