FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH BOOK PDF

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Fast Times at Ridgemont High - A True Story - Ebook download as PDF File .pdf) , Text File .txt) or read book online. The Book Its the real thing. a book he was to write of his experiences inside the walls of Ridgemont High and Typically the book Fast Times at Ridgemont High: A True Story will bring that books online, books to read online, online library, greatbooks to read, PDF. Do you ever before know guide Fast Times At Ridgemont High By Cameron Crowe Yeah, this is a quite interesting book to check out. As we informed recently .


Fast Times At Ridgemont High Book Pdf

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Fast Times At Ridgemont High book. Read 82 reviews from the world's largest community for readers. This is a true story. In the fall of Cameron Crow. In the fall of , the author returned to a high school he had attended briefly some years back. He registered as a student under an assumed name with the. RIDGEMONT SENIOR HIGH SCHOOL - DAY We see all the elements of the first day of school. The students carry new books, explore new lockers, begin to.

The message was clear enough—there was fun..

Stacy Hamilton had learned that the world of girls could be divided up into two distinct groups—those who spent the weekend with their parents. The latter group was a special sorority. The man finished his sandwich. It wasn't Stacy's imagination. What do you say? Stacy had been working the cash register on the August night that The Vet first walked into Swenson's. He sat down alone at table C-o.. The idea was to interest men. He looked to be in his early twenties.

I never really do this. Thank you. Stacy reverted to the tone and phrasing she usually reserved for customers asking for substitutions on to-go orders. He worked at a veterinary clinic in nearby Redondo Beach. He was kind of cute. She took his ten-dollar bill. Even the other girls noticed. He kept staring at her.

I'd love to take you out for dinner. Stacy watched as the main-floor waitresses all vanished into the back kitchen. Or hardly working? His What's his name? They didn't call. Haven't you figured men out yet. She had what she called "a sexual overview. She reached him at home. I thought if I was nice to them. On the advice of Linda Barrett. Ron Johnson was very smooth about working in his key question. Most guys are just. Their two-year age difference made a world of difference. They had a pleasant conversation about Swenson's.

I got impatient. How old are you? He's a nice guy. Stacy waited an appropriate three days to call The Vet. We go out. You didn't argue with Linda Barrett.

Most guys are just too insecure and too chicken to do it themselves. So I started making the first move. He's good-looking. Linda was taller and quite striking. Linda knew men. They met at Bob's Big Boy Restaurant. For years I chased after every guy I thought was cute.

She met him out in front of her family's condominium complex. Two nights later she called The Vet and asked him to meet her that night for a drive. Three years from now you'll be eighteen and it won't matter either way. The Point was a notorious make-out spot for Ridgemont teenagers with parents at home. The Vet agreed. Talk suspended while a Bob's Big Boy waitress arrived. The Point was the best spot to overlook the whole town.

Are you sure he's not a fag? The Point was dark and secluded. Do you know where the Point is? The Vet found a space near the back corner. Hundreds of milk cartons. You're good-looking. I know it sounds hard making the first move.

The Ridgemont High Point was always covered with milk cartons. From there they walked across the baseball field to the cliff behind the Ridgemont High backstop. The parking lot was empty. Linda and Stacy glared at her until she left.

Fast times at Ridgemont High : a true story

It didn't matter where they went. You've just got to learn to get what you want. The Point.

Milk cartons with the straws. Milk cartons without. Squashed milk cartons. Milk cartons still half full. More milk cartons than you had ever seen in any one place at any one time, ever. There was the usual smattering of premixed Mai-Tai cans and shattered Bacardi bottles, sure, but the emphasis was always on milk cartons.

The Point was deserted. Only Stacy and The Vet stood there, arms touching, on their third summer date, looking out at the blinking lights of the condo developments below, listening to the distant sounds of the Pacific Ocean lapping up onto the shore of Redondo Beach. But there were only rocks out on the Point. The Vet was the type, as Stacy would later tell Linda Barrett, who could probably have a lot more fun if he didn't wear slacks all the time. Stacy and The Vet sat side by side.

Above them shone a single light bulb. There was no view of the city from the dugout. Stacy rearranged her hands in her lap. It's real warm. I wonder how long it will last. Was that the first move? She sat quietly for a moment, her hands folded in her lap.

It had to be the first move. She waited another monent. When I'm eighteen it won't matter either way.

She lunged for The Vet and kissed him squarely on the mouth. At first surprised, he held her there and kissed her even more deeply. She began to run her fingers through his blow-dry haircut. It was The Vet who spoke first. A few minutes later, The Vet had apparently resolved his inner conflict. He began tugging lightly at Stacy's red corduroy pants.

She looked down at his hand on the snap. This was it, Stacy thought.

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The Real Thing. A thousand schoolyard conversations and tips from Linda Barrett jumbled in her head. Would it hurt? Would it be messy? Would she get pregnant? Would they fall in love? She unsnapped her pants, and suddenly The Vet needed no more reassurance. He tilted her backward onto the concrete dugout bench.

They continued kissing, feverishly, his hand slipping up into her blouse. He massaged her breasts. Then he pulled off her shoes. Then her pants. Then his own pants. Ron "The Vet" Johnson was different from the other boys she'd made out with. He had Technique. She would always remember reading the graffiti above her: Already her room felt different to her.

Those frilly pillowcases, those Scholastic Book Services paper-. She was giddy, wide awake. She sat on the edge of her bed and examined herself in the mirror—no difference. Somehow it was just like Linda Barrett had explained it to her. Her first feeling would be one of relief, the second, that she would want to go out and sleep with all the cute guys in the world because it was so much fun. Stacy smiled and turned on her clock radio. Then she picked up the telephone extension and punched out a number.

Linda Barrett answered her phone in a sleep-laden murmur. This one was the request line for the local FM rock station. Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" was just the most requested rock track of the last ten years.

Any disc jockey knew it came with the territory. You answered the request line, chances were one in three it was some kid asking you to play "Stairway to Heaven. But the stereo is in the living room. And I like it better when you play it anyway. It was Stacy's idea of the perfect touch—the supreme lullaby for her rite of passage.

Stacy had already fallen asleep by the time KXLY played her song. She was dreaming of Swenson's Ice Cream Parlor, He was pregnant by the actor-comedian Chevy Chase, he said, and Linda Barrett had suggested he come in and see about busing tables. David Bowie was pleading for the position—"to support my baby"—when real life interrupted. Stacy's clock radio clicked back on. She lay in her bed, face pressed into the pillow. It was 6: But anyone who had ever attended the school did not think of red and yellow when it came to Ridgemont.

They thought of green. The whole place was green. Green walls in the gymnasium. Green classrooms. Green bungalows. Even the blackboards were green.

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New graffiti? Roll on some green. Crack in the wall? Slap on some green. It was a Ridgemont High joke that if all other disciplinary measures failed, they called in the janitors and painted you green, too.

There was a problem on this first day of regular classes at Ridgemont Senior High School, a problem beyond even the reach of green. In the early morning hours after Stacy and The Vet had left the Point, someone else had paid the school a visit. Someone had taken the steel letters. The first sight any student saw upon turning off Ridgemont Drive into the school parking lot was Ridgemont High's green brick vanguard.

Built as a memorial to the Ridgemont students slain in the Vietnam War, the vanguard was meant to spell out the school's name with "honor and omnipotence. But on this first morning the steel letters said only: There was more. The rest of Ridgemont High was wrapped in toilet paper.

Toilet paper, that most versatile of high school vandalism weapons. Toilet paper wafted from the trees out front and tangled in the branches where it was virtually impossible to remove without a janitor on a ladder having to unhook each piece. Toilet paper had been applied to the Building windows with an egg-and-wax mixture that adhered to it with true permanence. There was even toilet paper strewn through the yards of those unfortunate homeowners across the street from Ridgemont High, on Luna Avenue.

Someone had really done a job. And the toilet paper was green. A spray-paint message had been left along the side of the front office building: Lincoln High School, located several miles inland, was Ridgemont's crosstown rival.

They're wild. They come up out of Paul Revere Junior High, and they're out to ruin our senior year. They all nodded vigorously at everything Brad said. They all worked together at the same Carl's Jr. Several hundred of the fourteen-year-olds crossed Ridgemont Drive en masse, a symbolic passage toward higher education. Ridgemont High Brad was on top.

He knew practically everyone. Actually it was fourth on his list. One of the most common phrases heard in high school was now: An allowance from your parents was not only demeaning. High school brought on new responsibilities and a whole new set of priorities. Brad's job as chief fryer at Carl's Jr. After two years at Ridgemont. School upperclassmen usually launched water balloons at them from strategic locations.

School was not a major concern. Brad could have graduated as a junior last year—he had enough units—but why do that? It had been a major task to reach a social peak in junior high and then work up again through high school.

He worked at the Carl's Jr. That one business where a guy like Brad Hamilton was king. School was no problem. But well-paying teen jobs were scarce. He had selected 2 3. For Brad. Brad worked six days a week. Suddenly it was considered in bad taste to continue adolescent behavior into tenth grade.

Like most of his friends. It didn't take long for a kid to see the big picture—you were nothing unless you had a job. For them. It was different from what it had been ten. The kids from Paul Revere would find that things change quickly in high school. The third and final attendance bell rang. Hand Stacy Hamilton took her seat in U. He wanted to enjoy the year. Advanced Health and Safety. Every letter was a small explosion of chalk.

He wrote his name on the blackboard.

Fast Times At Ridgemont High

Running Techniques. The windows rattled in their frames. He came barreling down the aisle. This man knew how to take the front of a classroom. History on the first day of school. He kicked the door shut and locked it with the dead bolt. Hand let his students take a good long look at him. And he was not Hawaiian. Grades were given according to the amount of contract work done. According to Stacy's brother. Under the contract system a student agreed to a certain amount of work at the beginning of the year.

Arnold Hand had been at Ridgemont High for years. Even the hardcore truant cases had to agree. Most of the other members of the Ridgemont faculty subscribed to the latest vogue in grading.

Arnold Hand. Hand was one of the 2 5. The last thing they wanted to see was somebody up there looking for loopholes just like them. The only thing worse than a lazy student. Hand had been passed down to Stacy Hamilton by Brad.

Even at eight in the morning. In high school. The contract teacher argued that he or she was giving the student a lesson in Real Life. His stiff black hair rose up off his forehead like that of a late-night television evangelist. His was a special brand of eccentricity. Most people in high school look like their names.

Ridgemont's U. Hand was a perfect example. Hand wanted no part of the contract system. He had a porous. The strange saga of Mr. Hand was one of the last teacher teachers. At Ridgemont. Hand had no intention of leaving Ridgemont. The long second bell dismissed the class. Hand claimed that he personally fought the Education Center for those seven minutes—before the third and last attendance bell.

Hand pursued his students as tirelessly as McGarrett pursued his weekly criminals. If you did not have the ability to obey the three bell system. Substitute truancy for drug traffic. Hand would say. Then there were exactly seven minutes—and Mr. Man does not do any You simply would not function in life. He became possessed by "Five-O. But Mr. He had found one man. Hand that his role model happened to be none other than Steve McGarrett.

Hand's other favorite activity was hailing the virtues of the three bell system. Hand's protean personality had been taken over by McGarrett. That's what Brad had told Stacy. Little by little. History for Hawaii. Hand ignored it. The knock continued.

There will be no eating in this class. I want you to get used to doing your business on your time. His long dirty-blond hair was parted exactly in the middle. Most every school morning Spicoli awoke before dawn. No one dared mention it. He spoke thickly. Just like you wouldn't want me to come to your house some evening and discuss U. That's my time. Hand opened the door only an inch. I can make you. And if you can't make it.

There will be no make-up exams. It is for your own good that you attend my class. You can see it's important that you have your Land of Truth and Liberty textbook by Wednesday at the lat. It will cover all the material we've dealt with during the week. That's one demand I make. You do your business on your time.. I saw the globe in the window.

I don't like staying after class with you on detention. Hand cocked his head. Hand simply continued with his first-day lecture. That's the name they gave me. His long hair was still wet. Spicoli stood there. There was a sudden silence while the class wondered exactly what he might do to the surfer.

He appeared poised on the edge of incredible violence. Hand moved to within several inches of Spicoli's face. Please pass them to all the desks behind you. Hand slowly tore the red add card into little pieces. Hand sprinkled the little pieces over his wastebasket. This new schedule is totally confusing. Hand simply turned away from Jeff Spicoli as if the kid had just ceased to exist.

He was never at school on Fridays. Small potatoes. He leaned a little into the room. Deck him? Throw him out of Ridgemont? Shoot him at sunrise? After a time. Sheehan was seated at one of the beige plastic desks arranged in a semicircle around her classroom.

Hand had made his entrance. At the front of the room. Ridgemont High prided itself in a strong and sophisticated school newspaper.

Hand did not change them from year to year. The Ridgemont Reader covered world and school news alike. Her name was Mrs. The teacher was a young woman in her early thirties. First test on Friday. Be there.

Hand's weekly quizzes. Hand coolly counted out stacks of his purple mimeographed assignment sheets. Spicoli fished a few bits of his red add card out of the wastebasket and huffed out of the room. He had also passed her a fairly complete set of Mr. Sheehan's desk and kicking her legs rhythmically against the front panel. She wore a tight Black Sabbath t-shirt. It was infrequent that an underclassman like Stacy was allowed to join the staff.

Hand wasn't the only item Brad Hamilton handed down to his sister. On the first day of class. But the strange saga of Mr. This was her third year with Linda Barrett. Angie cast a wicked sidelong glance at the rest of the class. You got the feeling he was used to it. Like everybody else. She headed straight for the empty seat beside Stacy Hamilton.

Linda leaned over and punched Stacy's arm. The class resumed. I ask them questions and they just kind of look at me. A beefy kid in a red-and-yellow letterman's jacket spoke louder than the others. Sheehan watched her with tired eyes. They had not seen each other yet this morning. Everything stopped in journalism class—Linda was wearing tight jeans and a filmy blue blouse with three buttons undone.

You know? They're having sex to use it as something. The dugout. Is this serious? Some had Seventeen magazine in their lockers. Linda was underlining and memorizing all the sex scenes from Shogun. To say 'I had sex with you. Somehow all roads at Ridgemont High led to Linda Barrett. They're not having sex to have sex. Everyone knew her. Even as far back as grade school. She was chronically exuberant. Linda and Stacy had been sitting at a bus stop the winter before.

Her mother was a nurse at University Hospital. I'd hate myself if I did that. Linda Barrett was an authority. She left an indelible mark on most students who came in contact with her.

While the other girls were just abandoning their tricycles. Linda's view of sex was. To really nail him down or something. She knew how to dress. Stacy smiled. Fifteen minutes later Dr. They were too late for the noon session. Why are you here? The free clinic. Stacy thought at the time. Betkin breezed into the room. They used the same diagrams Stacy had seen in eighth. He took out a pad. When Stacy Hamilton finally reached her examination room.

But you've got to need them first. The two girls looked so young. You've got to hold out for the pills. They give them to you free. They'll try to talk you into a diaphragm or something.

I'm giving you three months' worth. Linda and Stacy passed a donation box. There was just no way she was ever going to save up for her dream car—a red Chevy Ranchero—with household chore money. The only drugs Linda Barrett. Then she added speed and coke to the trade. She began downloading and selling whole kilos out of her room. I'm going to start you on Norinyl I Plus Linda was the first girl at Paul Revere Junior High to get tits.

She was the same frecklefaced Linda. Betkin nodded and left the room. Linda was a haughty eighth grader who hadn't had time for the likes of Stacy. Linda Barrett always had a score of boyfriends. Linda began dressing out of Vogue. But it was not as if her activities as a junior high drug kingpin suddenly changed Linda. That's not impossible. Even at twelve. Stacy was in sixth grade and worked in the attendance office.

One of her boyfriends turned her on to smoking pot. Linda went out with high school boys then. She developed a distaste for males in the same age group. Betkin paused before he left the room. No way could she download make-up. On the way out of the free clinic. Now what I want you to do is please.

She acted as if she didn't know why. Her voice was soft.

Stick your head out and you'll feel. Someone got the idea to return to the Town Center Mall parking lot. She vomited down the inside of the door of Gary's car. They all bought tickets and went inside. Someone threw a bottle. Linda and the three boys smoked some hash and drank a little tequila from the bottle. We'll clean it up. Linda Barrett tapped on Gary's shoulder. It was quite a car party.

Five minutes into Jimi Hendrix's first guitar solo of the film. She laid out four lines on a pocket mirror. And she went out with high school boys who paid for everything. They were all kicked out of the Regal. Standing in the alley. Linda sneaked out of her house and met the boys in the alley behind the Ridgemont Bowl.

The kids sat in Gary's car in the parking lot. Halfway back to the mall. So she sold dope. At ten minutes after twelve there was not much to do around Ridgemont. Then they finished off the rest of the tequila.. Everything was too expensive. A kid named Gary drove to the Regal. A scufBe broke out around Linda and her friends. It was the most ungracious thing she had ever done.

It had happened for the best. Her first words were. Barrett was standing over her daughter's bed. Gary and his Ridgemont High buddies were just driving into Town Center Mall when they noticed Linda wasn't speaking any more.

Linda took all the blame herself and promised to change. Then she started screaming at the ceiling again. Now she knew how immature boys were. Linda set about courting the straightest girl she knew. The Ridgemont police then called Mr. They pressed the nerve in her shoulder. I already threw up everything. Barrett at two in the morning and informed them that their daughter was not safely asleep down the hall. Then Linda's high school friends arrived at their solution.

Linda stayed in the back with her head on the side armrest. They tried cold water on her face. Linda Barrett awoke to a scene out of TV drama. She wasn't making any sound at all. Amazingly enough. They tried to slap her awake. The mall security force referred the call to the Ridgemont Police Department. They tried discreetly walking her around the mall parking lot. Linda Barrett gazed at a young man who was older than the high school boys.

Not only was he older. When Linda Barrett moved over to Ridgemont High. She wrote Stacy notes. He had a face that was a little too thin. Almost every day after her last class.

She sat next to her at lunch. Linda began dropping by. He had a beard. They began going out. They fell in love. They complimented her until.

He had just graduated Lincoln High School. Linda Barrett still would not go out with another high school boy. The same boys who abandoned her in the mall pretended it never happened. To Doug. They took one look at Linda Barrett. Linda and her "older man. Linda Barrett had joined a Christian youth organization called Campus Life.

Linda Barrett was the complete fox girlfriend he had never had before. Campus Life met once a week during third period—-no Algebra—and on irregular weekends for prayer outings at various sites around the county.

They asked her out. And slowly. Doug would be waiting for her out on Luna She called Stacy constantly. Stacy Hamilton. As part of her Juvenile Hall rehabilitation program. They proposed. Linda had been on a weekend retreat in the country. It made her more desirable than ever.

The closer one looked at lunch court. From that moment on. Doug had just asked her on a drive-in date to see A Force of One. Douglas Raymond Stallworth. The local papers printed a blurb with a picture. It was a puny swimming-pool-sized courtyard dominated by a stocky oak tree in the center. Stallworth Raymond Douglas. It was one of the sights Ridgemont students were used to.

She and Doug were engaged to be married.

The engagement was still on. Lunch Court Finding the right spot at Ridgemont High's outdoor lunch area was tougher than getting the best table at the finest restaurant.

Linda had called Stacy to break the news. One day last May. Raymond Douglas Stallworth. The names of their kids. Even by the first day. She showed them to everybody. All this for a twenty-six-minute lunch period.

His name appeared on all of Linda's Pee-Chee folders and notebooks and free pages of her textbooks. Other boys started slipping back into her peripheral vision. It was clean. Carl's Jr. He had loaded his Carl's Jr. The object had always been to eat near the big oak tree at the center. Brad had paid his dues. And places like Burger Carl's would be crawling with Ridgemont kids. In the world of fast food.

Anybody headed anywhere in Ridgemont passed that Carl's Jr. By evening. Lunch-court positions corresponded directly with the prestige and quality of the employer. Brad was popular around Ridgemont. Seven years later. And at the center of lunch court. Now each group clustered around lunch court was actually a different contingent of Ridgemont fast-food employees.

Working inward from the outskirts of Ridgemont High's lunch court were the lowly all-night y-Eleven workers. And why not? He even helped train them. Their food wasn't as good. They're not having sex to have sex. They're having sex to use it as something.

I'd hate myself if I did that. Linda Barrett was an authority. While the other girls were just abandoning their tricycles, Linda was underlining and memorizing all the sex scenes from Shogun. Some had Seventeen magazine in their lockers; she had The Hite Report. The Rat confides to Mike Damone that he's in love with a girl working in the A. Too awkward to introduce himself, Mark is schooled by his buddy on projecting a winning nonchalance Damone dubs The Attitude.

Adopting a bare minimum of the rules, by Christmas break, The Rat works up the nerve to ask his dream girl for her phone number, which Stacy Hamilton easily provides him. Stacy has recently given up having her phone calls returned by The Vet after having sex with him in a baseball dugout.

She finds The Rat sweet and funny, but his timidity stalls any romance. Stacy takes notice of Damone. Brad suffers a setback when Carl's Jr. He takes a step down in prestige to the fryer at Jack In The Box.

Needing money, he suffers the indignity of taking work at the last restaurant in Ridgemont with a fryer: Captain Hook's Fish 'n Chips. School remains an inconvenience and the thought of college makes Brad nervous, weary of adults who seem to think he's having the time of his life and needs to get serious.

Unburdened by the pursuit of money or sex is Jeff Spicoli, whose simple goals are "to wake up to a decent buzz and six-to eight foot breakers in good shape. He meets his match with another who seems to aspire to a higher calling, hard nosed U. Arnold Hand, who models himself on Steve McGarrett of Hawaii 5-o, refuses to prescribe to the contract system of grading or letting his pupils coast.

Hand draws grudging admiration from students as a teacher who actually cares about his job. Hand lives to combat truancy. Hand's other favorite activity was hailing the virtues of the three bell system. At Ridgemont, the short first bell meant a student had three minutes to prepare for the end of class.

The long second bell dismissed the class. Then there were exactly seven minutes--and Mr. Hand claimed that he personally fought the Education Center for those seven minutes--before the third and last attendance bell.

If you did not have the ability to obey the three bell system, Hand would say, then it was Aloha Time for you. You simply would not function in life. The book bares no higher literary ambition, written plainly and tersely in what today would be labeled Young Adult prose but actually has more in common with unadorned, journalistic writing. Crowe seems to be taking notes. Damone stopped in front of a life-sized cardboard cutout of Deborah Harry, the alluring singer from the group Blondie.

She was just about his size. Damone turned to The Rat. You always call the shots. Act like wherever you are, that's the place to be. When ordering food, find out what she wants, and then order for both of you. It's a classy move. And this is most important.

When you get down to making out, whenever possible put on the first side of Led Zeppelin IV.He had a porous. One of the most interesting things is that the movie appears to contain virtually no dialogue that is not included in the book, and until it has to wrap up with a Hollywood ending, almost no scenes that are not from the book.

Brad suffers a setback when Carl's Jr. Cameron Crowe. Stacy noticed an immediate change in her brother. The whole place was green.

On the outskirts of lunch court sat Linda Barrett and Stacy Hamilton. Throw him out of Ridgemont? The third and final attendance bell rang. September