Intro to a wastrel's wanderings

The Several Lives of Rafio the Mad  Mink Monk
Be careful what you wish for

Many times over my several lifetimes, friends and colleagues have urged me to write the story of my rather checkered existence.

I have always demurred, telling them that I was too busy living today to ponder my past.

But today it is a few weeks before Christmas 2009, and my wife Patricia has disappeared again to single-handedly bring America out of this recession, and I actually have a spare hour or three because it's also a rainy, Saturday afternoon and I can't go for a bike ride.

But beware, Freudian slips abound, and even as I typed the title of this nascent novel I initially wrote "the Mad Mink."

To whet your lit'ry appetite, here's a line about a couple of these several lives;

  1. Born in a 16 room home with servants in exquisite Woodbury Connecticut where I spent my first decade and a half being spoiled r0tten as a doting mother's only child.
  2. Prep schools; Taft School for boys, where I convinced my mother to let me transfer to Culver Military Academy (cadet Brooks on right at 16) so I could become an officer (if not a gentleman) and go fight the Nazis. It was the worse mistake of my entire life.
  3. At age 21 both parents die within a year, got married to wife #1 and quit college to become a "newspaper man" like my father. Here's where I very nearly was killed the first time.
  4. After 6 years left wife #1 with two cars and a ten-room house next to the Greenwich Connecticut golf course and moved to Greenwich Village to sow a few more wild oats.
  5. At age 28 met Patricia when she was 17 (she actually stole my sketchpad in Ptown), and we opened Cafe Rafio, "Where the Beat Meet to Eat, and the Square Dare to Compare." Here's where I almost got killed the second time.
  6. Sowed an un-wild oat (Pat at 19, on right, when we got pregnant) and left The Village to work for the New York Post and become a square myself... and almost got murdered the third time.

The rest you'll have to read below as I scribble my life one chapter at a crime - ooops.

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