The World Is My Canvas

This is another story that added to the estrangement between me and my father. I started my freshman year of college just before I turned 17. I quickly found many kindred spirits in the dorm, who introduced me to something called a bong. They also introduced me to something to put in the bong, called Colombian, which was a far cry from the rolling papers and Mexican green that I was familiar with.

One afternoon, early in my first semester, a group of us were gathered in Joe's dorm room watching a rerun of "Gilligan's Island." Bob B. was saying that I needed a pen name, when a preview for "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" came on, which was just released in theaters.

We were all familiar with the book by Ken Kesey of Merry Pranksters fame. Bob B. said, "R.P. [after Jack Nicholson's character]. You've gotta use R.P."

The show came back on, and Joe started joking about Mrs. Howell's name "Lovie." All of a sudden he blurted out, "Lovie. Dunn-Lovie!"

And that's how I became known as R.P. Dunlovie, a nickname that has stuck with me for almost 40 years.

My parents were getting ready to sell the family home, and they asked if I could help paint some areas on the second floor that they couldn't reach. I made arrangements to come home from school one weekend, and climbed up on the roof to do some painting. I did an excellent job painting the wood in a rich dark brown and the trim in a contrasting color. But just before I climbed down, I got the idea in my head to sign my name to the project.

With a large brush, I printed RP Dunlovie in large block letters all across the roof. It couldn't be seen from the ground, and after cleaning up and heading back to school, I forgot all about it.

I subsequently learned from my brother, who was still living at home, that my father was showing the house to a prospective buyer, and the buyer casually glanced out a side window in one of the upper bedrooms and suddenly exclaimed, "What is that!?" pointing out the window.

My father looked out and almost had a heart attack as he saw my writing on the shingles. It almost kiboshed the deal, and he either had to have that section of roof retiled, or take some money off the asking price.

We joke about it today, but at the time, I can tell you, he was not amused. However, as is the bizarre nature of life, my actual painting job was so good, that when he moved into a new office, I spent a week painting that too - sans my signature on the premises.