Every picture tells a story (Rod Stewart)

For half of the seventies we lived here - 18 Korma Ave., Royal Oak, Auckland. I wasn't allowed to have a cool as chopper, but I did get this beauty for my 10th birthday in October 1967. My nerd credentials were fully intact and obvious from the bike pump, the saddle bag (groan) and  the headlamp. My token rebel move was to radically reorient the handlebars! Yes, I was ready for the seventies!

Wie geht's?

As you all know, I've been reading Ian Chapman's book that looks at (his) life in the Seventies (Glory Days - from gumboots to platforms).

His seventies in Hamilton East sounded a bit like mine: a cringe worthy time of being deeply uncool in the suburbs while listening to some of the best music ever made.

So I decided to head to the photo albums to see if I was as terminally unhip as a teenager as I remembered myself to be. 

Yikes! It was WORSE than I thought.

Those ten years, from October 1st 1970 (when I turned 13) to October 1st 1980 represented an incredibly awkward transitional time in my life: from Manukau Intermediate to Mount Albert Grammar to Auckland University. From boy to...er...older boy!

Unbelievable that just three years into the eighties I'd meet Jacky, get married and start a family!

Anyway - the pictures tell the real story, don't they!

Second from left on the bottom row. I was a young, small, baby-faced 12 year old here. Mr Lindsay - the cool guy in the tie, was the reason I decided, at age 12, to become a teacher when I grew up. A naive dream? Uh, actually, no - it wasn't.  

Geeky me in the middle with Ross (left) and his friend (right).
Nerd alert - we were on holiday in Rotorua and I was
wearing my Mt Albert Grammar jersey. Criminal.

The screen printing years may seem a move forward but the
desk and bookcase clue you in (bound copies of Nature
Heritage anyone? OMG) and must I draw your attention to
the bowl cut?

The curtains weren't far away, in the
meantime we have the side swipe.
Fashion conscious? Ha ha. Not yet.

1975 - far right front row and, unlike my hirsute
teammates, a long haired babe magnet I was not!

In the second half of the seventies, from 1976 onwards, 4 Ramelton Rd. Mt. Roskill South was our home. In the frame - my first car, an orange mini (of course it was orange - it was the seventies dude!) and Ross is in our dad's work vehicle so this must be late seventies. BTW I still have the white table and chairs, seen on the balcony, in my possession!

On holiday in Taupo with DMP. Uncool moment: I most
probably thought those clip on dark lenses over my glasses
were the height of sophistication.

MAGS badminton champ 1976. My sturdy wooden racket
was, of course, old school, unlike the trendy metal frames
the other blokes had!

1977 to 1981 found my brand of self-conscious nerd at Auckland University. I posed for this in more ways than one. The book? Tropic Of Cancer of course, but the AUT sweatshirt and the flared jeans weren't very late seventies punk or, anything really. And, note the business shirt underneath the sweatshirt. OMG Wozza - help was needed!

Ha ha - my homemade  John and Yoko
T-shirt was a start but those plaid shorts
again??? I am without speech! 

The curtain years had begun! Brand attack: non clip on dark glasses!
Adidas shoes! Puma jersey!
But I was still on family fishing holidays.

The decade ends with me pursuing a Masters'
degree and closing in on a start to my teaching
career and a move to New Plymouth at the end
of 1982 (after a year at training college)

Okay. Well, that was embarressing and fun, right? And while you'll still chortling at my fantastically unhip teenage years - why not take advantage of the lock down and hunt out your own teenage snaps.

Yeah. Boom! That wiped the grins off your faces!

Love and peace - Wozza 

We're playing those mind games together (John Lennon)

The power and the glory (You may say I'm a dreamer - Chapter 4, part 1)

Fringe days were numbered. T shirt by Wozza.

We're playing those mind games togetherPushing the barriers, planting seeds -                     John Lennon (Mind Games)

Every December, I enviously wave off the year's Year 13 students who are heading to university.  Little do they realise the super intense changes that are in store as their glory days beckon!

Leaving a dodgy school record behind was extremely liberating for me. I guess I should have been concerned about my ability to cope, instead, I felt eager, confident, and thirsty for university life.

Finally...finally I was going to get that long dreamed of Master of Arts degree. I became even more single minded in its pursuit. 

Ramelton Rd - Ross arriving, my mini already ensconsed.

Throughout these years (1977 to 1981) I continued to live at home - number 4 Ramelton Road, Mt Roskill South, with mum, dad, and Ross.

Woz and dad, Taupo holidays at Te Rangiita were full of fishing adventures

During these years we enjoyed our last holidays together as a family in Taupo, as I was on the cusp of a new life on my own.

But not yet!

Woz and mum, Taupo holidays were full of fun!

Stage One (1977)
In three years time, to achieve a master's degree in English the fine print said I needed two papers in another language. The long summer holiday of 1976 was spent poring over the University Calendar and figuring out what to do.

Help was required, so Greg (who was also going to Auckland University to do a science degree) and I went to see Warwick Gibbs in his Auckland central flat that he shared with his elderly mum for his advice. Even though I'd studied French since 1971, I knew I wouldn't cope with it at university. 

Explaining the situation to Warwick was easy. He understood my situation. His advice was to take two Spanish papers - one on literature, t'other on language. Being new to all Stage One students meant that I had more of a chance to pass. So that's what I did.

Again, to his eternal credit, even though he may have been thinking it, at no point did Warwick nay say my aim to get a master's degree.

As explained previously, I was turned down for a teaching studentship during seventh form, but I knew I was destined to be a teacher so I took two education papers anyway.

English and history, my best subjects at school, made up another four papers to make eight in total for that first year. 

At the end of 1977, another application for a teaching studentship was made and again it was denied, but I passed everything with good enough grades to pick up a B Bursary and ploughed ever onwards.

The self indulgent years - in double exposure. I love this shot taken at Ramelton Road.

Stage Two (1978)
Now I concentrated on history, Asian history and English. Early into this second year, the studentship people rang me - someone had dropped out and a place was now available - was I interested? You betcha baby!! After only two rejections (ha!) I was on my career path at last.

As expected, Ross breezed through
MAGS, and gained a BSc a year
after my graduation for BA.

In exchange for a bond agreement (teach as many years as the studentship lasted) came financial freedom. Great stuff - my record collection blossomed and I could afford my first car, an orange Mini. Result!

Even though Stage Two was an academically demanding year I again didn't fail anything and even picked up an A Bursary.

During these first few years, I was lucky to find an amazing group of friends. Many came via Greg (he's a popular lad), then some via Simmsy (also a popular lad), then some from other sources.

Among the supporting cast of The Wozza Show: Kevin Simms and his then girlfriend, Helen George, both were doing commerce; Phyllis Omand, finishing a BA; Lynley Wood, law (co-incidentally, sister of old school friend Brian Wood); and, of course, my school chum Greg. What a talented bunch!

We hung out, a lot! Our routines involved finding each other in the library (we had set possies), putting study on hold to grab a drink in the coffee bar on campus and meeting in the new recreation centre for lunch. Mum's afghan biscuits (a.k.a. camel dung cookies) were a regular treat with the troops!

Frequently in stitches, we bonded. Some of the bonds endured: Kevin, Greg and I laughed hysterically at the same things and loved music with a passion; Kevy was a Glenfield Rovers stalwart so we had football in common (Man U vs Arsenal); Phyllis and her new boyfriend, Anthony Harris; Lynley and I were platonic friends from day one; Brett Reid, a football mate of Kevy's, and I went to the three day Nambassa music festival in Waihi.

There were other friends as well: Jo Priddy - we all went to her 21st; Kevin Carter and Phil Coombs I knew from football; Kevin Prewitt; Wendy Knowles (Greg's wife, she typed up all my essays - in days before PCs so there were loads of drafts. Literally, she saved my bacon*! Big shout out to you Wendy - I still have them and they still look amazing - many thanks!!).

* The deliberately inappropriate use of 'literally' is an in joke that my students and Jacky will get. 

We all had a heap of things in common: young; achievers; talented; not one smoker among us; white New Zealanders; sporty: middle class backgrounds; well behaved and wanting to enjoy student life to the full.

BA grad - MAGS tie, my mini!

Stage Three (1979)
Six English papers flew past and I had my B.A. Understandably, mum and dad were thrilled but to me the job was only half done. For me, the bachelor degree was purely a necessary stepping stone.

Unfortunately, at the end of those three intense years, the crazy gang broke up as they left to start their careers, leaving me to do my two years of Masters' papers on my tod. 

It's a shame how important people come and go in life. Thankfully, Facebook was invented to allow Kevy, Greg and me to remain in contact. I value their on going love and support! Plus, they are still hilarious!!

Next up - a new supporting cast and the pinnacle of success.

Love and peace - Wozza

Be bewildered and be amazed (Kaipa)

Huckleberry Finn's journey down the Mississippi may be seen as a kind of journey towards a realization of the 'self' and a progressive moral growth or it may be seen as a defeat of Huck's potential.

That was the opening sentence to an essay I wrote when I was 22 and doing a paper for my Master of Arts degree.

It's pretty good.

In fact the whole essay blows me away. I think I've got more and more intellectually lazy (okay - dumber) the older I've got.

What's prompted this? Well a student of mine is doing work on connecting four texts on her chosen theme - rites of passage stories.

She asked me for some clues about potential texts and of course Huckleberry Finn was one that sprang to mind. I happened to have a copy on my desk and she asked to read it.


Then, when I saw she was getting into it, I mentioned I'd written an essay on it when I was at Auckland University back in the day.

She asked to look at it (and reminded me a couple of times when I forgot to bring it, which indicated keenness). So I dug it out of my stored stuff (yes I kept all of my MA essays).

Before giving it to Rowena (my student), I sat down and read it.

I was impressed. It's good (I got an A for it so Dr Locke thought so too).

But now? Could I come up with that again? Hmmmm. It would be different fer sure but I can never go back to those halcyon days of yesteryear (1980 to be precise). None of us can.

Every year, come December, I envy the bright young things heading off to university and those self indulgent years. A wonderful time, a time of and for wonder.

My optimistic nature comes out in the essay. In case you were wondering how I resolved that starting sentence, here are my closing bits:

The ending is open ended in a way which allows for Huck's continued internal growth. He has grown with Jim's help into a new state, a more whole self. For Jim, real freedom is a long way off. But Jim has a self-awareness which endures and which we are made to feel will help him to overcome the obstacles against his freedom in the future.

Noice.

Love and peace - Wozza

But every now and then I feel so insecure (The Fabs)

I had a sizeable amount of money stolen from my office recently and I immediately had that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I discovered the theft.

Took me back 35 years to 1977. Wow - is it that long ago?

My first year at Auckland University and I'm feeling pretty good. I'm at University which is a minor miracle in itself.

I'd failed School Certificate first time in 1973 and had to repeat the year. I scraped through the 6th form and got my University Entrance accredited in 1975. It was back to normal in 1976 when I failed my seventh form year (for a University Bursary). It was a bumper year actually as I was also turned down for a scholarship from the Teachers' College to pay my costs at University (I was entitled to go via the UE success and picked up the scholarship in my second year at University).

So I was battling to fulfil my dreams of getting a Masters degree in English and becoming an English teacher (a dream begun when I was 12)..

Early 1977, though, and I was proudly a 'varsity student' making my way to lectures, tutorials (scary things those - everyone knew a hell of a lot more than I did), and the library to study in peace.

All this was to become routine for the next five years - especially the library visits.

I still remember the day in 1977 when I went down into town from the University campus and bought a couple of second hand records (Skyhooks Greatest Hits and a few others). I waltzed up to the library storage locker area outside the library entrance and took out the books that I needed for study, leaving my bags in the locker shelf.

Up to the library third floor I go and suffer over some English essay on D. H. Lawrence's poetry for an hour. Tired of that I return to my storage locker and gape in astonishment and bewilderment.

My records have gone from my bag.

I don't know what to do. No one has stolen anything from me before. I go into the library to ask what to do. It takes me a while to realise that I am invisible.

Embarrassed, red faced and miserable I slink back to the bus station for the trip back home to 4 Ramelton Rd., along the Dominian Road extention in Mt Roskill. I ride the bus in a daze.

The sick feeling in my stomach comes when it dawns on my naive brain that my fellow students can not be trusted. Everybody cheats - I just didn't know until that point. Innocence shattered.

It was a rude awakening let me tell you.

And so to this latest example of experience trumping innocence. My heart tells me that my friends at school are not to blame. I suspect some visiting workers who were doing routine maintenance are responsible but I can't prove it.

I hate that sick feeling.

I also hated the hour Hisham and I spent at the Al Jimi police station to report the theft. The hour was how long it took for us to be seen (there was no one else around - I half expected someone was going to throw me the keys and tell me to lock up when we left), only to be told that we couldn't report it! It had to come from my boss, signed and stamped by Cognition. Perfect!

I got home, did a big workout on the cross trainer (the Fabs' Help did just that too on the ppod shuffle), practised my guitar chords until my fingers hurt and then I played an Opeth DVD...loudly.

Somedays you eat the bear, somedays the bear eats you!

Love and peace - a mauled Bambi