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Cease and Desist: Yvette Hewlett's Cease and Desist Order. What can I tell you? My name is Jesse James MarxLennon. I'm the only son of Maxwell MarxLennon and Yvette Hewlett. Those of you into that sort of thing, you can tell everything you need to know from the Astrological Chart here. For the rest of you, I suppose I should tell you my story.
MarxLennon's Gratuitous Image Page
If you've been following the story so far, you know that Yvette left shortly after my third birthday. Max has told me the story so many times that I feel like I remember the day, March 14, 1956. I don't really remember the day. Actually, I was probably asleep when she left. I have no real memories of my mother. I have images, pictures in my head, but no memories. I have no idea what her voice sounds like. She's always been Yvette, or Angel, as Max usually called her.
Yes, I'm sure you noticed that I refer to my father as Max. That was his idea. His mother always called him Maxwell. His friends all called him Shades or Shady. I think it was because he never knew his father that he didn't want me to call him "Dad" or "Pop" or "Father". He told me to call him Max.
Actually, I was a pretty cute kid in 1956. The white hair I'd been born with had darkened into a nice blonde color by my third birthday. Yvette had kept it rather longish, so I had a sort of cherub look going at that time.
Unfortunately, by the time I was five, my hair was brown, cut very short, and I wore glasses. Think back to what glasses looked like in the late fifties. Think of Clark Kent. Think "geek".
About the age of five is when Max decided to do two things, move to Medina, Ohio, and teach me to read. I think both were suppose to make my life better.
Medina is a little rural town. It has a town square with a gazebo surrounded by quaint little stores. There's lots of space and fresh air. It's healthy and all-American. The perfect place for a single father to raise a kid. Especially when that single father is a painter with an odd assortment of friends and associates. Yeah, rural Ohio in the late 50's. Yeah, great idea, Max.
Since Max was home most of the time, he decided we'd spend time together learning to read. Max was a great reader. We had an amazing amount and variety of books to choose from. And Max had several hours a day to dedicate to teaching me to read them. And I read them.
By the time I started first grade I was reading at a ninth grade level.
Like a geeky looking kid with the name Jesse James and no mother needed something else to help him blend in with the other little first graders.
Elementary school wasn't too bad. I'd figured out that the way to survive, how to fit in, was to become the class clown. Of course, Max did his part to keep things interesting. Whenever there was a parent-teacher thing to do, he'd bring one of his models with him. He never actually introduced any of them as "Mrs. MarxLennon", but he he also never explained who they were.
Although it took the 60's awhile to make to rural northern Ohio, it didn't take too long for them to reach the MarxLennon home. After all, Max WAS an artist. Max had never been particularly political, but the whole counter-culture idea appealed to him greatly.
So, in 1965, Max and I took a summer long vacation to San Francisco. We did it again in '66, '67, '68, and '69. Max found all the right places and right people of San Francisco. I met the Grateful Dead, the Jefferson Airplane, Janis Joplin, and everyone who was anyone.
Living through the 60's with Max was much more interesting than it would have been if he been a "normal" father. When the school tried to hassle me about the way I dressed or how long my hair was, Max was there (with one of his models) to argue with them.
The teachers and principals really didn't know what to do about me. I was their first "hippie". I was also the kid with the second highest grade point average in the school. They were used to "bad" kids and were also "dumb" kids. They had no idea what to do. If I was "smart", I was supposed to be "good". Hmmmmmm?
There was something missing from my San Francisco, hippie-yippie, pot smoking life. I never had a girlfriend. I had a lot of girls that were friends, but no girlfriends. Somehow that whole "Free Love" thing didn't happen. The girls I met in San Francisco all were older than me, all thought of me as a little brother. The girls in Medina, well, they were maybe just a little afraid of me. They liked me, but not "that" way.
Chrissy Brown was a friend. She was one of the handful of "hippies" at Medina High. Chrissy lived next door. She was really my best friend. Everyone seemed to assume we were a couple, assumed we'd been sleeping together since sometime in Junior High School.
Chrissy and I ran around a lot together. We got stoned together. But Chrissy and I never even as much as kissed each other. We hugged a lot, but that was it. Her parents liked me because I was the smart kid next door that read all those books. I don't think they understood Max.Sometimes I wonder if Chrissy and I should have been a couple. We got along great.
But there were two other girls I was really madly in love with. First there was Nancy Kowolski. Nancy wasn't one of the school hippies, she was "hippie-like", but didn't like to hang out with the rest of the group. She especially disliked Chrissy, which never made much sense to me. Nancy also didn't like to get high, which was okay. We had a lot of good times together, but as friends. Nancy was the first girl to tell that she didn't want to spoil our friendship by getting "too involved". Nancy was dating the captain of the basketball team off and on throughout high school. They eventually got married and had three kids, all boys.
The other girl I fell madly in love with wasn't a hippie at all. Donna Bloomhuff was on the student council, class president, vice-president of the Honors Society. She was even in 4H. She and her parents moved to Medina from Hawaii in 1970. They bought a farm outside of town. Donna was the perfect A student. The principal thought she was the model student.
Donna grew the best weed in Northern Ohio. It grew between the rows of her Dad's corn. She and I would get blasted every Thursday night.
Donna was the second girl to tell me how she didn't want to spoil our friendship.
I graduated from high school in 1971. The administration finally figured a way to get back at me for all those years I bothered them. To be an honor student, you needed to have an overall grade point average of 3.7. I was the only kid in the history of the school to have his grade point average carried out to four decimal points, 3.6898. "Sorry, Jesse, you just missed it."
So, I graduated high school not being an honor student but still being a virgin.
I was really looking forward to going to college.