Where prose & discourse has been sacrificed on the altar of expediency for twitters & tweets, this blog is for those crying deep unto deep with a desire to become more child-like and less childish.
Home » About
Prose…not tweets
Unlikely places of amazing grace
Prose...not tweets 
One day at a time for all of us, addicts or not. One can not live very long without ending up with some regret, in one degree or another. Mr. Hurley’s story is an inspirational one- an encouragement that everyone can turn their life around, make different choices, and then make a positive difference to those around them!
wow…thanks Marcy. I’m uncharacteristically speechless. It’s really all about grace.
Hello Tim Hurley,
I don’t know how I stumbled on this site, however, I remember the Hurleys on Mark Street. I remember the other denizens of Mark: Randy, Ricky and Roger Moy. Mark “Ace Mcquirk” Cialek. I remember Mark’s father sitting down at Neely’s pub each night huddled over his highball in stoned and sullen silence.
I remember Spoon Street and everyone there. But mostly I remember Sherry Street: 29423 Sherry Street.
My mother, in her infinite wisdom, transferred me from St. Dennis to Page Junior High School instead of Bishop Foley. From there I did my post doctoral studies in Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll at Lamphere High (72). My education in public school continued unabated: I didn’t think it possible to drop acid more than 100 times.
At the behest and encouragement of Debbie Dimitrie’s boyfriend (Kurt) I joined the Army with Bob Dimitrie (who is now married to high school sweetheart Donna Sutton). Kurt certainly knew what he was talking about – the army was a experience. Too bad I couldn’t reminisce my army lore with Kurt – he opted out of life by committing suicide.
I ran with the crowd you knew – Herbie Ponta, Steve and Nick Pappas, Chris “Crystal” Kell, The Pawlowsky’s, Jim Kohler, Rick Zugai, Frank Divergilio, John Michelozzi, Mark Cialek, Will King, Doug Weishuhn, Mike K from Spoon Street, Bob Dimitrie, etc. Many of these guys are dead.
My brother ran with your little brother – Danny.
We all grew up very much alike. How precarious our lives really were back then – only luck or fate separated the outcomes of different people growing up under very similar circumstances.
I logged in a lot of hours volunteering as a private citizen as well in the U.S. Peace Corps working in halfway houses and rehab programs. My youngest brother died in his 40’s from drugs and alcohol.
I never thought I would make it to college much less graduate. I acquired a degree in chemistry and was “Breaking Bad” long before the TV show came out. I don’t know how I avoided prison. I don’t know why my children turned out so well. I don’t know how I ever achieved any worldly success or happiness whatsoever when so many of my peers were not so fortunate.
Anyways, I remember your family.
Congratulations on your recovery. I know how truly difficult your journey has been.
JS
Marcello, thanks for taking the time to read my blog, and for your heartfelt response. While recognizing many of those you spoke of, electrical currents firing across the synapses between whatever brain cells are left prevent a specific memory of you. That’s OK today because we’re brothers-in-arms, ran the same mean streets of the Mad Heights, and were birthed in the same generational crucible. I’m sorry for your having lost a brother and am more intimately aware of the pain involved than I ever wanted to know. Through many dangers, toils & snares you’ve not only survived…but thrived while dozens to the left & right were cut down before hitting the prime of their lives. From my perspective, luck or fate has nothing to do with surviving the carpet-bombing of the soul we incurred. It’s all about God’s long-suffering grace. I so appreciate your taking the time to write Marcello. Now that I think of it…did you know Marc Sasso at Foley? Anyway, this is the kind of social media that produces good fruit. Thanks for stopping by Hurlco and God bless your heart.
The mortality rate of the class of 72 is quite high. Glad to hear you’re still with us. Thanks for reading my shit.
Hi Tim . . .
Very well written . . . well spoken. Thank you.
Yes, I remember Marc Sasso but I remember him from St. Dennis.
My name is Santilli . . . Joe Santilli
…But what?
…my bad, your message was truncated Now. I gotcha now Joey.